Season Six

by EnlightenedSkye

The crews of the Enterprise and the Maelstrom adapt to ever-changing circumstances as the Romulan War rages on. [January 2157 to January 2160. 25 episodes. Fully episodic, so each chapter is a stand-alone story. ATP, Troshi, Malcolm/OC, P/C. Rated T throughout. Direct sequel to Season Five. In progress]

11. Episode 11: Shining Angel, Starlit Sky

A/N: Thanks for the support! Still don't own anything, still don't make money. You know how it is. Fair warning, there's a bit of graphic blood and guts in this episode.

Captain Shumar is from one of my favorite TNG episodes, 5x11 Power Play. I feel the need to fill in the blanks between the war and his disappearance in the 2160s. Maelstrom's story is inspired by DS9 1x10 Move Along Home, which gets a lot of grief for being a trainwreck. Make no mistake - it definitely is, but if it were TOS, people would be calling it brilliant. Speaking of which, you'll notice references to TOS 2x20 A Piece of the Action, an equally ridiculous episode.

We've got the first Malira scene of the season right here - can you believe that? They reunite next time, and you can bet things are going to get complicated. Probably not in the way you think, though...

As a writer, I'm pretty good at a couple things: red herrings, unnecessary drama, and sneaking Parks and Recreation references into almost every episode. It ain't much, but it's honest work.

Next time: I feel that with the momentum we have right now, we should just going to slide right into the second battle of the season! Buckle up, because the next two episodes are going to be intense.

Season Six

Episode Eleven: A Shining Angel in a Starlit Sky

Enterprise Captain's Log, August 1st, 2158: The latest briefing from Starfleet Intelligence indicates that we are dangerously close to losing our last Coalition stronghold in the Yadalla Sector. To remedy this, Admiral Gardner has elected to deploy the wild card of the Daedalus fleet.

---

"There's just something that's not sitting right about this whole thing for me."

"Is it the idea that Jimmy would even betray you at all?"

"Of course he wouldn't. That's the point."

"The cameras, then?" There was a pause, and then he dared to state the obvious: "Would it be so hard to believe that Saben is up to something?"

Alira's hands froze in midair; with a decisive swiping motion, she replaced the tiny brush back in her pot of nail polish and proceeded to blow over her fingertips, her brow creased with worry. On the other end of the line, her husband waited expectantly for her to acknowledge what they'd been suspecting for the past few weeks.

In the matter of determining if her second was involved in the data breach which compromised their nuclear warheads, questioning from Starfleet Intelligence had proved fruitless - Jimmy had no ties to enemy spies or organized crime at all. He was just a terrified young man, one who had served under both of them for years, one who couldn't look into Harris's eyes and swear his allegiance if his life depended on it.

While Ensign Nguyen languished in the brig, she doubled down her efforts to prove his innocence, looping in an additional two cameras to triangulate his position and get a fuller view of his activity at the console. She reviewed the footage first, then sent it off to him, and they were both able to come to the same conclusion.

Though his genetic material had been found on the buttons that would trigger a transmission to Jupiter Station, his keystrokes never came anywhere close to hitting them in the correct sequence. The powers that be found this information useful, yet curious, but despite her protestations had insisted on carting him away to be held in detention at Starbase 1 while the investigation was ongoing. They couldn't afford to let doubt seep into their ranks, and Admiral Gardner had all but forbidden her to look into the matter further.

Direct orders, however, didn't stop her from pushing the boundaries. They never did.

She suspected - no, knew - that Saben was involved somehow, and she couldn't leave the matter well enough alone. The idea of Harris recruiting her best friend of over nine decades was ludicrous; the Section was bold in its courtship tactics, but even they would never be so brazen or obvious. Though it all seemed so inconsequential at the moment, she understood that back home the Supreme Commander still had it out for her family, that one of her sisters was still dragging her name through the courts in an attempt to strip her of her citizenship, that her younger brother was running for political office and using the Infantry's involvement with their father's death as leverage. It was all connected or not connected at all, and trying to put the pieces together was driving her mad.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm finally said after a long period of silence, extending the metaphorical olive branch. "Forget I mentioned it."

"No, beloved, you're absolutely right. He's up to something, and everyone knows it. I didn't want to believe it, but it's the truth."

"Well, if you say so…"

"I do," she insisted, leaning back to prop her feet up on her desk. "There's just one minor detail we're missing. I'm sure he'll mess up, and when he does…"

He listened to her trail off, then sigh deeply, indicating that she was slipping into a deeper state of relaxation. More than anything, more than ever, he wanted to jump through subspace and gather her in his arms, if only to afford her the comfort she craved.

For now, idle conversation would have to do.

"What time is it there?"

"A little after dinner. We're still synchronized with Bracasian standard time."

"And what are you doing?"

"Avoiding folding laundry." He had to smile at that imagery; though her untidiness had driven him up the wall during the early days of their relationship, he could only look back on that particular personality quirk with fondness. "What is this, twenty questions?"

This conjured up a different memory - they were back in the provincial palace on Rigel V following a bomb blast that would have killed the entire away team were it not for a bit of quick thinking and foolhardy self-sacrificial instinct. She'd been impaled by a flying piece of debris, and he was trying his best to distract her while the Enterprise struggled to pick up her biosign through the rubble. Though they'd been more than a little strung out on adrenaline, he could remember it as thought it was yesterday. They laughed and carried on. They were vulnerable with one another. In the end, he asked her out for their first official date.

And now, Malcolm could only thank the powers that be for giving him a shove in the right direction.

Seeing as he wasn't responding, Alira went for it, affecting a false theatrical tone and speaking directly into the microphone: "What are you wearing?"

"Clown costume," he replied automatically. "Multicolored wig and a big red nose, too."

"Come on now, don't make a fool of yourself."

"When have I ever done that?"

"Do you really want to know?" She laughed, and Malcolm realized with a pang to the heart just how much he missed that sound. The letters they'd exchanged over the past nineteen months, though extensive and irreverent and downright maudlin at times, were poor substitutes for the real thing. "Remember that night you and Trip got into Anna's stash of Saurian brandy?"

Did he ever. That was during their diplomatic mission on the long haul between Betazed and Coridan, where their relationship was still undefined but definitely heating up. Trip, sensing his days of monopoly on his attention were numbered, began insisting on weekly guy's nights, which was really only the start of their misadventures.

"You know, I'm not sure I do." It wasn't a lie, per se; everything after their first bottle was a blur. He had woken up in his own bunk just twenty minutes before he was due on the bridge and had stumbled into the shower before all but sprinting to the mess hall, where he practically drowned himself in coffee.

Naturally, he had paid duly for his mistake - during his days at STC, he could run a few kilometers during PT after a night of drinking with no problem. After thirty, a hangover felt like getting run over by a shuttlepod.

As it turned out, Hoshi had returned to her quarters after sixteen hours of troubleshooting their subspace transceiver array, and didn't take too kindly to their persistent laughing and shouting behind the bulkhead. When she went to investigate, she found them sprawled out on the floor surrounded by snacks and empty bottles, plastered out of their minds with an old movie blasting on the monitor.

The direct message Alira received only seconds later was perfectly unambiguous: Come collect your man.

"Hoshi asked me to take you back to your quarters. You were so far gone, it was…" Someone rapped on the hatch connecting his office with the rest of the armory, and Malcolm startled, making direct eye contact with his second between the blinds. Noting that dopey smile and far off look in his eye - pretty much exclusively reserved for one person in particular - Bennett gestured towards the stack of PADDs in her hands before bending down and placing them on the grating underneath her feet. He nodded and offered her a thumbs up, before returning to the conversation at hand. "...and you kept trying to hug me and tell me how my hair was just so pretty and my eyes were just so blue and my lips were just so soft…"

"Funny, I don't seem to remember any of that." He knew he was blushing, but was helpless to remedy it.

She definitely did, and she keenly recalled the way he fought her as she attempted to get his boots off, how he'd repeatedly pulled the covers back and begged her for a cuddle as she set out a change of uniform for the morning. Recalcitrant yet somehow unable to resist him, she had pulled up his desk chair next to the bed and ran her fingers through his hair until he drifted off, listening to him drunkenly babble on about everything and nothing.

"You also told me you had a massive crush on me," she confessed somewhat smugly. "So that's embarrassing."

"Alira, we're married."

"Still…"

Now that she mentioned it, he did vaguely recall her leaning over, regarding him with the utmost compassion and care. In the low light of his quarters, she looked like an angel, and he wasn't too proud to say so. Though it sounded perfectly witty and suave in his mind, he could tell he had misspoken from her sudden shift in expression, the reappearance of that dazzling smile he loved so much.

"Have you always been this insufferable?" He teased, noting with a touch of trepidation that he only had a few minutes to make the mission briefing.

"Sure have. Got it from my mother." Alira stood, and he could hear her track halfway across the room to retrieve something, her voice muffled with the distance. "My father always told me that we were two different kinds of ridiculous."

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh at that; though he'd only met her once, he remembered her repeated attempts to seduce Trip, and just how amusing the senior staff had found it at his expense. He wasn't a major believer in fate, but in this case, he might have been persuaded.

There was a weighty pause, and when she spoke again, her voice was notably shifted, marked with emotion. "She would have loved teasing you. I wish I had the chance to introduce you properly before…"

"Me too." He meant to interrupt her train of thought before she could reach that inevitable conclusion, but he could tell it had the opposite effect.

"I've been thinking," she said without preamble and with such conviction that he could tell whatever was about to say couldn't possibly be stopped. "You know how Phlox and Yuris have been working on that combinative gene therapy? The one that should allow any two humanoid species to reproduce?"

He certainly did. The doctor had kept him updated every step of the way, as the test embryos went from a sixty percent chance of viability to seventy to eighty. All the while, he listened with rapt attention, hoping to make some sense of the complex scientific jargon and praying none of the ship's notorious gossips were listening in.

While Alira's childhood home had been filled with love and light and warmth, his was quite the opposite, and though his mother tried to make the everyday special, they were all trapped under the thumb of his father, whose militaristic sensibilities told him that children were to be seen and not heard. He was cold and distant, and though he told himself that he was nothing like his father, that he'd grown by leaps and bounds since then, he was privately terrified of turning out just like him. So much so that he had never once thought about having children.

Until he met her.

"I remember," he said at last, and waited for her to finish that thought.

"Well, it's just...I've been talking to Phlox again, since we're close enough for audio." Malcolm could already tell where this was going; as a matter of principle, the Commodore insisted the entire senior staff received monthly therapy sessions. Most opted for their resident listening ear, who had enough degrees to start a dozen different practices. "He knows about everything the Commodore does. The last time we met, he told me I'm exhibiting signs of post-traumatic stress."

His breath caught in his throat, and he glanced up at the ceiling, momentarily lost in thought. Suddenly desperate to assuage her concerns, he confessed: "He's told me the same thing. I suspect we're in good company."

"I keep thinking I need to work more on myself, so I can give our children the best life possible. This whole thing with Yuris and the Kir'Shara...I'm telling you, when we rendezvous next, I'll walk you through meditation. You've never experienced anything like it."

Her spiritual awakening caused by her terrifying brush with death aside, he couldn't deny that he'd always been fascinated by the Vulcan way, the flawless, ruthless way they applied logic, the way they trod above the trials and tribulations of life in a way that made them seem untouchable. Malcolm desperately wanted even just a fraction of their control, and denying that wouldn't change it.

"Starting a family can wait."

"Starting a family can wait," she agreed, relieved that he said it first. "We've got all the time in the world. First, we need to figure out how to get on the same ship…"

"And convince the Commodore to keep us there."

"I'd wait a thousand years."

"Don't jinx it."

Somewhere an alarm trilled, and his heart sank realizing that their time was up, that they were still so terrible apart, that duty called, as it always had. He could tell the noise had propagated through the connection, because the silence that followed was electric, weighty, inalterable.

Malcolm wanted to tell her that if they could only wait a little while longer, he'd happily give her the child she always wanted, that he would always be there to cherish and comfort and provide, to take them far away from this place and make sure no one could ever hurt them again. Though it couldn't be farther away from their current reality, he imagined planetside postings in their near future. He imagined the two of them out of uniform and navigating his old stomping grounds in London hand in hand. She would cradle her bump and smile and look up at him with such love in her eyes that it was very nearly heartbreaking.

"Just give me time to figure out a way to spin this. We'll go to the Commodore at our next rendezvous and then we'll be together and I'll make you so happy…"

Didn't she know?

"You do," he insisted. "You have."

Two beeps. Less than a minute now.

"Busy day today?"

And just like that, the tone of the conversation had shifted inexplicably. She was incredible at hiding her emotions at will, something that was always concerning.

"It will be. In a few hours, we've got to intercept the medical convoy en route to treat a Loque'eque virus outbreak on that Shiralean colony. Gardner saw it fit to assign us a chaperone."

"Chaperone, huh?" A pause. "Didn't the Cochrane try and convince them to leave years ago? Were they really that stubborn?"

"Unfortunately. This man's a favorite of Admiral Gardner - Bryce something."

"Captain Shumar?" She sounded surprised, incredulous, and more than a little amused, so much so that he couldn't ignore it.

"An old friend of yours?"

"You can say that," Alira replied vaguely, then added: "Oh, stop. I can practically hear you making that face. We ran a few missions together when I was CO of the Caileph. Ask him about the Klingon expedition and he'll tell you all about it."

"I'm starting to think you know everyone in the quadrant in one way or another." Malcolm knew this was due in part to her time in covert operations, but then again, her congenial nature meant she rarely met someone she couldn't win over instantly.

After all, it had certainly worked for him.

"That wouldn't be too far from the truth. Just as a warning, he's got his quirks."

"Anna read his file - says he's a bit of a loose cannon."

"Remind you of someone else you know?" Her PADD was on the move, and when she spoke again, it was clear she'd brought it up to her face. "Be safe out there."

"Be careful," he echoed. It was an empty sentiment, and a little bit of a running joke between them, because it seemed that every time they bothered with best laid plans, the universe just had to go and throw them desperately awry. But all things considered, it didn't hurt to belay the obvious. "I love you."

"With all that I am." The connection ended abruptly, as it always did, leaving no time for extra sentimentality. After so long of making it work long distance, they knew better than to bother with that.

In the new and relative silence of his office, Malcolm allowed the reality of the situation to sink in, then stood, staring down the hatch from across the room as if it were something to be conquered.

Breathed in, and out.

Then charged into the new day a renewed man.

---

"I shouldn't have to tell you how much I don't like this."

"You already have," he reminded her, turning around in the small space of the locker room. He reached behind his back, and she obliged, passing a phase pistol into his waiting hands. "And I don't like it even more than you do. Someone's got to keep an eye on him."

"He's not a child, Sergeant."

"No, he's not," he acknowledged. "Saben's just a suspected traitor, and likely a mole within our ranks. If only we could prove it."

Alira sighed and backed up to him, indicating the tactical vest strapped on top of her undershirt. He made quick work of the velcro straps, and once she was sure it was secure, pulled her uniform up from the waist and drew the zipper up to her chin. "Nathan, he could be working with them for all we know."

"Al - ma'am," he countered, catching himself before the inevitable breach of propriety. "The chances of that are astronomical."

"Astronomical," she mumbled, none too convinced, then bent down to tie up her boots.

The call had come in the middle of the night - after years of staying away from the Coalition, the Ktarians were finally interested in talking things out. Though they had run afoul on Rigel V, been cheated out of a stable wormhole by them, and had nearly been killed by their soldiers during a mad rush for a beryllium crystal on Tarkalea, Trip had been eager to come to their aid. The Maelstrom was the closest at hand, after all, and though he didn't dare say it out loud, he was eager to overwrite their escapades with the Orion Syndicate from the collective consciousness at headquarters.

And so they were dragging themselves out of bed and to the transporter pad in the middle of the night, starting in the locker room first, arming themselves to the teeth for another encounter with a species which had wronged them once and would almost certainly do it again. Though she rarely heeded them, Alira knew she had keen instincts, and at the moment they were telling her that they needed to tread lightly.

That they needed to keep her lifelong best friend as far away from the action as possible.

"Do you want an EM-33, or…"

"I think this one calls for the big guns," she asserted, moving a phase rifle, muzzle down, into his line of sight. Kemper nodded, preferring to air on the side of caution, especially when their intrepid tactical officer was involved. She was everything a MACO wasn't, quick to act and even quicker to anger, but in a firefight, he would trust no one else to have his back unquestioningly.

At the end of the day, he didn't want to.

"Our scans said their ship's weapons are inferior to ours," Alira continued, stepping aside and allowing him to cross over the threshold first. Once in the corridor, they moved together fluidly and with a purpose.

"And do you trust your scans?"

"Of course not. These Ktarians would sell their own mothers if they knew it would turn a profit." She bent her head towards him, lowering her voice considerably: "Then again, if they did join, I guarantee it would just be through trade. Ktaris is way too far away from the front lines. They'd probably go the way of the Coridanites and the Denobulans."

The way she said that, with no claim of ownership to her own species, set something off in his mind. Nodding briskly, he led the way around the corner, coming into full view of Captain Tucker and Commander Hammond, who were arguing rather loudly in front of the transporter pad.

"You've made your objections clear," Trip ground out, hands flying over the control panel as he queued up the coordinates. "The fact is that we're in no position to turn down an ally right now. Admiral Gardner agrees with me."

"These people have already tried to screw us three times. What's to say they won't try again?"

"Absolutely nothing." Saben rounded the opposite corner and approached them double time, extending the PADD he held as a peace offering of sorts. "We're supposed to meet with Ambassador Etazar. He's newly appointed, so no photographs in the database. He comes with the highest recommendation of Senator Jlaris."

"The one that left Hoshi to die after that bombing on Rigel V?"

"That's the one," he confirmed, clearly having read their logs. He shouldered his rifle and stepped onto the platform, giving them one last opportunity to back out.

Fortunately, Trip swallowed his pride enough to initialize the transport and sent them a few short kilometers away to the Ktarian interceptor waiting off their port bow. Once they materialized, Alira began to scan, taking in the dark bulkheads and high ceilings, the controls and guardrails accented with reddish chrome. At first, there was no one, and then a hatch on the opposite site of the room slid open, revealing none other than the man of the hour.

This was one particular species that always intrigued her - nevermind their shifty and unscrupulous ways, their very physical appearance was viscerally unsettling. Perhaps it was their flaming red hair, or the way they carried themselves, or their strange yellow reptilian eyes. The Ambassador and his escorts were dressed identically in the same slate gray jumpsuit, absolutely skin tight with so many geometric cutouts that it was almost dizzying to the eye. As it turned out, his escorts were determined to not give them a moment to evaluate the situation, moving quickly to surround them and reach for their weapons.

"Ambassador Etazar," Trip began, nodded towards him graciously. "I'm Captain Tucker of the NX-05 Maelstrom. Thank you for having us."

"It's my pleasure," he replied, suddenly becoming a hundred times more friendly. One of the soldiers reached out and took hold of Alira's arm, and she startled and just how cold and clammy his touch was. "Please, I assure you that no weapons will be needed. We are among friends."

"All the same…" Trip nodded, and the three of them took a step forward, forming a semicircle behind them.

Julia came to his rescue, deciding to go with the direct approach to make it clear they meant business. "We are in dangerous space, as I'm sure you're aware. We've got a rendezvous to make, so if you don't mind…"

"Of course! Now, where are my manners?" He clapped his hands and turned on his heels to leave, and soon they were hurrying through the corridors after him, at last emerging into a small dining room anchored by a large metal table, surrounded by what appeared to be hatches covering the entire length of the wall. It wasn't set for a meal, but there were several triangular bottles scattered about, with just enough crystal goblets to go around.

At first Trip hesitated to sit down, but Alira pursued him, coming to stand so close behind his chair that he could practically hear her breathing. She was on edge, and her hesitance was more than enough of a warning for him.

"We've reviewed your petition," Julia began, producing the PADD that Saben had given her and sliding it across the table. "I'm afraid that your request for Coalition patrols to pass through your system on a weekly basis is unreasonable. Our regular routes don't pass that far into the Alpha Quadrant."

"So you're overextended?"

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

And you're redirecting, Trip almost said, but kept his mouth shut. "I think the best use of our time would be to discuss preliminary trade proposals."

"Well, I think the best course of action would be for me to enjoy the company of my guests." Etazar took his time filling five glasses before pushing them across the table one by one. "This is our finest merlot. I promise you, the ECS can deliver nothing like this."

Trip eyed his offering warily, so Kemper stepped forward and ran a cursory scan, not for the moment worried about offending their would-be allies. When it came up clear, he nodded, and together they drank, each taking a single sip before returning their glass to the table.

Seemingly satisfied with that, Etazar filled one more goblet and polished it off in seconds with flourish, before reaching into his pocket and producing a standard pack of playing cards, not unlike the one he kept in his quarters for poker nights. The gesture was so unexpected he was momentarily taken aback, and almost didn't hear him ask the inevitable question that followed.

"Are you aware of a game called fizzbin?" At the bewildered looks, he added: "They play it on Beta Antares IV. It's a real game, a man's game. No offense, love."

Julia wasn't impressed. "I'd prefer if we just go right back to discussing the..."

"Please indulge me." He began to deal out cards to the two of them, slowly at first, then so fast that his hands became a blur. "Every player gets seven cards, except for the player on the right of the dealer who gets seven. You study your hand and immediately discard the four lowest cards, except on the third day of the week."

"Ambassador..."

"See, what you're after is a royal fizzbin, where you would need three of a kind if it's dark, or five if you're over the age of sixty." He made a big show of fanning out his cards in front of his face and waggling his nonexistent eyebrows. "Now, if you're facing a window, you want the blue cards, and if you're facing the door…"

Minutes dragged on as they reviewed dozens of inconsequential rules, and all the while, Alira was starting to sweat. It could have been nerves, but her heart was racing like a runaway hovertrain and her legs felt weak and fluid. Leaning against the wall in an attempt to steady herself, she locked eyes with Saben from across the room, only to discover that his pupils were dilated beyond belief.

It was then Sergeant Kemper giggled, passing his hand in front of his face and watching how it rippled across his plane of vision. Farther still, the back of Captain Tucker's head seemed to vibrate and breathe, and the sight of it was so amusing he couldn't help but burst out into a full belly laugh.

At that moment Alira realized exactly what was happening to them and fumbled for her communicator, only to be intercepted and thrown against the wall by the nearest Ktarian guard.

Entirely powerless to stop him, she heard Trip shout and throw his chair into the wall, indicative of a physical struggle that would end just as quickly as it began.

---

In Enterprise's ready room, just as it had a hundred times before, a storm was brewing.

After years spent together as friends and colleagues and then as bondmates, T'Pol was well in tune with Jonathan's moods. The waves of emotion were nearly enough to take her breath away, but there were also some not-so-subtle visual clues - the furrowed brow, the pursed lips, the slightly incredulous look that told her he was displeased in the highest sense of the word.

I don't know where he gets off, he said at last, reaching out to her through their bond. She scarcely reacted, though she did reach out to take his hand under the table. Gardner put me in command of our deep space forces and then sent a chaperone after me? Does he think I'm stupid?

It's retaliation for what happened at Haakona, nothing more. In a feeble attempt to comfort him, she ran her thumb across his knuckles, and felt him answer in kind.

The mission is just a simple drop. We've done a hundred like these before.

This is nothing like the others, she reminded him, and though he didn't want to acknowledge it, he knew it to be true.

For one long moment, there was silence, silence in their bond, silence in the room, silence in the corridor and to the depths of the cosmos. They were only moments from meeting their guest, so Jonathan elected to broach what was on his mind then and there, rather than wait for a golden opportunity that would never come.

What will we do if they court martial us?

T'Pol tensed up almost imperceptibly, propping her elbow onto the table and gingerly resting her chin in the palm of her free hand. She studied him with what was either great interest or tremendous sorrow, and attempted to come up with a reasonable answer.

Months ago, they'd responded to an outbreak of the Loque'eque virus on the Haakonan homeworld only to discover that the sample that had caused the population's utter decimation had come from their very own sickbay. Seeing as he'd ordered Phlox to put the vial on ice in the first place, Archer had wrestled with his guilt for quite some time, only to discover that wallowing was ultimately counterintuitive to their progress. Following the detonation of a modified nuclear warhead in the upper atmosphere, the serum antidote had taken effect, but they were only able to save a fraction of the population. Others, amounting to several billion people, were doomed to wander the land a shell of their former selves for the rest of their days.

They initially ventured planetside in an attempt to prevent them from committing mass genocide. While they argued with various dignitaries, Anna, Liz, and Hutch wandered into misadventure, discovering that the Romulans had actually taken over an underground military stronghold known as the Vault. So as not to be further be beholden to the Coalition, the Haakonans decided to take destiny into their own hands.

Naturally, the crew of the Enterprise couldn't help but play God.

On the way out, they sacrificed the lives of a few dozen enemy soldiers and a couple hundred imprisoned Betazoids - all victims of the enemy's vicious telepresence campaign. The Most Divine Lady of Betazed, who had been ever so enthusiastic to make their acquaintance years ago just so she and her staff could pick their brains about the war, quickly levied allegations of war crimes against the Coalition of Planets, for which they were ultimately culpable.

Jonathan was entirely sure that she was acting on suggestion of Bran Audet, the rogue temporal agent who had plagued them since they made first contact. He was convinced the neurogenic virus would mean the slaughter of his people, and was desperate to alter the past to prevent it. They had come to blows on the Vulcan transport vessel Saral, and then again on the way to the Battle of Barisa VI where he'd swapped out Malcolm and T'Pol for past versions of themselves in an attempt to convince them to avoid their incident in the Romulan minefield. On Bajor, he had brought Hoshi back to life in exchange for a favor, one that he insisted he could cash out at any time.

It was enough to make him fearful of what he would do next.

As of now it is a board of inquiry, T'Pol finally said. If it turns into a court martial, the most likely defendants will be you, myself, and Lieutenant Cutler. She's the one who discovered the prisoners.

I won't let either of your careers be ruined.

Jonathan…

I mean it. I'll take the blame, I'll take a plea deal…

Though his selflessness was honorable, it was more than a little foolhardy, and she made her feelings on the situation well known. Service, duty, exploration, and adventure were written on his heart like stars upon the sky, and she would never let him throw that all away.

The Maelstrom will catch up with us in a few months. We should review their mission reports from the incident with the Orion Syndicate.

Realization dawned on him slowly, then all at once. You think they had any involvement with…

It's possible, she concluded, then startled as her keen hearing picked up something coming up the hallway. With catlike grace, T'Pol stood, pulling him to his feet in the same fluid motion.

Though his thoughts raged and the burdens of command weighed heavy, he realized she was right. They had at least one more avenue to explore, and he wasn't about to squander it. He wasn't nearly ready to surrender to his fate.

Now that he had found happiness, he wouldn't let it slip away.

You know, Admiral Forrest used to tell me an antidote about all the High Command officers lurking around HQ.

She turned, eyebrow raised, and carefully slipped her hand out of his own. It was a silent dare to complete his sentence, and he was perfectly willing to oblige.

Arguing with a Vulcan is like mud wrestling with a pig. After a while, you give up because you realize they enjoy it.

He could feel the indignation rolling off her in waves. I do not enjoy arguing with you, adun.

Ever so slowly, he leaned forward until his upper body was in her line of sight, and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. The amusement rippled through their bond then, and he understood she recognized just how wildly incorrect that statement was.

Their guests were now close at hand, and the footsteps echoing down the corridor were so loud even he could hear it. Jonathan waited, counting steps in his head, and just as Malcolm rounded the corner, he reached out and tapped her on the ass.

Her reaction was instantaneous; head whipping around in his direction, he caught a few warning sentence fragments, mostly about payback and retribution, which amused them to no end. If they had more time, he might snake an arm around her waist, pull her close, and lay one on her, but for now he was glad to relish in her good-natured consternation, in the knowledge that no matter how madcap the scenario, no matter how distant the odds, they could pull one another from the brink at a moment's notice.

As long as he had T'Pol, he had hope, and as long as he had hope, they still had a chance.

The door slid open, issuing a harried Commander Reed. At the hatch, Ensign Singh stepped aside, and then he was there, fair-haired and freckled and of average build but carrying himself as though he were much taller. He skidded to a halt in front of them and offering a crisp yet wholly unnecessary salute.

Jonathan returned it somewhat awkwardly. "At ease."

His hand shot out, and T'Pol met his overture readily, taken aback by the intensity of his handshake. "Captain Bryce Shumar, at your service. Might I just say what an honor it is to make your acquaintance?"

"You may," T'Pol said quietly, entirely unsure what to say.

"The very first Vulcan in Starfleet, imagine that," he marveled, then took a giant step back, looking at them expectantly. Somewhat wearily, Malcolm gestured towards the table, and he immediately obliged, sliding into the head of the table right where Dita usually sat.

She accepted the intrusion with grace, accepting his proffered PADD and hooking it up to the console. Behind him, the viewscreen flickered to life and the overhead lights dimmed, descending the room into near darkness.

With the press of a button, he summoned an orbital diagram of Shiralea VI - if Jonathan remembered correctly, it was populated by free spirits and vagabonds, twenty-second century hippies that would sooner die on the beach than leave paradise for even a second.

But fate had come knocking, and nothing could have stopped the enemy from taking what they believed was rightfully theirs.

"The Parallax Colony fell a little over six weeks ago. Our ECS convoy only stops by once a month, so it was a while before we realized what had happened." The view shifted again, a pie chart detailing their best estimation of what portion of the ten thousand inhabitants could be rescued fading in from the left. Jonathan frowned, realizing that the odds almost certainly weren't on their side. "They have no formal leader, and I don't think they've touched their subspace beacon since the NX-09 installed it a year ago."

"Convenient," Malcolm mumbled.

Bryce nodded, offering him a warm smile that was entirely out of place given the circumstances. "I'll be honest with you, given how often they've turned away our help, ordinarily I'd argue we have no business risking our hides like this. They say Admiral Thompson's nephew is there. He's some kind of guru, teaching meditation or metaphysics or something like that."

"Black sheep of the family?"

"Naturally. We've been assigned to intercept a trio of medical ships who are on their way to distribute the antidote to the Loque'eque virus. Has your doctor completed the necessary rounds of serum synthesis?"

Dita nodded, passing another PADD into his line of sight. He studied it with only passing interest before casting it aside. "We've got enough for ten thousand, but…"

"They're in such a concentrated area that rapid immunizations won't be a problem. So there's no need to worry about torpedoes…" Malcolm caught his eye, before quickly looking away. "...Or landing parties."

The subtext hit them with all the subtlety of a stun grenade. To T'Pol's credit, she scarcely reacted, leaning across the table to pin him under her gaze. "I understand we've got to break through the blockade to get there."

"Captain Veles and the third Coalition fleet will intersect them tangentially while we take the forward assault. Their contingent is mostly Vulcan, but…"

"They are in position," Dita confirmed, before that remark could reach its inevitable conclusion. "Veles assures me he'll do everything he can to keep them off our six."

"My security chief will be in constant communication. We're fully prepared to use the Essex as bait should we get separated." That was a risky move, and Malcolm was sure he should have known better than to give it. While heavily armored and more sturdy than any NX-class, the Daedalus supports topped out at warp five and were far less maneuverable, making them sitting ducks if their engines were to go down for even a matter of minutes.

"Captain Shumar, I'm not quite sure…"

"This plan has been approved by Admiral Gardner. He's encouraged it," Bryce said, jabbing his pointer finger into the table for emphasis. "My senior staff is more than willing to make the sacrifice."

Malcolm smiled tersely, his lips tight around the biting remark he couldn't quite hold back. "And what about the rest of your crew?"

"What about them?"

"Where do your loyalties lie? With them, or…"

"The Admiral. He's got our best interests at heart, doesn't he?"

They were all struck by it then - how the rest of the fleet must perceive them, how the rest of the Coalition and the population of United Earth must look upon their flagship. The more they knew, the more they could call them out for what they were: ultimately good intentioned, but bumbling and opportunistic, greedy and violent when they needed to be. A deep, gnawing sense of dread settled into Jonathan's gut, one he couldn't shake.

"He does," T'Pol confirmed, as even-keeled as ever. "Do we have additional forces standing by for the possibility our plan doesn't come to fruition?"

"Not unless you want to ask the Antarans or the Vissians," Bryce replied. They both knew that was a very distant possibility - though technically occupying the two closest populated systems, they were declared absolutely neutral in the war, and were known to turn away Coalition ships at the border at the slightest whim.

They were a step above the Denobulans; though they had relaxed their strict quarantine which had kept their homeworld locked down for the first two years of the war, their attendance at the weekly delegation meetings was always a toss up. Forever the suspicious one, T'Pol took their reticence and overall unfriendliness, so atypical for their species, for an indication that there was trouble behind the scenes. Jonathan couldn't help but agree.

"We've lucky to have you here, Captain," he said at last, standing and causing a ripple of movement around the table. Shumar's PADD came apart from the center console, and the lights flickered on. When he met his gaze, his smile was radiant, a welcome benediction from the horrors they were soon to experience.

"I agree. If you need me…"

"We will await your signal," T'Pol interrupted, gesturing for him to follow into the corridor. He obliged, but the others remained, nursing a tense silence between them.

Dita frowned, holding onto the back of her chair for dear life. She felt restless, anxious, as though her heart would burst through her chest at any moment.

"Malcolm," she stammered, and he startled, turning on his heels to face her. "Sir. I have to ask. Would you…"

He didn't say anything. His thumb was already working, turning his wedding band over and over again on his ring finger. Slowly, the mask he'd been wearing for days on end melted off, and his shoulders slumped, indicative of his acceptance of the inevitable. Finally, she found the right words to express her misgivings.

"Would you follow a madman into battle, even if you knew it could only end in disaster?"

The ensuing smile was entirely unexpected.

"Oh, Ensign…" With his free hand, he reached out to the hatch, lingering over the controls. "I think we're far past that."

---

Weeks passed. Months. Eventually, he lost track of it and resigned to the passage of time, to an endless book of days that he knew he would never complete.

Pascal talked a big game around Garcia, but in all actuality, he was crumbling from within. His family, his friends, his career and his aspirations all slipped away. There was only his undercover persona Von, the former cargo pilot in the service of the High Command who had defected and brought along dozens of Coalition warheads with him. He was a traitor and a horrid, unforgivable liar, and if he never knew pleasure or comfort again for as long as he lived he would deserve it.

After all, he had sent enough Betazoids to their doom. He'd dragged them to the telepresence units by their ankles and wrists and hair, listened to them beg and plead as he injected them with the neurogenic virus that would kill them within minutes. If they managed to overpower him and fall to their knees in their emaciated state, he would kick them in the teeth just as the centurion demanded and increase the dose. Once they were dead, he and his comrades would drag them to the garbage chute, and the process would repeat all over again.

And all the while Rachel was waiting on First Consul T'Leikha, fetching her meals and brushing her hair and drawing her baths. He would be lying if he said he didn't envy her.

Their strategic positions on board did afford them a perspective no other covert operative had - namely, their continued surveillance on a particular enigmatic envoy of Infantry Special Ops.

Nieron, along with being unlike any other Denobulan he'd ever met, almost certainly had ulterior motives. He moved fleetingly across the ship, dashing in and out of classified areas, invariably disappearing like a phantom when enemy soldiers appeared. He bided his time, fed just enough intel to Valdore and Solan to earn his keep, and - if Rachel's suspicions were correct - had almost certainly seen T'Leikha without her mask.

He could only stand back and observe now as he shooted his shot with another high ranking member of Logistics Command, the formidable Dr. T'Uerell, with the absolute assurance of a man who was positive that he could not fail. She barely gave him the time of day, instead moving about her laboratory with tremendous purpose, inflicting unspeakable acts upon scores of Betazoid prisoners without pause.

Simon remained at the back of the room, blank-faced, perfectly undisturbed by the hideous violence happening around him. Rather, he listened. He waited.

"What did you say the problem was?"

"A slipped disc in my back. I've been fighting it for about thirty years now. It's an old work injury."

She shook her head, clicking her tongue, then reached past him to seize a handful of electrodes on the table. Nieron flexed his arm all the way up to the shoulder and ghosted his fingertips over the curve of her waist, steadying her as she took a step back.

"I cannot help you. As I told you before, I'm not that kind of doctor." As if to prove her point, T'Uerell retrieved her laser micro-caliper and switched it on, flooding the space between the electrodes with a spark of green electricity. She moved away from his grasp, stepping up to the control panel and using the ancient microphone to speak to the weeping and trembling Betazoid man within. "Is there a particular deity to which you would like to make an appeal?"

He gasped, clutching his chest, then slumped forward reverently on his knees, offering a silent prayer to this masked angel of death. His clothes were in tatters, his bones peeking through the skin, and he practically effused mortal terror from every pore. His mouth opened and closed desperately, as though he wanted to say something but lacked the strength. Even from a distance, Simon could see the sorrow in his eyes, black as the darkest night.

T'Uerell was apparently feeling impatient, because in that next moment she reached out and connected the alligator clips to the power source, causing electricity to shoot out of the walls and seek its ground like a lightning rod.

Her unwitting victim screamed and convulsed, causing a ripple of wails to rise up from the corner of the room. A trio of prisoners waited there, still chained up against the wall, blubbering and whispering in their native language as they attempted to make peace with their imminent fate.

Once she was sure he was dead, she disengaged the battery, then studied her computer display with interest. "Six seconds. Could be faster," she mumbled, taking note on her personal PADD. After one long moment, she gestured indistinctly over her shoulder, demanding: "Next!"

Simon didn't hesitate, grabbing the collar of a young woman who couldn't have been much older than his little sister (the one he would never see again, he reminded himself) and hauling her to her feet. She thrashed, so he delivered a swift punch to her abdomen, dragging her the length of the room and sealing her in the chamber without even bothering to remove the first unfortunate. Preparing to return to his post, he locked eyes with Nieron, who appeared completely nonplussed.

"Where's my Coalition prisoners?" She demanded. "The ones from the captured ECS convoy?"

"My centurion says they aren't done questioning them," he answered automatically in flawless Vulcan, and it was true. He'd helped drag a few dozen terrified humans from the transport and deliver the first round of beatings, before allowing the Tal Shiar to step in. They'd been at it for weeks, systematically demoralizing and forcing them to turn against one another, and only really wanted to turn them over for experimentation once they had thoroughly taken everything they had to give.

"Unacceptable," she grumbled, and he hurried away, not wanting to incur her wrath any farther.

"Are you sure you don't have any painkillers sitting around?"

"What do you think?" The Romulan gestured towards the whimpering woman within, then fully turned her back towards him, indicating that she couldn't be bought and she couldn't be charmed.

But perhaps she could be swayed.

"Do the command codes I've given you suit your purpose?"

"They have, and they will awhile longer," she replied, her focus entirely on the screen before her. "At least until the Maelstrom catches on."

Nieron shifted from foot to foot and averted his gaze, if only for a second. Curiously, he felt his eyes on him, and knew he was desperate to redirect. "Wouldn't you much rather use hybrids for your experiments? They seem to be plentiful around here."

"Our target isn't our allies," T'Uerell said adamantly. "Betazoid physiology is much more similar to that of the enemy."

"But you have used them before."

"Of course."

"So you know how it is to betray your own."

"Don't you?" She paused, her fingers hovering over the switch, and inside their prisoner breathed a visible sigh of relief. When Nieron didn't respond instantly, she dug in deeper: "We know about your betrothed. What do you think she'd say if she knew you were still alive?"

"I would hope she'd take me back. At the very least, that she'd have me in her life."

"Then you're as unintelligent as you are delusional." T'Uerell made a big show of beckoning the prisoner to move forward, forcing her to crawl over the body of her fallen comrade before hitting the controls and shocking her into oblivion. This time, the scream was nothing short of deafening. "How long was it before your wedding that you disappeared? Ten days? Same morning her father was killed?"

"You've done your research."

"I am simply observing what a tremendous coincidence that is."

"I had nothing to do with that, okay?" He took a deep, shuddering breath, then gripped the edge of the table with force, coming to well within her personal space. "If she knew the pressure I was...at any rate, I was simply following orders."

"As must we all," T'Uerell agreed, gesturing for assistance from the back. Simon reacted immediately, grabbing an elderly man from the point where his hands were shackled together and dragging him forward.

It occurred to him then that Nieron must not know of the nature of the Xantoras mission, how their former mentor had conned them and twisted the truth and dragged them along for years, all the while hiding that he was really to blame for General Taxa's death during a weapons trade gone wrong. Years later, they'd uncovered his dalliance in trade with the Romulans, which he suspected extended into information as well. The possibilities were all too real to ignore.

"You seem to know a lot about her," he pressed forward, unyielding.

"She is as of great interest to us, even in her service to Starfleet."

Nieron was momentarily confused. "Because of her involvement with Special Ops?"

T'Uerell hesitated. As she replied, they locked eyes, and it was all he could do to prevent his heart from dropping through his stomach. "Right."

There was a moment of silence wherein she and Nieron were sizing each other up until finally, finally, she dared to go for the jugular.

"I understand she is married. You've got your work cut out for you."

"I've seen the announcement on the news channels," he acknowledged. "He's nothing special."

Dear God, how familiar that tone was. It reeked of bitterness and the inevitable crack in his armor. It signified an opportunity that he had to seize.

"Why do you say that?"

"He's human. They're inhibited, humorless…"

"You have not met the humans that I have."

"The ones you torture don't count."

"I never said they did." Ever so slowly, she reached back to adjust the straps of her mask, ensuring it was secure. "How curious that you have sacrificed everything, and yet he has the one thing you can never have."

That very clearly enraged him. Simon watched as his neck and shoulders tensed, his eyebrows raising, his nostrils flaring. For one moment, he was sure he was about to snap, until he suddenly relaxed and all tension fled.

"I do have something he doesn't." Pausing to make sure he had her interest, he added: "Are you aware the Coalition is preparing a preemptive strike?"

At last, she had him exactly where she wanted him. T'Uerell leaned in with interest, close enough to where he could whisper conspiratorially.

"Have you ever heard of a system called Vorkado?"

---

Trip came awake, slowly and then all at once, from a horrific nightmare he'd experienced time and time again.

In his dreamworld, he was barefoot and running on broken glass, attempting to escape an unseen assailant. Several beacons were on him, blindingly bright, searing what felt like holes into the bare skin of his back. From all around, people were shouting and screaming, people he loved, people he knew, people who had died a long time ago. He keenly recognized his little sister Lizzie, Crewman Taylor, and Hoshi - the moment he slowed, he felt strong hand gripping his ankles, causing him to fall and the glass to slice him from waist to collarbone as he was drawn backwards into oblivion.

Now, in the real world, the cold metal of the deck plating underneath him came as a shock to the senses. His mouth was hideously dry and his head was pounding - not only that, the voices around him were lost to a series of echo-like distortions, as though they were underwater and tremendously far away at the same time.

"You know, I'm starting to think that man might not be an ambassador after all."

"Don't make me punch you, Corporal. I might not have the strength right now." He opened his eyes just in time to see Alira rock forward into a sitting position, tucking her legs underneath her. She leaned into the wall with her free hand, seething through clenched teeth, no doubt struggling with nausea.

"Transponder frequencies can be faked," Julia mused, and he flexed his fingers and reached out to her, finally gaining purchase against the sweat-soaked fabric of her uniform. "Maybe he wants something from the Maelstrom."

"They've got to notice we've been missing by now. We must've been dosed with some kind of psychedelic - I'm still seeing floaters." Kemper was the first to stagger to his feet, squinting into the overhead lights in an otherwise windowless and doorless room. "Maybe it came in through the air vents."

"It was coating the inside of the glasses, every single one but his. You scanned the wine bottle, but you didn't…" Julia trailed off, groaning, and retched into her elbow.

He finally managed to roll onto his side, then onto his back, blinking into the very concerned face of his MACO chief. Kemper offered him a hand and he accepted it, drawing his strength from him until he could at long last stand on solid ground. "Where the hell are we?"

"I have no idea, but they took our communicators and our tricorders and our weapons…"

"Still on the ship," he interrupted, holding up a hand to encourage them all to fall silent. Sure enough, far above them, the impulse reactors were turning over again and again. The familiar drag was absent, indicating that they were still at rest. That much came as a relief. "Lower decks, unless I missed my guess."

"Hold on!" Alira suddenly shifted, unzipping her uniform to reveal her tactical vest, pushing the ballistic layer aside just enough to reach for what was underneath. There was a momentary struggle before she finally located what she was looking for and held her spare phase pistol up in the air.

Trip exhaled. "Taxa, I apologize for every single time I made fun of you for being strapped constantly."

"It's about time."

Behind her, Julia seemed to come to a similar realization. Unsnapping her cuff links, she rolled her sleeves up to the elbow and was relieved to find the trigger of her body alarm still pressed firmly against her skin. She pressed it and waited for the red light to start blinking, confirming the signal had been sent.

"At least one of you wears that without being prompted," Alira said, none too subtly giving him the once over.

"Forget about that." It was his turn to help her to her feet. Together, they looked around the perimeter of the room. "What does this remind you of?"

The ruins on Yadalla Prime, which they'd taken to calling the Romulan fortress of doom. There they'd taken refuge from a plasma storm and located a hidden subspace beacon, intercepting the intelligence that had led them back to Solnara and the first major battle of the war.

It was all so far in the distant past, though the resulting trauma was for the moment quite close at hand.

"Start looking for a button somewhere in the wall." Alira eagerly set to the task, running her hands between the seams of the bulkheads, intermittently punching and rapping on the metal and listening for an echo. Soon, they all joined her, and it was only a matter of time before some mechanical switch was triggered and the floor opened up, almost directly underneath Saben's feet.

They all approached it, tentatively at first, studying the staircase which descended into total nothingness. Trip knew they really should be staying put, that they were like the people in those old horror movie who chose to wander off rather than stay with the group, but something deep within him told him to investigate. He took one step forward, only to be nearly clotheslined by Sergeant Kemper.

For once, he didn't argue, and they followed him into the darkness in a single-file line. The second Saben reached the bottom step, the hatch slid shut above them, effectively cutting them off from their only light source.

"I sure hope you know where we're going."

"If we keep moving, it will be easier for the Maelstrom to pick up on our signal." Julia dearly hoped they were only moments from getting beamed away, but didn't dare jinx their chances. "Do you think this is retribution for what happened on Tarkalea?"

Perhaps. They had conspired with First Monarch Kaitaama to deprive them of coveted replicator technology, but surely that wasn't enough cause to go to the trouble of impersonating an ambassador and kidnapping an entire away team. His mind rapidly cycled through everything they knew about Ktarians, and came up empty.

"These people like games, don't they?" Alira tripped over an exposed pipe, and very nearly face planted into the floor of the tunnel, saving herself with an outstretched hand by the last possible second. "Senator Jlaris kept trying to get Hoshi to put on this headset back on Rigel V - all he kept saying was that it was a game, that it felt good. Maybe he's trying to do something similar."

"To what end? Are we supposed to reveal state secrets? Turn against one another? Are they watching, just for their own amusement?" To punctuate his barrage of questions, Trip looked up at the ceiling, half expecting to find a row of cameras aimed right at them. Coming up empty, he rounded the corner and almost immediately smacked into Kemper, who had stopped just ahead of a large hatch in the wall.

From somewhere behind them, Alira heaved a massive sigh, and passed her phase pistol to the front of the line. "Might as well. We've come this far."

---

Travis was dreaming when the comm stirred him from a deep slumber.

Instinctively, he rolled over and reached across the mattress, only to come to the realization that his companion was gone. He was alone in their first officer's bed, wrapped up in her covers, surrounded by the remnants of her perfume and warmth, and someone very desperately wanted his attention.

The lamp came on, and he finally hit the comm, whispering: "Mayweather here."

It was Hoshi, and if she was curious as to why the computer had located him there instead of his quarters, she didn't show it. "You might want to come up to the bridge, Travis. We've got a situation."

"A situation?"

She said nothing. She didn't need to - a second later, he was on his feet, shimmying back into his shorts and then into his uniform, out the door in record time.

He found Ethan and Hoshi standing at the conn, stances wide and armed crossed, wearing identically bewildered expressions. Kelby paced back and forth in front of the viewscreen, immeasurably furious, struggling to control the volume of his voice as he argued with whoever was on the other end of the line.

"It is very simple, Mr. Kelby. If you want your crewmen back, you must outwit me. I promise you, this game can be quite enjoyable."

"Not going to happen," he emphasized, punctuating his words with heavy steps into the deck plating. "Give them back, or we will be forced to open fire."

"I can tell you're new to the command chair. It really is quite amusing, much like seeing our tiny playthings move about on our game board…"

"I've already notified Starbase 1. We've got full authorization to arrest you. Surrender our people now, and I won't recommend the death penalty." They all knew he didn't have the power to do that, but seeing as his bluff was quite convincing, they were all too willing to back him up.

"Our next course of action would be to destroy your ship. You've got what…" Ethan trailed off, squinting at the Ktarian interceptor on their viewscreen. A breathless three escaped Travis's lips, and he reacted instantaneously. "Three torpedo launchers? We've got eight. Your ship is no match for us."

It was all coming back to Travis now - when Julia left in the middle of the night, she'd taken the time to assure him she'd be back soon, that there was no reason to wait up. Drowsy and love drunk, he'd attempted to pull her back down onto the bed, resulting in a brief struggle and a flurry of kisses. He'd drifted off asleep soon after that and thought nothing of it, which he understood had been a grave mistake on his part.

"And who are you?"

"The tactical officer," Ethan replied nonchalantly, making his way over to Alira's station and taking a seat. His hands hovered over the targeting sensors, deliberately forcing his voice louder than it had any right to be. "What do you think, sir? Should we send them a message?"

"Fire at will, Lieutenant."

He complied, and in the next few seconds, they all watched as a phase cannon pulse shot off into empty space at least ninety degrees off their target on the horizontal axis. There was an awkward pause, wherein Hoshi treated him to a slack-jawed look of horror, not so subtly suggesting that he not give up his day job.

"Right," their opponent said, entirely amused by their plight. "Listen, I'll ask you to give me a number between one and ten. This game can be a lot of fun if you let it. Of course, this can all go away for the right price…"

"What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"Four?" He repeated incredulously. "Very well. Double your risk, double your reward. We will be in touch shortly with their results."

Before they could say anything else, the connection ended, and this time Hoshi did react, pitching her PADD at him from across the room. Ethan dodged it with ease, hurrying off towards the science station and bending to his work.

"The actual Ambassador Etazar contacted us about ten minutes ago - he's caught up on some starbase with engine trouble. We have no idea who the hell this man is, or what he wants..." Hoshi exhaled loudly in frustration.

"We're lucky we even received that body alarm. I can't pick up their biosigns through their deflective shielding."

Kelby dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his temples. "Could we transport in?"

"Not a chance. So that leaves…"

"Driving right up to their front door. Would you mind piloting, Travis?" He hesitated momentarily, not really grasping what was going on, and she must have known it. "Look, Trip's down there. I'm not going to just sit back and let this happen. Are you?"

"No," he said adamantly, thinking about Julia and their encounter on the World Ender at Galorndon Core and the absolute terror she must have been contending with, back then and in the here and now. As one, they turned to Kelby, and he sighed wearily, fully contending with the burden of command on his shoulders.

---

Forcing their way into the room, the away team was greeted by another empty chamber, stretching out as far as the eye could see with recessed lighting set into the walls. Trip took a step inside and immediately felt a hand reach out and seize him by the back of the uniform, pulling him into the threshold in one fluid motion.

"Feel how hot that is," Saben said, his hand hovering a few centimeters over the ground. Kemper confirmed his findings, and for one long moment, no one said anything as they calculated their next move.

"I bet you anything we're standing over the ship's incinerator," Alira mused. Her eyes traveled over the cobblestoned deck plating, looking for raised panels and vulnerabilities. When nothing immediately jumped out to her, she shouldered past them, testing the first stone with the back of her heel. "One wrong move, and…"

"You must be kidding." Julia squinted into the distance, studying the next hatch far in the distance. She still wasn't ready to buy that the Ktarians had drugged them just to shove them into some kind of subterranean obstacle course, that they were waiting in the wings for one or more of them to die. Though they had met plenty of depraved people in their travels, none of them had been so overtly evil for no reason at all.

"Sergeant," she prompted, finally emerging at the front of the line. Kemper reached out to her, snaking his hand all the way up her forearm and squeezing tightly. Together they took their first hesitant step into the unknown, first with the toes of their boots, then with their whole weight, teetering unevenly as they did so.

At one point, Kemper's heel caught an adjoining stone, and it quickly crumbled, giving way to a towering inferno that leapt right up through the opening and momentarily blinded them in a flash of light. He very nearly stumbled back into her, but she caught him by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground. The heat was suddenly unbearable, and a trickle of perspiration began to run down the side of Trip's face, entirely unbidden.

"You know, Taxa, I'm not sure I like this."

"Sir," she said carefully, mustering as much professionalism as she could. "You're welcome to just wait there in the tunnel if you don't want to go on ahead."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Julia inching closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture, then nodded, being ever so careful to hit the same stones they did just a few seconds prior.

It felt like years, but they finally reached the other side, and all but collapsed against one another in relief. Julia did actually crouch down and bury her face in her hands, trying and failing to control her racing heart. Straightening up, he turned just in time to see Saben start to move across the space.

All the while, Kemper and Alira were peering into the next stretch of darkness, heads bent together, whispering quietly to themselves. She afforded him a reassuring pat on the back, and he smiled, taking one step forward into the shadows.

The second he crossed the threshold, the emergency bulkhead slammed shut, forcing him sideways and trapping him between the wall and the door, cutting a wide swath of blood from his hips to his shoulder.

Saben faltered and very nearly tumbled into the hole they created just moments earlier, before catching himself and crawling the rest of the way. Julia shrieked, and then they were on him, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him out from the opening.

The sergeant was wide-eyed and in visceral shock, panting heavily, trying to get the words out but failing entirely. Alira seemed to get the hint, slapping their hands away and giving him room to breathe.

"The door…" He gasped, groping desperately at where the metal had sunk several centimeters into his flesh.

They understood then, horrifically, tragically, that the hatch was the only thing holding his innards within his chest. She intertwined their fingers together, never once breaking eye contact, and whispered: "I know. Tell me what you want me to do."

"My girlfriend…" He tapped his chest with his free hand, which was barely visible through the gap. "My family…"

"Who else?"

"Use Chang." His voice was a whisper now, and with every breath, more and more blood stained his fatigues. "Knows the crew. Overdue for a promotion."

"He is," Alira agreed, closing the distance between them and cupping his cheek. He leaned gratefully into her touch, tears stinging his eyes, and attempted to breathe through the pain.

"We'll stay here as long as we can, Nathan," Trip promised, though even with that added assurance he knew he couldn't last much longer.

"My friend." She stood on her toes to kiss his temple, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there. "You've done so well. I'm going to…"

"Don't," he hissed breathlessly, at the very moment the door spontaneously released and sent him crumpling to the floor.

Alira was on him in a second, gathering him into her arms and attempting to staunch the flow of blood with her hands. When all else proved hopeless, she bent down and covered him with her body, holding him through as his remaining strength fled and oblivion overtook him in one swift, crushing wave.

In the ensuing silence, filled with nothing but their own cries, Trip raised his hands towards the ceiling, screaming: "Where are you? I know you hear me!"

---

After all his years with the service, it never failed to amaze Malcolm just how fast a mission could go wrong.

Of course, it always started out fine - they engaged the enemy blockage at full impulse, hoping to force their lines to part with the threat of a collision. Of course, their ships were immovable, and they were forced to dodge them at the last second, banking hard to the left in an attempt to provide a distraction. It worked for the most part; a trio of birds-of-prey broke free and followed them, exposing their vulnerable aft sections just as the Coalition fleet dropped out of warp.

This was a majority Vulcan detachment, more out of convenience than anything, and they moved with the same logical efficiency he had grown to expect out of their captain. The NX-08 Apollo and NX-15 Artemisia filled out their ranks, flanked on either side by massive, pyramidal Kriosian battleships, so blindingly shimmering and garishly purple that he forced himself to look away.

They clashed at once on this makeshift battlefield in a hail of weapons fire and exploding torpedoes. He supposed they were fortunate there were no World Enders among their ranks this time; as much as he hated to make such comparisons, it likely cut their anticipated losses from thousands to hundreds.

Malcolm hated to think just how long he'd been making bargaining chips out of human lives.

"Come about. Let's have another go at their flagship," Archer said at last, and at the helm Hutch eagerly set to his task, pushing the inertial dampeners to their limit and hitting their arc with ease, sending them spinning out into a displacement roll and barreling through the debris cloud of a bird-of-prey that had just imploded.

T'Pol didn't have to say anything. He watched her hand tense up over her chair's armrest, and he let loose a volley of photonic torpedoes that only just missed their target. She frowned, almost imperceptibly, and he added a nuclear warhead for good measure. This finally caught their attention, and they careened out of control into open space. The Daedalus-class supports answered the unspoken call, and they were soon swarmed by them on all sides.

Seemingly anticipating the outcome, Hutch guided them to withdraw, pulling them outside of the blast range as the ship burst apart, sending tremors through the entire hull and setting everything that wasn't physically bolted down on the bridge to vibrate.

When the smoke cleared, they realized that they'd just blown a hole wide open in the enemy's blockade, and at once they followed the general consensus of the rest of the fleet and moved to close the gap.

They were no more than a couple hundred kilometers past them when a second line appeared, decloaking and spelling out their imminent doom.

Each of them realized, but didn't dare lend credence to it, that they were now trapped between two rapidly closing front lines, that unless they acted quickly, they would all be slaughtered like so many ECS convoys and Hijacker victims before them.

The Essex beat them to it.

"Shumar to T'Pol."

"Go ahead."

"I've just spoken to Captain Ausbury of the Artemisia. She's going to take the serum the rest of the way. All we need to do is get to her."

On the other side of the second line. They could see the NX-15 now, weaving in and out of enemy fire, being bracketed and surrounded by Vulcan battle cruisers who would no doubt escort them safely to the colony at Shiralea VI. The only issue was getting the cargo container safely into their waiting arms.

"You're closer," Jonathan advised. "Launch a shuttlepod and we'll beam it over to you."

"Our launch bay has been damaged. The only way is to…"

Hutch felt a hand land solidly on his shoulder, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Swiftly, he vacated the helm, only to be replaced by the Commodore, who looked perfectly comfortable assuming the station he'd held so many years before. His next order left no confusion as to his intentions: "Go."

He'd never run so fast in his life. On the way, he caught two field medics on their way to engineering and forced them to abandon their stretcher, helping him carry the cryogenic stasis unit down the steps and into Shuttlepod One.

At least they'd had the good sense to remotely start the engine before he got there.

If he had more time to think about it, he might have been a little offended that Bryce insisted on beaming over to assist him. Rather, he'd heard about him and his reputation - that he was known as a micromanager, that he ran a tight ship, that he was part of a rare breed that never wanted to progress past his current rank. Seeing as he was in a similar boat, his mind immediately determined that they had something in common, an assumption that would soon be disproven.

"Do you have faith the Enterprise will be on our tail?"

"Of course," he replied evenly, not daring to look in his direction as he clambered into the co-pilot's seat. They were dodging phase cannon fire and torpedo shrapnel, and the hull was shaking so loudly he was almost positive they would fly apart. "The Commodore's at the helm. You can't get a finer pilot than that."

Or perhaps they could - but who knew exactly where his old friend Travis Mayweather was at the moment?

"I'll trust your judgment. Second star to the left and straight on til morning." At his incredulous look, he offered him a wary smile and continued: "Bearing one-twenty-five mark six. The gap between those ships is so small they might just miss us on short-range sensors."

He obeyed him none too enthusiastically, watching as their target vanished and reappeared on the horizon. Hutch knew they were waiting on them, that there were thousands of people counting on him, but also that he was a hair's breadth from death at any one moment. Several birds-of-prey caught on to his movements and laid in pursuit, and it was all he could do to maintain evasive actions while weaving through the debris field with Captain Shumar's voice in his ear.

"Do you have a family, Ensign Hutchison?"

This was a hell of a time to make small talk, seeing as they were being converged upon from all sides. At one point a volley from the Enterprise missed its intended target and whizzed past their impulse engine by a fraction of a meter, causing his heart to all but drop through his stomach.

"No," he ground out, and hoped that would be the end of that.

"Then you've sacrificed too much. This can't be the only thing, you know. I'm sure you've felt that." Without being told, he made a course correction, and the shuttlepod rocketed away towards the new position of the Artemisia farther out into open space.

He knew he shouldn't be talking about this now, that it didn't matter and it would probably only get him in trouble, but Hutch was so irritated in that moment that he could hold back. "Yes, as a matter of fact I've considered resigning my commission once the war is over. This isn't what I signed up for."

"But it is your lot in life, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"Do your CO's dirty work so they can pretend they have the moral high ground?" They actually did manage to get sideswiped by a flying piece of debris, sending them into a tailspin. Hutch bit back a curse and eventually managed to regain control of the clutch, rolling them into a tight pursuit curve of the rapidly retreating back of the nearest Vulcan cruiser. Shumar released his hold on the upper railing, and he was surprised he hadn't left a dent in it. "Face it, Mr. Hutchison. All these people back home, we're their shining beacon of hope, a shining angel in a starlit sky, untouchable like the heroes of antiquity."

"Are we really?"

"Sure. Just biding our time, writing a piece of a much larger story, maintaining this illusion of virtuous Starfleet." With perfect nonchalance, he reached out and hit the comm. "Shuttlepod One to Artemisia."

A second later, a woman's voice, breathless with exertion: "Go ahead."

"Lock onto our cargo and beam it out as soon as you can. Then get the hell out of here."

"And the Commodore…"

"Agrees with me. Godspeed, Captain."

The connection closed, and then the only thing left was to close the distance between them. Hutch slammed on the accelerator, listening to his own heartbeat thud away in his chest, laying down a percussive accompaniment to the chaos going on outside.

In that moment, despite his most sincere attempts not to, he managed to put two and two together.

"How long have you been on the board of inquiry for the Haakonan incident?"

To his credit, he didn't even try to deny it. "A few weeks now. I wanted to get a feel for what we're up against."

The way he said that, so cavalier and dismissively, made his stomach twist in knots. He would try his best to wish it all away, but the fact of the matter was that he'd been there when all those Betazoids were killed, and along with Anna and Liz, he would be one of the first to be charged.

It was all very horrific and very possible and very real.

As they crossed into transporter distance, barely skirting the hull of the Artemisia, he added for good measure: "Believe me, it's not my preference, but it's my duty to see the lot of you slapped down hard for the good of the service."

"All of us?" He questioned, just as the tell-tale shimmer of light spirited the cargo container away. Hutch didn't hesitate, making an about face and sending them screaming towards the advancing Coalition line.

"Some of you," he said quietly, and in the space between them, leaned in so his meaning couldn't be any more blatant. "Think about it."

---

Together they carried what remained of Sergeant Kemper into the next room, arranging him with the utmost care against the wall. By that time, they were all thoroughly covered in blood, and the smell was enough to turn Trip's stomach on end. He dry heaved into his elbow, turning along with the rest of the away team to study the set up in the middle of the room.

A smooth, round stone was built into the floor, slightly raised, just so that two people could slide their legs underneath it. Two crystal goblets awaited them, filled with the same wine from before, as well as a PADD whose screen was the only beacon of light in the otherwise blinding darkness.

Alira went to retrieve it, slowly, carefully, navigating the shaking in her extremities. "The truth will mean your deliverance or your demise. Two must drink to reach the next level, and only one will continue."

"No way. Absolutely not." Julia realized, just as much as the rest of them, that the presence of this unexpected gift meant that there was an exit somewhere in the room. She began to kick along the bulkheads, her outrage over the situation only growing by the second. Once she reached the corner, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted: "We're not going to do this!"

Her voice echoed back to her over and over again, reducing in volume until fading into nothingness.

"What happens if we just…"

His question was precluded by the PADD beeping again, and Alira read aloud: "Do it, or we'll kill you and everyone on your ship."

Trip sighed raggedly, desperately attempting to calibrate his internal clock. Had it been minutes, or hours, or days? The Maelstrom could already be gone, or halfway across the galaxy. The uncertainty was maddening.

"I'll do it, and then make myself vomit." She cut a glance towards Saben, who nodded reverently. "We've done it before after ingesting poisons."

"Back when we were undercover on Keto-Enol," he agreed, and went to sit down.

He wasn't entirely sure they were thinking straight, and planned to make that abundantly clear. "You don't need to do this, Taxa. We can just wait it out."

"Then what, risk all of us dying? The fleet needs you, sir."

"I promised Malcolm I would keep you safe."

"And I promised to protect you with my life," she replied, her voice warping with emotion. They locked eyes, and he nodded, watching as they settled in for a date with destiny.

It took a couple of seconds, but Alira finally made her selection, reaching across the table to grab the glass closest to him. They seemingly had a one track mind, because he mirrored the gesture, and they remained that way for quite some time, sizing each other up.

"Walk with the light," she said at last, offering the traditional offering of good will usually made before any battle in the Infantry.

Saben smiled and completed the sentiment: "To the death."

They drank then, just a sip, barely enough to coat their tongues. Together they were frozen in place, grimacing and shuddering, until Alira turned to one side and clutched her stomach, retching all over the floor.

Trip turned away, pulling Julia with him. He couldn't stand the sound of someone throwing up, nevermind the fact that they were actively engaged in trying to save their own lives.

It took a couple of minutes, but they finally gathered themselves and regarded one another from across the table. Saben reached for her, and she obliged, propping her elbow onto the stone and holding her hand towards his palm up, coming to within centimeters of actually making physical contact.

"Are we okay?" He questioned, searching her face, perhaps not referring to the poison at all.

"I think so."

"You had me scared. I hope they don't think we cheated. I'm wondering how long it's going to be before they let us out of here."

"And I'm wondering just how many loved ones I have to lose before the universe decides it's taught me a lesson," she answered, just as her expression fell and she realized exactly what was happening.

"Ensign, stop talking. You don't have to…"

"No, no, can we talk about that?" Saben gestured with his free hand, pointing towards her in an accusatory manner. "Nguyen wasn't my fault. Is it too hard for you to accept that he might have been a traitor? That he was the only option we had?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Alira, you've known me for years! Have I ever been duplicitous, or vengeful, or purposefully hurt someone when the job didn't depend on it?"

"Plenty of times. That's why you were the best."

"The best?" Julia questioned, looking between them, worried that she would soon have to break up a fist fight.

"I know the two of you are aware of this, with all those classified files HQ makes you read." Alira made a face, understanding she was saying too much but being powerless to stop it. "In Special Ops, our cell wasn't any regular group of envoys. We were a government-sanctioned kill squad, and we kept a running tally as if it were a sport. That's my burden to bear. I can meditate and attend therapy all I want, but I'll never be able to put that behind me."

And there it was. The real reason he'd always been so hesitant around her, been suspicious of her every move and questioned her motives at every turn. Even though the list of confirmed targets within her file was abbreviated, she knew her body count lay somewhere north of one hundred. Now that it was out in the open, he could deny it to himself no longer.

"And who talked me into joining in the first place? It was just after my father died. I was in a vulnerable place, I could have just remained in the command division and attended to my duties without going on these field trips all the time and…" She trailed off, turning her head, glaring at Saben. He had pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, squeezing tightly, shaking with all his might. "It was you - you and Captain Varox. It's a great opportunity, you said. I could work out some aggression, you said. Tell me, were you working with him? Did you have something to do with my father's death?"

He didn't answer. From the opposite side of the wall, they heard screaming and weapons fire.

Alira leapt across the table toward him, seizing him by the collar and forcing him to the ground. She was enraged, but her voice was quiet, treacherous. "Answer me! It was my father, and then Nieron, and then Jimmy, wasn't it?"

"No! I had nothing to do with…"

"Stop lying to me!" She roared, pulling the fabric so tight he could scarcely breathe. "You stink of lying, you reek of it, and so help me if you don't tell me the truth I'm going to beat you into the ground!"

"Taxa…"

"Jimmy was collateral damage," Saben finally whispered, pulling away from her grasp. She released him but remained straddling his chest, pressing his arms into the deck plating and effectively holding him captive. He was sweating profusely, trembling once again, and Trip recognized the inevitable. "I needed to frame someone for...for…"

"For what?" Leaning forward, she all but pressed her nose against his in an attempt to coax it out of him. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then he hacked up a massive amount of blood, thoroughly coating her face and upper body. Shrieking, she rolled to the side and clawed at her own eyes. He began to convulse, whatever he was about to say coming out in a series of half-syllables and strangulated gasps. Julia immediately went to his side, taking hold of his hand and attempting to clear his airway as he aspirated on his own fluids.

"Don't say anything," she encouraged, but he was determined not to listen.

"I stole your command codes and sent them away. It was either that or my family and my ex-wives..."

Ever so slowly, she rose to her feet, and for one long moment, it was if none of them were there at all. Trip watched, horrified, as she turned and leaned over him with unspeakable rage in her eyes.

"Sent them to who?" When he didn't - couldn't - reply, she bent over further to look him in the eye. That same Denobulan grin was back, but it was cold, dispassionate. "Now you listen to me. I don't subscribe to this human idea of heaven or hell, but wherever you're going, I hope it's a very, very dark place."

"Alira...your betrothed...he's..."

"And when you're gone, just know that I will think of you no longer. I won't sit for your Rite of Absolution, and I won't mourn for you. It'll be just like you never existed." He hissed, blubbering and choking on his own tears, but she ignored it, using the toe of her boot to turn his chin. "Now, I want you to watch me walk away."

Julia swiftly covered his eyes with her hand, affording him a bit of physical comfort. His lips sputtered around a few aborted attempts at her name, perhaps an apology, and she tried to assuage his concerns, whispering: "I understand. Saben, I forgive you."

Even though she didn't and she probably wouldn't.

In spite of himself, he smiled, reaching for the phase pistol strapped to her belt. Silently, she understood, allowing him to take it and bury the barrel into his sternum.

End it, he mouthed, fully beyond speech at this point. His lips were turning blue, and there was nothing she could do about it. Please.

She didn't realize she was crying until her tears fell and began to fall onto his chest. Trip didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe, and Julia didn't have the time to react before Saben took his fate into his own hands, emptying a single round into his chest.

At that moment, a hatch hidden in the wall slid to one side, reviewing an equally chaotic scene. Hoshi was holding who they had presumed to be Ambassador Etazar at gunpoint. His guards lay in an unconscious heap around them, surrounded by Travis and Kelby and assorted MACOs, and at long last their hideous plight was over.

On the far end of the room, the spell seemed to lift. Trip took one shaky step towards her, but she was too fast, falling to her knees and covering her ears with both her hands.

As it finally sank in exactly what she'd done, Alira bent towards the ground and unleashed an absolutely blood-curdling scream, shrill and discordant, so piercing that it immediately caused his heartbeat to skip and his blood to run cold.

---

Long after the excitement of the evening had died down and the fleet had dispersed, Malcolm found himself tracing the familiar path to the mess hall, his mind a swirling mass of unresolved tension.

Captain Shumar had been the first to depart, in a whisper and a wink, returning the Commodore's overture of thanks before he even had the chance to give it. He had shaken off their near-death experience and immediately left sickbay to attend to his own, leaving a very bewildered triumvirate in his wake. On the way out, he offered a wayward remark as to their own prowess on the battlefield, and promised to deliver Admiral Gardner a good report.

He knew, with the added doubts introduced by his head during the morning briefing, that he would have a hard time returning home and facing the public, should they ever get there.

In the early days of their mission, he would often end the night with a hot chocolate or else a steaming cup of tea, poring over a novel in some far flung corner of the mess hall and praying he wouldn't be seen. Now, with the burdens of propriety relaxed, he was seeking company or else diversion, and found it at the protein resequencer in the form of Ensign Singh.

"Having a hard time sleeping?"

"Avoiding it is more like it." Dita's hand shot out and she retrieved a mug, holding it up in his line of sight. "Chai?"

"Thank you," he mumbled, leaning into the wall and allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light in the chamber. It was well into gamma shift, but a few hours before their scheduled lunch break, so they seemed to have the mess hall for themselves. After the shock of the wardroom and the bridge, it was a welcome reprieve.

"I was hoping to run into you," she confessed, punching in her order and listening to the inner machinations turn over again and again. With her free hand, she retrieved the PADD tucked into her pocket and passed it over.

Activating the screen, he soon understood why she hadn't allowed the nighttime comm officer to drop it off outside his door, as was their routine - there, plain as day, was his daily letter from his wife, much shorter than it usually was or had any right to be.

Saben and Kemper are dead, she'd written, and he could practically feel her anguish from a dozen light years away. I need awhile to process this. Will call tomorrow. You have my love.

Malcolm stood there, dumbfounded, for what seemed like an eternity. When it at last sunk in that two more treasured constants in Alira's life had died - and just like with her mother, he hadn't been there - he reacted sharply, turning towards the hatch and making a move to leave.

A strong hand on his elbow gave him pause, and when he looked back, the sorrow in Dita's eyes was overpowering. Subconsciously, he reached out and covered her hand with his own, squeezing lightly. She heaved a massive sigh, trying to find the right words before settling on the truth.

"It'll be alpha shift before you can send a response. Echo Six is down for maintenance."

He scoffed, furrowing his brows. "That's great timing, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," she emphasized, though it wasn't, wouldn't, couldn't be enough. Dita passed the cup into his hands, and while she still could, forced him to turn around.

That was when he saw her - Lieutenant Cutler sat in the darkest shadows in the farthest corner of the mess hall, nursing a ridiculously large bowl of ice cream. She appeared every bit as exhausted as they were, physically and emotionally and spiritually, but still beckoned them to join her with a warm smile.

"Everything okay?" Liz asked warily, pinning him under her gaze.

"We shall see," he concluded morosely, taking his seat and burying his face in his hands. "Do you ever feel like you're just going to wind up dead on some anonymous planet somewhere?"

"All the time."

"Most days," Dita agreed. She took a healthy sip of her tea, adopting a far-off look in her eye. "Although, burning up in a warp core implosion is my recurring nightmare. Three or four times a week, I wake up screaming. Scares Arvind to no end."

"Funny you say that. I used to dream about the Battle of Solnara," Liz mused. She began to move her spoon around in her bowl, clearly lost in thought, reminiscing of how she'd nearly died of radiation poisoning after being left planetside following an evacuation in the first major conflict of the war. That had been two years ago, but she still suffered the effects, persistent weakness and a short crop of hair which stubbornly refused to grow.

Malcolm wondered, while deliberately skirting past the requisite self-reflection, exactly when they'd become so cavalier at discussing their trauma.

"I take it we're going to Vorkado now?"

Dita's question took him thoroughly aback, and he sputtered momentarily before collecting himself. "Yes, I suppose we are."

"Can't wait," Liz ground out, in a deliberately measured way that made him think she absolutely didn't mean that.

"Mhm, I can tell." Dita gestured towards her own face, her tone affecting a note of teasing. "I guess that's why you're glowing."

Her spoon clattered onto the tabletop, and she leaned back into her chair, rolling her eyes. "Oh, stop."

"I'm just saying..."

"What's all this, then?" He was genuinely bewildered, something which apparently amused them greatly. Dita beat her to the punch.

"Liz is participating in the first human trials of the doctor's combinative gene therapy." She leaned in, smiling conspiratorially, as though she were delivering a particularly juicy bit of gossip. "I walked into sickbay this morning as she was getting her weekly booster. You know how Phlox is at keeping secrets."

"All too well. Does this mean you're..." Seemingly realizing how intrusive that question was, he trailed off and lay a hand on his own stomach, causing them to laugh.

"Not yet. We're not actively trying, but if it happens..."

"You'd have a baby?" He choked on his next sip of tea, leading into a series of very undignified hacks and coughs. "Right now?"

"There's no ideal time to have children, Malcolm."

"Pretty sure it isn't during an interstellar war!"

"Remember what I told you about postponing joy?" He sure did; following an extremely poorly timed body switching escapade, Liz had accidentally come across the matching wedding bands he'd made in preparation for his proposal, leading to an awkward encounter in sickbay. Still, it had been all the encouragement he needed to make Alira an honest woman, and he'd thanked her profusely multiple times since then. "Well, if we want to add on to our family, what is there to stop us?"

"I'll drink to that." Somewhat dramatically, Dita extended her teacup towards her, then drained the rest of the contents.

Malcolm frowned, cleared his throat, then nodded vigorously as the information set in. "Just let me know. It shouldn't be too much trouble to reinforce the bulkheads around your quarters with duritanium. A nuclear warhead could go off in the corridor, and baby Cutler won't even wake up from their nap."

"I'll hold you to that," she said with a laugh. "Don't worry about it. Everyone else will probably notice my condition before I will."

"For my sister, it was morning sickness. She thought the inertial dampeners on the Saraswati were just acting up."

"Well, if I start looking sunburned and coughing incessantly…" At Malcolm's curious look, she took pity on him in his ignorance. "Their symptoms are much different than ours. It's likely I'll experience a mix of both. They've got some weird ones - have you heard of pica?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, Alira's mother told me that when she was pregnant with her, she had this incredible appetite for paper. With the twins, it was ice, and with her youngest it was hair." She shook her head. "I'm not looking forward to that."

"Oh," he said softly, brows furrowed with concern. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, heaving a massive sigh.

"And Denobulan babies have this natural climbing instinct. You've got to keep them in socks or footie pajamas for the first few years, or else they're going to scale the walls and risk falling and hurting themselves…"

"Liz," Dita interrupted softly. "I don't think he knew any of this."

She startled, looking for confirmation, then laughed out loud. "I'd start reading up if I were you."

His stricken expression slowly faded, and he offered her a small smile, realizing just how woefully unprepared for any of this he was. If he and Alira hadn't talked about it and decided to wait, he would have been immeasurably more concerned. Above all, with the added reassurance that only a relationship built on a firm foundation could offer, he knew that whatever challenges came their way, they could make it through.

"I'm fortunate to serve with both of you," he said at last, taking them both by surprise. Malcolm shifted forward, leaning across the table. "You keep me sane."

"You're joking."

"He's got to be." It was plain they were kidding, but she delivered her next line with an impressive amount of false sincerity. "Because you drive me crazy."

---

The next few hours passed in a painful, agonizing, deeply emotional and troubling blur.

Julia wasn't sure how she wound up in sickbay, but the next thing she remembered, Travis was sitting by her and stroking her cheek, clearing away the blood and tears that threatened to obscure her features. She wasn't injured, but she was catatonic, and long after the phase pistol was taken from her hand, she still felt Sabben going limp in her arms.

It was an undeniable fact - though they had all been impaired, though he had been too far gone to save at that point, though it was all about sparing him further pain, she had allowed him to die. He was a traitor, he was a monster, he was a lover and a friend and all of those things wrapped up into one.

"You're not gonna be charged," he told her after some time, not letting up on his grip of her hand. "Yuris agrees he wouldn't have made it. He lost too much blood."

"And Kemper?" In the background, she thought she heard Alira weeping with all the air in her lungs, and a very familiar southern accent attempting to soothe her. Hoshi passed by the open curtain laden with PADDs and didn't spare her a second glance.

"They recovered his body," he said carefully. "It's alright to be sad, Jules. You don't need to hold it in. No one would blame you if you…"

She burst into tears then, great, wracking sobs that she was positive could be heard from the bridge. She wept for their fallen chief, for a dearly departed friend, for a life cut too short and a life squandered with lies and duplicity. She mourned their crew and their fleet and the war at large, and cried until she could no longer.

A few hours later, they departed sickbay, and Travis guided her to her quarters, where he helped her shower and dress for bed. He brought her a tray from the mess hall, but she didn't feel very much like eating, and settled for cuddling up close to him in an attempt to feel human again.

It wasn't enough. Around midnight, Kelby called for him - they needed to arrange a change of custody for the Ktarian warlord who had been masquerading as an ambassador, and there were very few senior staff available at the moment. He apologized profusely, but she told him to go on and kissed him softly, trying to draw every bit of strength she possibly could from him.

Shortly after he left, she rose from her bed and moved swiftly through the corridors until she stood before her mural, nearly done now, with only a few finishing touches left to go.

Before her brain could compute exactly what she was doing, she leaned down and retrieved a pot of paint. There was a brief moment of clarity, then she reeled back and splashed it against the wall, irreparably destroying her masterpiece and liberating her soul.

Her quarters seemed so much more warm and bright after that; though she was still grieving and the pain was immense, she could look into her own eyes in the mirror and knew that with enough time and contemplation, she was going to be okay.

Julia had just about dozed off when her door opened again, and she stirred, fully expecting to see Travis standing at the foot of her bed. Rather, it was Alira, toting her own blanket and pillow, her expression crestfallen.

There was a question there that went unasked; slowly, she peeled back the covers and welcomed her in, and together they fell into a companionable embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, so quiet it was almost imperceptible.

"Don't be," Alira replied, tracing patterns on her back through the fabric of her sweatshirt. "They say the people we love hurt us most."

"I never took you for a sentimental type, Taxa."

"Then you might not really know me at all. Saben certainly didn't."

Whatever she was about to say was precluded by the door opening again. Hoshi was still in uniform, but she looked to be on a mission, and kicked off her boots as she closed the distance between them, climbing into bed without even the requisite invitation. They cuddled up together, relishing in their closeness, the innate sisterhood they felt and so often craved at a time like this. It was a tight fit on a full-sized mattress, but none of them seemed to mind.

"I'd ask if you were okay, but I think I know the answer." Hoshi turned her head and pressed a kiss to her temple, momentarily rising up on her elbow to look Julia dead in the eye. "Should I text Malcolm? Tell him I'm in bed with his wife and ask him what he's going to do about it?"

That earned a genuine, if not slightly stifled, laugh from the both of them. "Do it. I dare you."

"I'll have to call him in the morning," Alira said, her voice warping uncontrollably. For now, her tears were held at bay, but that could change at a moment's notice. "Right now, I have no idea what to say...how to put this into words...I let him die like that."

"You don't have to sit for his Rite of Absolution," Julia reminded her, keenly remembering a non too distant past where she and Saben had kept vigil for her during the Bajor mission where they thought she was lost to the sands of time. "You don't owe him that courtesy. You don't owe him anything."

"Unfortunately, I do. I've got to handle Kemper's affairs, then I'm going to need to call Saben's family and make up some story, that he died defending me when all along he was stabbing me in the back."

"Stop," Hoshi demanded, forcefully turning her chin towards her. "Listen, he was a complicated man. He was a traitor, but that doesn't discount all the good times you had. Nine decades of friendship has to mean something."

"It clearly didn't to him."

"You don't know that. There's so much we don't know, and one day, you're going to discover it." She hesitated, then pressed on: "Saben was here, and now..."

"And now he's not," Alira concluded. "He never will be again."

"That doesn't make him any less real." Julia took measured steps to control her breathing, in and out, before rolling over and burying her face into Alira's shoulder. The tears overtook her once again, like a roll of thunder, like a cleansing rain.

They all understood in that moment that there was still much work to be done, an investigation that would soon consume them from the inside out. Tonight, they would mourn to the depths of their souls, but tomorrow, they would live again.

End of Episode Eleven

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Next time on Enterprise…

Episode Twelve: Battle of Vorkado

The Coalition fleet musters in preparation for a forward driving assault. In the midst of chaos, Pascal and Garcia attempt to assassinate the Praetor.