A/N: Hello again! Many thanks for the support. Hope you enjoy the first battle of the season. I've based this on the unfortunate fate of Coridan in the ENT novel The Good That Men Do. We reveal a little more about Shran and Alira's past, as hinted at in E4: Sevarin.

I think I may have jinxed myself, because when I named Captain Laura Pritchard in E9, I didn't realize that only a couple of months later I'd be in the path of a hurricane by the same name! I'm safe and sound, by the way. I hope everyone else in this part of the world is doing well!

Laura, Mustafa, and Erika will be playing a larger role in the plot moving forward.

Yes, I have been teasing a requisite spies behind enemy lines episode for this season! Malira's adventures on Xantoras are about to go horribly wrong. Like, Trip-and-Malcolm-trapped-in-the-marauder-during-the-Babel-Crisis levels of wrong. Let's just say that if their relationship can survive this, well...

Next episode, E16, is another case of a distress call response gone wrong, mixed in with a little Kasidy Yates -style smuggling action. Hope you enjoy!

Season Five

Episode Fifteen: Battle of Solnara

Maelstrom Captain's Log, March 1st, 2156: This war has escalated out of control in the past few days. We're twelve hours from Solnara III at warp six-point-nine-eight, and everyone's consumed with getting ready. If Enterprise's calculations are to be believed, the Romulans are gonna beat us there by about half an hour.

For hours leading up to their arrival on the battleground, Trip found himself patrolling the corridors of the Maelstrom, checking up on various departments' preparations and trying to calm his racing heart.

He found himself in engineering, surrounded by plasma specialists and EPS technicians and science crewmen at their emergency posts, helping them batten down the hatches until Commander Kelby all but tossed him out on his ass. It had been done in his signature dismissive style, and he'd very nearly flown off the handle at him before realizing he was right. At this moment, he couldn't lose himself in the work he'd previously found comfort in, hours and hours of crawling through access tubes and scanning and calibrating and avoiding whatever was plaguing him at the time. As Kelby so astutely pointed out, his place was on the bridge.

Though it might not have looked that way, he really tried to get there, but repeatedly found himself getting stopped and diverted elsewhere. He stepped into his quarters to answer a communique from the Commodore, followed shortly by Admiral Gardner, relaying to him that their mission, first and foremost, was to defend the Solnaran people and salvage their homeworld at whatever cost.

How exactly they were to do that was deliberately left vague; as he understood it, the talks with the Lords were still ongoing, and Captains Al-Shahrani and Pritchard were each offering their feedback. Try as he might, Trip had no idea why it had to be decided by committee.

He wondered what Captain Hernandez was up to on Bajor. Admittedly, he slightly envied her.

Eventually his path led him to the armory, where he found Ensign Taxa and Lieutenant Novakovich seated on the floor, ripping apart and reconstructing a containment field generator. All around them, crewmen were rushing about, carrying sidearms and torpedo calibration kits and phase cannon modulators and heaven knew what else. They did so in near silence, a weighty one, as though they were each contemplating exactly what they were preparing for.

The calm before the storm.

"You know, you're both gonna have to come down to the bridge eventually," he said somewhat hypocritically, immediately catching Alira's eye.

She stood, somewhat slowly, clutching the small of her back where she'd been hit by a stun blast-by him, nonetheless-about two days prior. Ethan followed suit, and as they turned to him, he noticed how downtrodden they looked, how weary. None of them had slept a wink since that transmission from the Enterprise.

It was to be expected.

"We'll be ready," she assured him, passing over a PADD. He thought he caught a glimpse of her hands trembling, but she hid it well, crossing her arms across her chest. "We've been making improvements on Mr. Reed's containment field experiment-"

"-using technology from Alira's diverter shield," Ethan interrupted, holding up his arm, where the mysterious device was fully retracted into its vessel. "Forget about a stable EM barrier, you're going to be able to drive a shuttlepod into this at full impulse and it'll just bounce off like it was nothing."

He wanted to ask exactly how she felt appropriating Denobulan Infantry Special Ops technology for their own personal gain, but the look on her face plainly told him she didn't give a single damn about it.

"At least in theory. Lieutenant Cutler's going to be needing something to protect the dilithium mines. We've got a couple of hours to make sure it can withstand anything that can be fired at it from orbit." She shook her head. "The problem has been controlling the particle density, but I believe we've figured it out."

He glanced down at the PADD he'd been given, eyes dancing across rows and rows of complex equations and schematics. The look he gave the two of them must have been nothing short of incredulous, because Ethan jumped right in. "The reason you can fire a phase pistol at the diverter shield and have it disappear into the ceiling is that the molecules on the surface are moving too fast and are too concentrated to allow anything to pass through. It's a solid that behaves like a gas."

"It's a concept that's easily applied to plasma and EM fields. They're all the same, just charged particles. It's got promise, sir. Eventually, our own shields could be almost impenetrable." She gestured for him to join them in front of the emitters spaced equidistant between two torpedo launch tubes, then activated the generator. A staticky haze sprung forth and danced before their eyes, distorting the space behind it, and something about it stirred Trip's memory, about being suspended above the ground, realizing he was connected telepathically to four other crew members, trying to stay awake as they became integrated with the creature in the cargo bay one by one. Shaking his head, he quickly dispelled it.

Alira grabbed her second by the elbow as he walked past, catching him by surprise. Ensign Nguyen took one look at the three of them, then at the fluctuating force field, and shook his head adamantly.

"Just for a second. If it penetrates the plane of containment, I'm going to need to know how much."

Jimmy looked like he wanted to protest, but finally gave in, coming around the side of the field and propping his hands on his hips. Alira leaned over and whispered, "We were experimenting with our tricorders earlier. He got hit in the face a couple of times."

"More like two or three dozen," Ethan clarified, then retrieved his phase pistol and fired without a second thought. Rather than being absorbed by the field, it made a sharp ninety-degree turn, traveled up the face, and disappeared into the ceiling overhead. Jimmy jumped about a foot in the air, but that was the only obvious change in his field of vision.

"Impressive," Trip admitted, affording Ensign Nguyen a reassuring nod, then pulled her aside. Ethan began to fiddle with the emitters once more, all but snatching the PADD out of his hands and studying one of the sprawling diagrams drawn there. When he was sure no one else could hear them, he said, "We've received some sensor data from the patrols. It appears they're using Vulcan ships, but Romulan weapons. It's gonna be pretty hard to explain."

Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, in clear and present surprise. "Perhaps they're saving their resources, sir."

"For what?" He asked, and she frowned. She couldn't say it, not in a room full of people, but they both knew.

For whatever it was they were building.

"They're old ships, ones that haven't been used for fifty or a hundred years. Salvage vessels. It implies-"

"Collaboration," she interrupted, so quietly he almost missed it. Over her shoulder, Ethan was stepping back, preparing to chuck the PADD as a secondary containment test. "I don't envy our friends at the High Command right now."

The PADD made contact with the force field and ricocheted backwards, spinning off at an angle. Trip realized a moment too late that it was heading directly towards them, but Alira reacted instantaneously, reaching out and grabbing it a split second before it hit him square in the face.

He reeled back, watching as she immediately dropped her prize and hissed between her teeth, opening and closing her fist to reveal it had left an angry, red stripe of a burn across her palm. Turning on her heels, she called out: "Deflection axis is still off! Fix it!"

They quickly complied; Ethan looked moderately embarrassed, while Jimmy just looked glad it hadn't been him. Trip took this as his cue, clasping a hand on her shoulder as he did so.

"Keep up the good work," he mumbled in the space between them, and took his leave of the controlled chaos contained within the armory.

As it turned out, the corridors between there and the bridge weren't much better; he passed a stream of science crewmen carrying folded stretchers and cargo containers full of medical supplies, anchored at the end of the line by Dr. Yuris and Ensign Bhaduri, who he had recently conscripted as a field medic. Mohindra was a new commission, hard-working and enthusiastic, though at the moment he looked like he was more likely to collapse from panic.

"Moving into the cargo bay?" He asked, turning and following them a couple of meters down the hall.

Yuris reached for his tricorder, dismissively handing the box he was carrying to his assistant, who took it readily, even though he was already carrying a half dozen of them. He stood there, arms and legs trembling, watching with a long-suffering expression as the doctor studied the screen in front of him. There was a seemingly endless pause, then he nodded, confirming, "Two and three. We will be setting up triage units for the Solnaran militia and our own crewmen, in compliance with the emergency protocols set forth by Dr. Phlox and Dr. Liang from the Cochrane."

"Just to be clear, you need to prioritize by injury, and not-"

"They will be treated exactly the same as our own personnel," he insisted, his expression impassive, though he was privately surprised the Captain thought he would have such preferences in his practice. "You have nothing to worry about."

He laughed haltingly, somewhat awkwardly, then replied, "I wish that were true." Trip glanced at Mo, who looked like he would fall over at any moment. "Having fun yet?"

"Yes, sir," he groaned, attempting to hold in a sign of relief as Dr. Yuris continued down the corridor. At the last moment before they rounded the corner, he cast a furtive glance at his CO over his shoulder.

On the bridge, he found Julia and Hoshi huddled over the communications station, their heads bent together in conference, while Travis kept silent watch over the helm, fingers hovering over his console in case he needed to react at any moment. His gaze was so focused on the view screen that he scarcely noticed him approach, though when he asked the question, the same one he'd asked him a dozen times over the past few hours, he was ready.

"Ten hours, six minutes. Kelby seems to think we can jump to warp seven here in a bit, assuming we don't fly apart first." They locked eyes, and Trip laid a hand on top of his station, feeling how it vibrated under the strain of their engine running at full throttle. At first, it had been distracting and somewhat frightening, though now he barely registered it.

"You've got my permission, Mr. Mayweather," he said, turning away from him. There were no less than a dozen crewmen wandering about the bridge and the situation room, talking quietly to themselves, frantically moving from display to display as they tended to final preparations.

His first officer and communications officer were no exception. Hoshi swiftly swiveled around in her chair to face him, explaining, "We're working on maintaining a fleetwide open comm link during the battle. The trick is filtering out unnecessary transmissions, and-"

"Keeping subspace from collapsing in on us from the sheer amount of information flying around in the air," Julia interrupted, then shrugged. "In a manner of speaking, sir."

"Anything else from the Enterprise?"

Hoshi shook her head. "We could try refreshing our link to Echo Three and Four."

"I'm on it," Julia insisted, and moved off to the vacant science station.

The moment she was gone, Hoshi leaned across her console towards him, crossing into the barrier of professional distance and inching her fingers towards his. She glanced up at him, and she felt her reassurance, her compassion, her warmth.

She didn't need to say anything. He knew she was terrified, but she was pushing through at any cost, as they all had to do.

It was one of the reasons why on this day, among all others, he loved her for all that she was.

Wait...what?

Her console suddenly lit up, and she startled, leaning back in her chair. Behind him, Travis also reacted, answering the call of the long-range sensor alarm appearing on the view screen. He did a visible double take, inhaled deeply, then reported, "Sir, we're reading a vessel approaching. They're matching our speed."

Trip's heart immediately leapt into his throat, and in his mind's eye he could see them being chased, being hunted, by Romulan ships all the way to Solnara. It was impossible. He wasn't ready.

None of them were ready.

He leaned over his display, and mimicked Travis's earlier surprise, relaxing in a second. Julia's analysis from the science station confirmed his suspicions.

"They're hailing us," Hoshi reported and opened the connection.

Immediately, a pair of familiar antennae filled the fringes of the screen, followed by a distinctly blue countenance and a self-assured smirk. It was unmistakable.

"Well, I'll be damned," Trip mumbled, and sank down into the Captain's chair.

Enterprise Captain's Log, March 1st, 2156: We are only a few hours from what may prove to be the first armed conflict of the war. In anticipation of our joint operations, we have invited the Captains of our sister ships to sit in on a mission overview.

Nine hours before the arrival of the Romulan fleet, Enterprise's triumvirate stood in front of the transporter pad, arms crossed, stances wide, as they waited to receive their guests.

An expectant silence hung over them; their thoughts were racing, and while Jonathan could hear T'Pol's worrying clear as day through their bond, Malcolm's misgivings were written all over his face. He'd made several overtures of conversation, if only to break the quiet that threatened to overpower them all, only to be rebuffed easily, as he had time and time again during the early days of their mission.

He had seen it before. When faced with a great threat, his tactical officer retreated within himself, coiling up like a viper, only to strike at a moment's notice.

The console beeped, and Malcolm went to tend to it. There was a pause, and then the air before them seemed to shimmer and flicker. A moment later, Captain Laura Pritchard of the NX-03 Cochrane appeared in a cascade of light, first her boots, then her uniform, then her arms crossed furtively behind her back, her features arranged in a mask of unmitigated concern.

It took a second, but the moment she realized where she was, she surged forward off of the platform and approached them.

"A pleasure to see you, Captain, Commodore," she assured him, and Malcolm immediately picked up on her strong Irish accent. In fact, now that she was standing right next to them, he noticed how petite she was, shorter than even Lieutenant Cutler, her words belaying a slightly frantic demeanor that immediately endeared her to him. "I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"Likewise. It's been a while," Archer replied. The last time he'd seen Laura, besides one of the monthly bulletins on new commissions from HQ, she'd been an Ensign while he and Erika had been Lieutenants. They'd gone bar-hopping together more than once, and though while sober they tried their best to forget it, the three of them had gotten into a bit of mischief in and around San Francisco.

And now she was a Captain in her own right. It made him feel ancient.

"That it has," she acknowledged, turning towards Malcolm. When he reciprocated her overture of a handshake, she surprised him by placing her free hand atop his. "Mr. Reed, might I just say how refreshing it is to meet a fellow countryman out here in deep space. My engineer's a Scot, but that hardly counts."

When they locked eyes, her smile was genuine, and he attempted to return it, though he was sure it was none too convincing. He squeezed her hand for a moment before releasing it, and she pressed on: "You must meet me and Commander Boswell for a drink before we ship out. I must warn you, rank won't be allowed."

"You'll probably need the entire bottle by the time we're done," Jonathan surmised. "If the three of you can even agree on what to drink, that is."

Suddenly T'Pol's thoughts rushed into his mind, completely unbidden. You are once again attempting to mask your apprehension through humor. This is not only disingenuous, it is unproductive to our cause.

He frowned and glanced back at her, knowing she was right, but not wanting to admit it. Over the past day and a half, they'd been entirely consumed with preparations, preoccupied with thoughts of death and destruction; seeing Laura had brought memories of a happier, simpler time, and he'd temporarily lost himself in it, foolishly, hopefully.

Jonathan knew he'd been lost in his reverie the second Captain Pritchard cleared her throat. The console beeped again and Malcolm stepped up to it, welcoming Captain Mustafa Al-Shahrani to the Enterprise.

He was a bit of a mythical figure among armory officers in the fleet; he was rumored to have designed the newest generation of photonic torpedoes from a sketch he made on a napkin; he held the record for highest shot accuracy on six different hand weapons; he once punched General Casey, the MACO commander, during an argument and lived to tell the tale; he was thought to be involved with Starfleet Intelligence or even helm their field operations, though no one could prove it. If the gossip from the senior staff on the NX-04 Phoenix were to be believed, most of these reports were accurate, but none of that mattered to Malcolm.

He was the first commander of an NX vessel to come up through the armory, and he had a severe case of hero worship going on.

Mustafa was a tall, imposing man with a reassuring smile and, he was soon to find out, a strong handshake. Although taken aback that he was the first one he would choose to greet with three other ranking officers in the vicinity, he swallowed his surprise and returned his hello, then crossed his hands behind his back and snapped to attention.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Laura said as they began their procession towards the wardroom, patting him on the arm companionably. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

He smiled, glancing down at the floor. "A girl, our second. I've just received pictures over subspace. She looks more like her mother, thank the heavens."

If he was feeling any heartache at being separated from the mother of his children, presumably the person he loved over all others, he wasn't showing it. However, Malcolm knew how he must have felt, and the great lengths he was taking to hide it.

He was living it right now.

Pritchard chuckled as they stepped into the turbolift, pressing the button for A Deck without being prompted. "You know, if you're still looking for a name, I feel like Laura has a nice ring to it."

"Actually, we were thinking of naming her after my mother." He paused, and the doors opened. They stepped into the busy corridor adjacent the bridge. "I'll send word for her to make the adjustment. We can only hope it gets to her before she turns in the paperwork."

"See to it at once. It's a long way between here and San Francisco," she acknowledged with a wry smile. "You know that, Captain."

"Better than anyone," Mustafa mumbled cryptically and disappeared into the wardroom, followed by T'Pol and Malcolm.

Laura began to step over the threshold, but stopped when she caught a glimpse of the mischievous glint in Archer's eye. He leaned forward, and in the space between them, he whispered: "How's Erika?"

She laughed softly and placed a hand on his shoulder for a fraction of a second before retracting it. He knew they'd been together for months, that their relationship had been under the radar save for a privileged few, and from the limited information Captain Hernandez had offered, it was going well. Laura, however, wasn't about to volunteer anything else. "Commodore," she admonished with a smile she wasn't able to hide, and swept into the room.

Inside the wardroom, the lights were lowered. Archer immediately went to join T'Pol at the head of the table, and as he passed the windows, he caught a glimpse of their fleet laying in wait, their two sister ships and the dearth of smaller and less armored patrols creating a veritable web of fortification around Solnara III. Even so, the planet seemed to shrink inward, appearing small and defenseless, as though the world itself was anticipating the havoc that was about to be wrought upon it.

He cleared his throat and took his seat, affording the assembled officers an entirely unemotional smile, then cued up the display behind him. It was his briefing to give, and his war to start.

"We've spent the past day developing a game plan, as I'm sure all of you are aware. For the past twelve hours, we've been evacuating Solnarans from all cities near active dilithium deposits under the direction of Lord Moberly. There's a dozen patrols running the gauntlet between the surface and several ECS freighters further into the system. Once the Romulan fleet arrives, all evacuations must stop." He paused, his eyes dancing across the latest status reports from their fleet. He came to the unfortunate realization that at the rate they were going, a majority of the population would remain behind.

Tens of thousands people saved from certain annihilation. For the rest of them, they would need to hope their defenses were enough.

"There's MACO brigades on the surface assisting the Solnarans with building underground shelters. Science teams led by Lieutenant Cutler will be departing on the hour to employ stable EM barriers around the active dilithium deposits on the planet. This is an improvement on our previously force field technology, created with all haste by the Maelstrom." Captain T'Pol glanced down at her PADD, entirely full of tuning parameters and telemetry readings, knowing full well the origin of inspiration for these advancements, but choosing to omit that fact. "The MACOs are training Solnaran militia leaders under the supervision of Lord Senath. They will be prepared if the Romulans manage to break through our lines."

Suddenly Captain Pritchard slapped her hand onto the table, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. They glanced at her just in time to see her free her hair from the clip that had been holding it in a haphazard bun atop her head. It cascaded in auburn waves across her shoulders, and she began to run her fingers through it, her hands not stopping for a second. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't the Aviator find that the approaching fleet is using Vulcan ships?"

To her credit, T'Pol's expression didn't shift by even a millimeter. Pinning her under her gaze, she replied, "That is correct. However, their hull configurations belong to classes of vessels which haven't been used in decades, perhaps centuries. The High Command was able to confirm that these are ships which were sent to salvage, and are actively attempting to find the yards they came from and root out conspirators."

Across the room, Captain Al-Shahrani began to tap his foot onto the deck plating. Like the rest of the COs in the fleet, he was now aware of the marked genetic similarities between Vulcan and Romulans and how, as Administrator Kuvak claimed, they could easily be mistaken for one another on biosign scans. According to him, they were actively working on a fix which would be routed fleetwide once they were sure they could remedy the discrepancy. It indicated there was another front to this war, something sinister. It implied treachery or a plot of some kind, and he saw right through it.

He'd spent too long running with the wrong kinds of people-people who had something to hide-not to notice the look in Captain T'Pol's eyes.

"They are employing Romulan weapons systems and cloaking devices," Malcolm added, coming to her rescue. "Based on the energy signatures reported to us by Kandar, we can sense them coming light years away."

"We are honored by their sacrifice," Laura said automatically, repeating what Admiral Gardner had said about the tragedy during their subspace call a few days after the attack. It was the day the United Earth Council started drafting the declaration of war against the Romulan Star Empire.

She wouldn't be surprised if after today those stuffy bureaucrats found the occasion to finish it.

Malcolm grimaced, but it was gone within a second, and at the silent behest of the Captain, advanced the screen. "I've been developing our battle strategy for this encounter. Suspected subspace wire tapping has prevented me from consulting my counterparts on our sister ships, but rest assured, I have considered nearly every alternative." He paused, passing two PADDs across the table. "If Lieutenant Garcia or Ensign Bradshaw have any problems with specific details of this plan, tell them to contact me directly."

Mustafa nodded, scrolling through the manifest, the battle schematics, the proposed ship layouts, finding his advice sound and defensible. He glanced up at the man across from him, noticing how tightly wound he seemed, like he might fly apart at any second.

It was the mark of a young and relatively experienced tactical officer. A good one.

"I find myself wondering…" Laura paused, shaking her head, indicating she already knew the answer. "What makes us such a likely target for the Romulans. By all accounts, it seems they would go after the Vulcans first."

They have, T'Pol mentally acquiesced, and Jonathan frowned. "From what we know about them, these Romulans are highly militaristic, increasingly isolationist and perpetually suspicious. It seems like-"

"They mean to seek control of the quadrant by any means necessary," T'Pol interrupted, naturally following his line of thought. "Like humanity, the Romulans seek to become masters of their own destiny."

"Quite an accurate assumption, Captain. I doubt that any species could be a more serious threat to the Romulans that one so adept at forging alliances." Mustafa smiled carefully, a note of spitefulness in his tone. "Especially one that can find commonalities between former rival powers."

T'Pol and Archer glanced at one another, not missing his insinuation for a second.

Eight hours before the battle, the Maelstrom found the occasion to drop out of warp and beam aboard an unexpected traveling companion.

Shran fully ignored Trip's offer to use their transporter, beaming directly into the wardroom in the company of an Andorian woman. As soon as he appeared, he turned this way and that, affording them a wry smile, then approached Trip directly, extending his hand.

He met his gesture halfway, foregoing the usual shake and gripping his forearm, bearing down with force. His smile grew, and he said, "Captain Tucker, it seems that you've upgraded vessels since we last spoke."

Trip's eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt his first officer shift her weight to her opposite foot, leaning so close that their shoulders touched. She knew it as well as he did. Shran wasn't usually one for small talk, and his motives for being in this particular quadrant of space, given their present marching orders, were all the more cause of suspicion. Julia, as usual, wasn't going to waste time. "How did you find us?"

Shran seemed surprised, turning to her and regarding her with reproach. "We've got a record of the Enterprise's warp signature from a previous encounter Though this vessel is much faster, the Maelstrom's isn't that different." He tilted his head to one side and his antennae followed, indicating the woman standing at attention behind him. "This is my new Lieutenant, Tievan. And you are?"

"Commander Julia Hammond," she replied acerbically, greeting him as her superior had, locking eyes with him and not looking away for a second. Trip was almost certain she'd never encountered an Andorian before, but their mission logs were out there for anyone in the fleet to read, as well as the stories that were so willingly told by any and all of the Enterprise transfers. She knew that the last time Shran's ship showed up unexpectedly offering to render aid, at the Xindi proving ground some two years ago, they'd taken advantage of the situation and almost stolen the prototype for use against the Vulcans. She was determined not to let her guard down, not show any indication of weakness whatsoever, until the moment they discovered what his true motives were.

"From the Columbia. A fearsome warship," he acknowledged, sidestepping her altogether, proceeding to the end of the row.

"Shran, this is my armory officer-"

"Commander Taxa," he interrupted, her former rank coming out like a curse rather than a greeting. Alira had been striving mightily to keep her gaze trained on the opposite wall, not even to look at him, but the moment they locked eyes, all the memories came flooding back.

A week after her father's Rite of Absolution, she'd been contacted at her post on patrol. It had been a quick rendezvous, a fly-by-night transfer, but she'd been spirited away by an agent of Infantry Special Ops and introduced to the man who would soon bring her into the fold. He was an aged Captain with new and healing scars all over his face and hands, experienced, with an entire brigade of operatives at his service. What's more, he claimed to have survived the incident that had claimed the lives of her father and her betrothed.

She hadn't wanted to believe his version of events, but she had no choice, for soon they were at the scene of the crime, studying Andorian weapons signatures and a distinct impulse trail. According to their database, it was unmistakable, and the name of the battle cruiser and its commanding officers had become seared in her mind for years to come.

Kalaine. Commander Namara. Lieutenant Shran.

He showed her what remained of General Taxa's patrol, broken and warped, reduced to mere fragments across the border. He showed her where they'd found his escape pod with him inside, already dead and en route to Denobula, perhaps to send a message or a warning or both. He showed her Nieron's DNA, similarly scattered across half a light year, followed by that of his tactical officer and chief scientist, explaining that he'd been the only one to make it out alive. He wasn't sure what exactly the Infantry was hiding, or what they were avoiding, but one thing was for certain: they were covering up the true nature of the border skirmish with the Andorians, and he needed her help to uncover the truth.

And so she spent years running clandestine errands for the Supreme Council, wheeling and dealing with mob bosses and weapons smugglers, conducting surveillance on Andoria and Xantoras and Pernaia Prime and any number of worlds. But she'd been no closer to figuring it out, to getting the revenge she so desperately craved, until the Section reached out to her.

As if on cue, her former mentor vanished, having been burned from Special Ops, and she was left alone to tend her to her own affairs. She'd bided her time in Harris's ranks, looking for an opportunity to strike. He promised she would get one, and he was inclined to believe him.

The first had been during their visit to Andoria during Enterprise's diplomatic mission, she was sure of it, especially when news reached them that Namara had attempted to kill Shran over his commitment to join forces with the humans in the Coalition. Alira was almost certain it had something to do with their border skirmish years ago, perhaps to get rid of any lingering evidence, but in any case, she'd been relegated to the bridge for that mission, stewing, thinking about how easy it would have been to hunt them down one by one on that ice cutter. To beat them into the ground. To snap their necks.

And now she was getting another chance, or perhaps she wasn't. Was it a sign?

It didn't matter. Just two days ago, in the throes of her hallucinations, she'd resolved to get out of the Section somehow, to make peace with the past, just so that she could live with herself, just so she could look her beloved in the eye at the moment of their next meeting. And she was determined to honor that commitment, even though she was presently having to fight a wave of murderous rage clawing its way to the surface.

"Or should I say, Ensign Taxa?" In the present day, Shran was shaking his head, sizing her up, and she realized she hated this man. Hated the way he looked at her, hated the way he carried himself, hated what he stood for, hated everything about him. "What happened? Did you get tired of circling your border and shooting at comets?"

In a flash, they both reached forward and clasped one another's forearms. Alira gripped so hard her knuckles turned white, and she was passively satisfied to see a grimace cross his expression for a fraction a second. "Starfleet's got more interesting targets," she replied, hoping he would catch onto her insinuation.

He laughed, a short, sharp bark of amusement. "Captain Tucker, you've got yourself a true warrior here. Perhaps the only one the Denobulan Infantry ever had." Shran paused, studying her tense posture, the way she seemed that she would fly off the handle at any moment. "So tell me, how's the family?"

Trip and Julia were taken aback by the way her face changed in the next few seconds, from pure, unbridled fury, to confusion, to contempt, to acceptance. He knew something about Alira and Shran's checkered past, at least what he'd been told months ago, that they were involved in a cluster of conflicts over planned border incursions, that each time they'd been driven back, that Shran had been defeated soundly. It had been their words, not his, but now he found himself wondering if there was something more.

"Just fine, Shran," she said, foregoing rank entirely, noticing how his antennae twitched in dismay. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you doing here?"

Suddenly the deck plating lurched underneath them, indicating they were once again jumping to warp with the Undali at their side. He released her and retreated to his Lieutenant's side, insisting, "As I mentioned before, we are only here to help. It seems that the Vulcans and Tellarites couldn't be bothered."

"It was extremely short notice. There's a Tellarite freighter on their way with humanitarian aid. Their ETA is-"

"It sounds like you're anticipating a defeat," Tievan interrupted, crossing her arms. It occurred to Trip just how much she reminded him of Talas, Shran's former Lieutenant, who had died as the result of a clash with Ambassador Gral during the Babel Crisis. She was sharp-tongued, steadfast, and utterly resolute, a perfect match for the two other officers in the room.

"There's nothing wrong with being realistic," Alira admonished, mimicking her posture. "No matter how decisive the battle, there are always bound to be casualties. You shouldn't underestimate these Romulans."

Shran whirled on her, and for a split second Trip was afraid he would ask how exactly she knew that. The net of the hybrid plot hadn't exactly been cast wide enough to include their Andorian friends, but fortunately, he let it slide. "I never do," he assured her. "We're out here because if Solnara falls, they will continue pushing into alliance space. It'll be Denobula next, then Earth, then Vulcan and Tellar and Andoria. I've told your Captain that I'm devoted to our cause, and now is my chance to prove it."

"What about your other friends in the Imperial Guard? Are they not convinced?" Julia asked, not for a second missing the significance of the fact that he'd come alone.

He laughed ruefully, turning away from them for a fraction of a second. "Captain Namara has attempted to cast doubt on humanity's intentions and curry the Council's favor. She says that you're inviting trouble, that you threaten the entire sector by your alliance with the Vulcans, that the only way we can defend ourselves against the Romulans is by acting alone." Shran paused, stepping up to Trip, completely adamant. "This is your one chance, Captain. Show the Imperial Guard that their first decision to stand by your side wasn't a mistake."

"And what's in it for you?"

"For me?" He echoed, glancing down the line at the three of them, taking in their almost identical skeptical expressions. "The satisfaction of knowing we've prevented the inevitable loss of territory to the Romulans by another day."

"It's the dilithium, isn't it?" Julia decided to go straight for the jugular, knowing full well they likely weren't getting nearly enough out of Coridan, what with their government's persistent alliance with the Vulcans. Solnara had an even higher core density, a more receptive population, and a supply even more rife for the taking.

It was possibly their only chance to get in on United Earth's deal with the Lords before it was too late.

"The dilithium-" He scoffed and crossed towards the view screen on the wall. There, a map of nearby space was displayed, continuously shifting as they approached Solnara, the locations of their allies and the Romulan invasion force clearly marked. "The dilithium wouldn't hurt."

Trip and Julia exchanged a knowing glance, and she shook her head, as if pleading with him not to do it. He understood her misgivings.

He didn't trust Andorians for a second, but like the Commodore, he trusted Shran.

Against his better judgment.

"We have a deal. I'll talk to the United Earth Council. In the meantime-"

Shran was at his side in a second, seizing his forearm, acknowledging their arrangement and effectively sealing their fate. "The Imperial Guard will fight for you as if you were one of our own. You have my word, Captain."

Two hours before disaster, T'Pol stood down the hall and around the corner from the transporter pad, entirely lost in her reverie.

The message which had given her such pause had come through only a moment before, on the secure text-only channel between Trip, Jonathan, and herself. It had been brief, but the meaning had been unmistakable.

Our blue friend has returned. Determined to help. Intentions seem genuine, but we've been down that road before.

Captain Tucker was correct that the circumstances of Shran's arrival was vaguely reminiscent of their encounter at the Xindi proving ground, though their relationship with the Imperial Guard had certainly changed since the Babel Crisis. Captain Namara had tried her best to cause a cataclysm of events that would curry the favor of their ruling body and bring them out of the alliance entirely, a gambit which had ultimately failed. Due to their own investigation aboard the ice-cutter Sevarin on their last trip to Andoria, Shran had become aware of the plot to murder him and had apparently worked his own kind of magic to maintain power for the time being.

Whether his motives were true or not, she was certainly looking forward to hearing all about it.

Only a few meters away, an engineering team from the Cochrane was just arriving. At the behest of Captain Pritchard, all NX vessels were installing an update to the warp core's emergency sub-routines. Such modifications would reduce the number of tasks to be completed during an emergency shutdown, and reduce the likelihood of a breach altogether. Her engineer, Commander Boswell, had been working on the protocols for months, and time was certainly of the essence to implement them.

Most of the officers coming aboard didn't spare even a passing glance at the crewman at the controls, or their chief communications officer standing off to one side, bouncing on her toes, her expression a constantly shifting mask of anticipation and fear and trepidation. The next group appeared, and one of the engineers split off from their companions, muttering something about catching up later.

There was a pause, and then the two of them stepped around the corner, glancing furtively in either direction. T'Pol was scarcely out of visual range, and didn't dare make a move for fear of making herself known. When Dita was sure there was no one around, she stepped forward into the man's arms, and he complied with her silent request, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around in a circle.

She made a small, surprised sound, a gasp or a laugh, and yielded to his affections, reciprocating them at every turn. He was telling her something, that he loved her and adored her and if only they weren't about to waltz into battle, he'd whisk her away to someplace no one could ever find them. She attempted to pull away, only for him to wrap one arm around her waist and another around the middle of her back, sweeping her into a low dip and kissing her soundly.

It was at that moment T'Pol's PADD beeped, effectively blowing her cover. They startled and separated, running their hands over their uniforms and looking back and forth. She took a deep breath and paced a few steps in place on the deck plating, then came around the corner herself, regarding them with her typical impassiveness.

"Ma'am," Dita began, her voice wavering. "I know I should be on the bridge, but-"

"You've got plenty of time, Ensign," she interrupted, affording her a slight nod.

She relaxed visibly, and glanced at the man beside her. T'Pol immediately recognized Lieutenant Arvind Singh, her oft-mentioned but seldom seen husband. More than once she'd stood by the communications station and happened to spot Dita's personal PADD, the home screen cluttered with icons and a colorful background image, which hadn't changed since their mission began. It was the two of them standing in a group of family and friends on their wedding day, arms wrapped around one another. They were laughing and smiling and gazing into each other's eyes, a moment frozen in time that relayed the love they felt for one another.

She knew that look. Though she may not be able to outwardly express it as easily, it mirrored how she felt for Jonathan.

"It's an honor to meet you, Captain," Arvind said, tentatively extending his hand for a shake. It took a second, but she reciprocated, attempting to radiate as much friendliness as she could possibly muster. "I was just on my way to engineering."

"A pleasure, Mr. Singh. You'll find it in the exact same location as on the Cochrane. Lieutenant Commander Hess will be waiting for you." T'Pol nodded, and he reciprocated her gesture, thanking her again and slipping off down the corridor.

There was a pause where the two women were looking at one another, their expressions indecipherable on two opposite ends of the spectrum, then they fell into step together, walking in the opposite direction. It was more than a minute before Dita spoke again.

"I apologize for this indiscretion. It's just, I haven't seen my husband in almost a year and I knew he was coming aboard and-"

"It is of no consequence," she insisted, watching the relief and confusion set in her expression. In the flurry of nervous energy before the battle, she knew they were all feeling the same thing: deep primal fear mixed in with worry about the loss of loved ones and the lingering question of who they might leave behind. Though the inner workings of human relationships was still mostly foreign to her, she secretly knew she would be completely bereft without Jonathan. And so, she understood. "When the Romulan fleet leaves the system, you are free to transport over to the Cochrane and spend some time there before they ship out."

She looked surprised, utterly floored. "Ma'am, my yearly leave doesn't renew for another few months."

"Ensign," T'Pol cautioned, catching her eye. "Miss Westminster can cover your station for a few days."

"Are you sure? I can always-"

"Captain." Suddenly Phlox was there, having approached them from the other direction at the T in the hall, unaware of the nature of the conversation he had just walked into. His posture was hunched over, fidgety, entirely betraying his preoccupation. When he spoke again, his words were carefully measured, but hushed, as though he was trying to reign in an emotional response. "I must speak with you urgently."

Dita seemed taken aback, as if she wanted to offer another half-hearted dissent, but fortunately, it seemed that her resolve was weakening. "You have your orders, Ensign," T'Pol said, catching her eye.

There was a pause, then she nodded, giving her a slight smile. "Yes, ma'am," she replied, and slipped into the simulated dusk of the corridor.

Once they were alone, the Captain and the doctor crossed their arms behind their backs almost simultaneously and proceeded towards the turbolift in complete and uncharacteristic silence. T'Pol could tell that he was contemplating something, wrestling with his own thoughts or else his conscience in a way that prevented him from saying anything at all. The moment the doors closed behind them, he said, "You should know that all the mobile triage units have been set up in cargo bay three."

She turned to him in profile, narrowing her eyes slightly, searching his face for any hint of what was truly on his mind. Ultimately, she came up empty. "Excellent. Have you been assigned enough field medics?"

He huffed quietly, crossing his arms across his chest. Though the most severe injuries they'd seen from the evacuation proceedings thus far were a skinned knee and a bloody nose, his temporary domain was swarming with crewmen from the science department. He was sure that once they witnessed the true horrors of a war zone, they would regret not choosing to serve out their temporary reassignment in engineering.

It was enough to make him miss the days when they were explorers and friends first, colleagues and adventurers second. It was enough to make him miss the days when he had a single field medic, just one, and the most pressing concern on his mind was how to ask her to accompany him to movie night.

"Quite enough, thank you," he assured her, noticing how the doors opened onto B Deck rather than the bridge. She stepped over the threshold and glanced back at him, and he quickly went to join her, privately grateful that she seemed to have reasoned at least partly through what was going on. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small device which he clandestinely passed into her hand, nodding at the handful of crewmen they passed in the corridor.

They appeared curious, but nothing else. Pausing in front of her quarters, T'Pol asked, "What is this for?"

He cleared his throat and frowned, and she took the hint, entering her security code and sweeping into the room.

Lady greeted them immediately, weaving around and between them, nearly causing her to trip. She obliged, lifting her cat into her arms and supporting her by the hind legs. Almost immediately, she seemed to sense the emotional undercurrent in the room, squirming and trying to escape. T'Pol let her down on top of the desk, and she skittered away, traipsing across the keyboard to her computer console as she did so.

"Fascinating creature," Phlox remarked, feeling fortunate for the momentary diversion. "Now, if you'll only let me gather some saliva samples for an anticoagulant study, I'm sure I could-"

"Doctor," she admonished, holding up the device between her fingers. His expression shifted, and he sighed, training his eyes at the ground.

"The latest reports from our patrols say that they've been unable to scan through the hulls of the Romulan ships due to some kind of deflector shielding." He paused, glancing out the window, studying the swarm of patrol ships hanging in low orbit. "If they do manage to increase their scanning resolution and the vessel is manned by hybrids as we suspect, there are certain things which will become difficult to explain."

"I imagine so," she answered quietly.

"This mobile emitter will disguise your biosign for as long as we need it to. I recommend you keep it on your person for the foreseeable future, just in case one of our sister ships gets curious." He was glad he'd thought of it, and fortunate that Lieutenant Commander Reed had been available to see to his request for assistance. It really would have only taken a cursory sensor sweep for the biggest secret of the hybrid plot to become known to all.

"Thank you." T'Pol crossed her arms and paced towards the window, leaning into the frame. There was a moment of tense silence, then she followed up: "Was there anything else?"

Phlox was fighting a losing battle to stay silent, and eventually the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. "I understand you've sent Lieutenant Cutler to the surface to establish stable EM barriers around dilithium deposits."

"That's correct," she acknowledged with a note of trepidation, noticing that he stepped into her peripheral vision. "She's the most competent scientist we have. I trust her entirely to lead this away mission. It seems that she also has some rapport with the Lords of Solnara already."

He shook his head, repeatedly attempting and failing to vocalize his request, but managing to get it out anyway. "Captain, I've not made a personal request of you since you took command. I ask that you indulge me in this one."

She turned to him, eyes wide, studying his expression. T'Pol had an idea of where this might be going, but didn't let it show. Suddenly desperate to get his point across, Phlox whispered, "I need your help."

"You will have it," she replied, and in the space between them, took his hand. It was an entirely companionable and comforting gesture, and it took him back to a moment where he was so devastated he was sure he'd lost everything.

As he might once again.

"What is it?" She pressed, and he looked away. Through the barriers of physical touch, she felt his anguish and fear, and it set her on a razor's edge.

"Please promise me you'll pull the science teams from the surface well before the Romulans arrive," he urged, and his expression was so intense in that moment she wasn't sure how to tell him that at this rate they'd be working right up until the last second and perhaps beyond it.

"I will do what I can," she vowed. "But with the nature of this conflict, and what we know going into it, I cannot guarantee-"

"I've already lost Feezal. I can't lose Elizabeth too," he declared with a heartbreaking amount of sincerity. His eyes were brimming with tears, but not overflowing, and for a fraction of a second T'Pol thought she might also lose herself in the torrent of emotion.

Instead she just squeezed his hand, carefully at first, then with force, and trained her gaze out the window, where the very whisper of war was only beginning to creep its way onto the battlefield.

In that moment, she understood that they were two individuals wholly out of their element, who had both been seeking diversion and fulfillment of duty, but had stayed with the humans because of personal attachments they made over the course of many formative months and years. She also understood that they'd each made their commitment, and they needed to honor it, and had no choice but to weather the storm.

An hour before their arrival, Commander Hammond rushed into engineering and into a frenzy of activity.

There were crewmen moving all around, carrying cargo containers and hypospanners and micro-calipers and heaven knew what else, shouting and calling out to one another, attending to their next tasks as though their lives depended on it.

It most likely did.

Every single person assigned to engineering was on duty at the moment along with a vast majority of the science crewmen, researchers who knew warp theory but very little of armed conflict. She could easily point them out from the way they stood apart from the others, dazed and more than a little terrified, looking like a strong wind might knock them over at any moment.

A dull roar filled the room, indicative of the warp core running at near red-line speed, and everything that hadn't been physically bolted down to the deck plating seemed to vibrate. Julia felt it from several decks away; besides the incident at Kandar, the last time she'd felt that was when they were in hot pursuit of the Enterprise, flipping upside down, preparing to transfer then-Commander Tucker between two vessels using nothing but a tether. In her experience, she'd never seen anything so outlandish in her career, but then again, the day was still young.

She found Commander Nicholas Kelby in front of the main console, having pulled a stool all the way from his office, chin propped up on his hands and his elbows balanced on his knees. He seemed to be the only stationary object in an otherwise resonating room, and as she approached, he didn't even look towards her.

"Updates to our emergency sub-routines from the Cochrane," she said without preamble, passing a PADD into his line of sight.

He accepted it and tossed it dismissively on top of the console without a second glance. "Have they tested them?"

"Her engineer's been running them for the past three months, apparently. They've upgraded the engines of the Enterprise and the Phoenix, and we ought to follow suit." She noticed how his focus remained unbroken. "As soon as possible," she prompted.

Kelby nodded solemnly. "I'll see if I can find someone."

"That's an order, Commander."

"I know, Commander." This time he met her gaze, and she could see his weariness, his frustration, his arrogant resolve. "If you haven't noticed, we're all a little preoccupied at the moment trying to button up the core before we stroll into a firefight."

"It won't make a damn difference how orderly things are if we take a direct hit to one of the nacelles," she snapped, knowing full well how engineering was one of the first places to go up in flames during a firefight. The Maelstrom wasn't nearly as fragile as the Enterprise or the Columbia, but as Shran pointed out, their shielding and hull plating were much less sophisticated than anything the Romulans in modified Vulcan ships could throw at them.

"I'll see to it myself," he promised, "But right now I have to sit here and babysit the frequency drift. If there's no one here to compensate for it the next time it gets in the red, we'll blow out a plasma injector for sure."

She grasped the railing and climbed the few steps onto the platform, fighting to keep her balance. Julia sidled up to him, inadvertently shoving her weight into him, then finding her footing at the console. "I'll do it. Get moving."

"Shouldn't you be on the-"

"We've got time," she assured him, sliding onto the stool the second he vacated it. The deck plating suddenly jolted, threatening to throw all of them to the ground. Involuntarily, they reached for one another to steady themselves, only to pull back a second later.

He grimaced-or perhaps it was a frown-then switched on the screen of the PADD, studying its contents. There was a momentary pause, then he shifted the console display before them, entering his command codes and calling up the massive directory of sub-routines. It was only after he'd maneuvered to the engineering folder that he bothered to ask: "What have we decided about the Andorians?"

"They insist they're only trying to help," she said, her face illuminated in the dimly lit room by the blue glow from the display. "The Captain and Ensign Taxa have him and his first officer in the ready room, briefing them on our battle strategy."

Kelby shook his head, seemingly holding his tongue, his fingers dancing across the keys as he cued up the internal code for a data transfer. Propriety and the need to say what was on his mind were both warring in his expression, and she could tell it was only a matter of time before she got read the riot act.

"I don't like it," he asserted finally, glancing at her in his peripheral vision.

"This may surprise you, Commander, but I don't like it either."

They locked eyes, and Julia wondered if she'd finally gotten their reticent engineer out of his shell. That hope was very much short-lived. "That's been a recurring problem I've noticed, ma'am. We're too quick to trust, and we put our trust in the wrong people. It's going to catch up to us one of these days."

"It usually does," she acknowledged, handing the penlight into his hands as he gestured for it. At the last possible second, their fingers brushed against one another, and she felt him trembling, shaking to his very core.

He reeled back as if he'd been stung, then the veneer of professionalism slammed back down. If he was nervous, it didn't show in his face, and he turned away from her, opened a panel in the side of the reactor panel and peering into it.

Kelby had spent most of his adult life wrapped up in protocol and duty and obligation, out of necessity more than anything. His childhood had been comfortable; by all accounts, he'd had everything he ever needed, but that hadn't been good enough for him. He was constantly searching for something different, something more, some grander purpose in life, all of which lead him to drop out of school and travel cross-continent, looking for adventure but really only finding trouble at every turn.

After a couple years of running around with only a suitcase and the clothes on his back to his name, a particularly bad decision landed him in juvenile detention. His record was spotty at best, but the consequences for his latest mistake was enough to leave him marked for life. The judge knew it, and offered him a few options to get back on track.

He chose technical school, which lead him to a MACO recruiter, and eventually to STC in San Francisco. For a directionless youth, the order and structure of a life in the service was a godsend. He threw himself into his training, advancing quickly through the ranks, serving aboard a number of smaller outposts before landing on the Enterprise.

Over everything else, Kelby prided himself on his grace under pressure, his know-how, his ability to lead a team. He didn't suffer fools lightly, and everyone knew it. While others tended to enjoy the company of their fellow crewmen, he preferred to stay buttoned up at any cost, something he was aware of but nearly powerless to change about himself. His fellow senior officers had tried to relate to him, something he ultimately appreciated, but at the end of the day, he was an island, untouchable, no matter how much he didn't want to be.

He glanced at Julia once more, and he could tell that she was using the hum of the core to center herself and steady her resolve. The silence between them was heavy, meaningful, but ultimately companionable.

Kelby resolved that he would open up, one day, any day, at whatever cost. He would make friends, and he would find camaraderie in the stillness of space.

If they even survived the battle, that is.

Mere seconds before the Romulan fleet entered the Solnaran system, T'Pol and Jonathan stood in her ready room, watching as the final patrol left the surface.

According to the Captain of the Pioneer, every MACO squadron was accounted for, and a headcount of the Enterprise science team was underway. Many of the evacuees had already been brought deeper within the system, to Solnara II, where an ECS freighter was waiting to receive them. All in all, they'd managed to evacuate almost forty thousand people, with the rest of the population hunkering down in underground bunkers waiting for an all-clear signal that may never come.

It wasn't enough, but it was the best they could do with forty-eight hours' notice.

Jonathan glanced over at her, noticing her eyes were closed, that she was breathing deeply, attempting to slow her racing heart. The silence between them was substantial, so he settled on reaching for her hand, carefully intertwining her fingers with his. He tried to send her calm, send her serenity, but both of those were in short supply at the moment.

Are you scared? His words rippled across their bond in that moment, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was the first time he'd been able to communicate telepathically with her since their bonding, and given the present circumstances, she couldn't even begin to lie to him.

She nodded carefully and gratefully stepped into the circle of his arms, feeling his love that endured even in the threat of almost certain death, feeling his concern and trepidation that mirrored her own. For one long moment, neither said anything, relishing in the moment, drawing strength from one another when they most desperately needed it.

"Singh to the Captain."

T'Pol broke free from his embrace and reached for the comm. "T'Pol here."

"We're reading five modified Vulcan battle cruisers entering the system. ETA three minutes."

She swiftly cut the connection, leaning into the wall, hanging her head. A second later, she began to right herself, straightening her posture, throwing her shoulders back and adopting that same resolute expression he'd seen time and time again.

In the space between them, they locked eyes. There was absolutely no avoiding the inevitable.

They swept onto the bridge and into an almost painful silence. Together they took their seats, and T'Pol asked, "The fleet-wide comm link?"

"It's open, ma'am," Dita replied, her voice wavering uncontrollably. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms in front of her chest, training her gaze on the ceiling.

T'Pol spared a passing glance around the room. Crewman Miriam Rosner sat at Lieutenant Cutler's station, a notable deviation from the norm. This could possibly mean that she was still aboard the Pioneer, or even worse, had not made it onto the last evacuation ship at all.

She dearly hoped it was the former.

"All hands, this is the Commodore." Jonathan, as usual in combat, was all business. She watched him approach the navigational station and lean over Ensign Pascal's shoulder, studying the radar display of their sister ships in orbit. "Assume defensive positions. Tactical alert."

Immediately, Malcolm raised the alarm, and the overhead lights dimmed. On the view screen, they watched as the Phoenix and the Cochrane joined them in orbit, fanned outward with their saucer sections facing the oncoming fleet. On cue, the patrol ships that were still carrying Solnaran refugees came about and jumped to warp, leaving them all vigilant and watchful, with one eye trained on the distant stars and another on sensors.

There was a pause, then Captain Pritchard's voice rang out: "Godspeed, all of you."

"Copy that, Cochrane. Do we have word on the Maelstrom and the Undali's position?" At Captain Al-Shahrani's question, Miriam peered into her viewfinder, then turned around and shook her head ruefully.

"Still off of long range sensors." T'Pol reported, rising to her feet and coming to stand next to Jonathan. Tilting her head to one side, she peered into the unknown, watching, waiting, attempting to keep her unease at bay.

As if on cue, the heavens split apart, issuing forth five vessels in a bright flash of light. T'Pol immediately recognized the twenty-first century precursor to the Suurok-class battle cruiser, replete with a ring-shaped warp nacelle and a long, cylindrical central body adjoining it. The hull was a curious mixture of red and green, indicative of the extensive Romulan modifications likely conducted by their hybrid soldiers. She knew that even without the enhancements, the firepower of an NX-class vessel was by far inferior, and so they would need to rely on strategy and trickery to win the day.

They would need to rely on their wits.

"Hail them," she ordered, and Dita complied.

"No answer."

"Our sensors can't even penetrate their hull, ma'am," Miriam said, her fingers dancing across the keys of her console. "They're closing."

"Ten thousand kilometers," Simon reported, then paused. "Five thousand."

The approach continued until they were nose-to-nose and the Vulcan cruisers hung over them, dwarfing them. Together as one, they felt the weight of history bearing down upon them.

"They're arming disruptors," Malcolm called out, watching the power readings skyrocket on his display.

"On my command, Mr. Reed."

There was a pause, then the first weapons fire of many made contact with its target.

A second later, all hell broke loose.

The Maelstrom was one road bump away from completely flying apart.

As Alira stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge, the hull lurched, and she had to grab onto the wall to avoid losing her balance. She was the last one to arrive; for the first time in the past two days, an uneasy silence had descended over them.

They'd made all the preparations they possibly could. Now, it was time for action.

She crossed in front of the conn and stepped up to Travis, who seemed to be expecting her. Her hand came down on his shoulder and she squeezed it hard. "You and I, we've got to be in sync."

"It's like a dance," he acknowledged.

"I trust you."

"With my life," she affirmed, then proceeded to her station, sliding into her chair and donning her headset. It took a second, but she got the dorsal tactical sensor display to show up on the tiny screen in front of her right eye, casting a nearly transparent green glow over the room. She pitched forward and gripped the top of her console, breathing deeply, relishing in the rush of adrenaline that always preceded a battle.

She'd just come from the armory, where she'd reminded her brigade, in no uncertain terms, that they had four times the amount of phase cannons and torpedo launchers as any other ship in the fleet, that they were the fastest and most capable, that she better not catch wind that any of them stopped moving for even a second once they arrived in the Solnaran system. It was a pep talk she'd often given to her crew aboard the Caileph, every single time they detected a border incursion, every single time they encountered the Andorians.

And to think, she would now be fighting alongside them. Willingly, even.

Would wonders never cease?

Over at the science station, Novakovich was counting down the minutes until their arrival, five, four, three, two. When they hit one, Alira activated the tactical alert, watching with anticipation as hull plating, shields, and weapons all came online. Over her headset, she could hear Ensign Nguyen reporting in from the armory, saying they were locked and loaded, that they were ready to rock and roll.

Curious human idioms notwithstanding, they were dropping out of warp, the hull seeming to lurch and distend. A second later, they emerged in the midst of a roaring firefight, beams of red and green criss-crossing space and whizzing past them by only a few meters. The Phoenix rocketed over their saucer section, having spotted them much too late to adjust their heading, causing the hull to rock and shudder.

"Patching into the fleet-wide comm link," Hoshi called out.

A moment later, the Enterprise came about and soared out into open space, evading the attention of a particularly persistent Romulan cruiser. The bridge was already full of smoke, but the air was clear enough for the Commodore to notice their salvation appearing in the distance.

The Maelstrom and the Undali approached quickly, only for the Imperial warship to deviate course and come to the aid of the Cochrane, who was struggling to fight their way out from where they'd been pinned down under two enemy vessels.

There was a pause, then a distinctive Southern accent cut across subspace.

"Need any help, Enterprise?"

"Nice of you to show up, Captain."

If he was amused, he didn't show it. They heard a flurry of voices, then he shouted: "Light 'em up!"

Several torpedoes rocketed out of their launchers in rapid fire, one-two-three, hitting their arc and striking the inner surface of the nearest ship's nacelle ring. Jonathan was shocked; he felt like it was the space-faring equivalent of hitting a housefly with a BB gun from a hundred meters away. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less out of Alira.

The inlaid blue light of the nacelle flickered, then went out completely, plumes of smoke and drive plasma bursting from a handful of places. Regardless of the status of their weapons, they were now dead in the water.

The Phoenix seemed to take the hint, banking sharply and returning to their previous position. It took a moment, but they were soon unleashing holy hell upon the cruiser, pummeling them with everything they had, and the Maelstrom was flying away to tend to the others.

"Phase cannons, Mr. Reed." T'Pol ordered, and he complied, joining their sister ship in the assault, all the while Ensign Pascal was weaving and dodging, keeping their nose aimed towards their target.

"Save some for the rest of us!" Malcolm called out, surprising them all.

The reply sounded tinny and far away, clear across the room from the microphone. "Keep up, Enterprise!"

There was a chorus of affirmation from the tactical officers from the Phoenix and the Cochrane, then the line fell silent.

On the bridge of the Undali, Shran was listening to the pink-skins chatter away in premature celebration of their victory, studying the layout of the battlefield before them. Together with the Cochrane, they were laying waste to the two cruisers ahead of them, having made quick work of disabling their weapons.

Surprisingly, the other human ship was a worthwhile partner, its commanding officer proving to be much more agile and quick-thinking than Archer had been when they first met. He listened to her call out marching orders over the comm, occasionally coordination maneuvers with him, but always holding her own. He couldn't help but think that perhaps the pink-skins hadn't needed his help after all, but they almost certainly needed each other.

Lieutenant Tievan interrupted his reverie, hurriedly explaining what she'd just seen over long-range sensors. When she was done, he rose to his feet and crossed over to the comm. "Commodore, we've got a problem."

"What would that be, Commander?"

"Are you aware that you've got several dozen patrol ships and a freighter in sensor range?" He was almost sure that he did, but if he saw it, the Romulan ships certainly did as well.

"Sure am."

"And you don't think the Romulans are going to take the bait?"

Back on the Enterprise, Jonathan and T'Pol locked eyes, simultaneously surging forward to look over the navigational console. Sure enough, over the course of the past hour, the cruisers had inched closer and closer to the wilderness between the second and third planets, their movements subtle, though obvious.

He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before.

"Come in, Phoenix."

"Phoenix here."

"Withdraw and hold the line with the Cochrane. We can take it from here."

As they watched, Captain Al-Shahrani's crew guided the ship out of formation and speeded away, banking sharply to the left and casting a shadow over the Maelstrom.

Travis was currently hunched over his console with his hand on the joystick, rolling them through evasive maneuvers as they attempted to escape the attention of two different Romulan vessels. The inertial dampeners were working on overdrive, desperately trying to compensate as they rolled from side to side, turning upside down and curving into themselves as he pushed through a wingover.

The sudden one hundred eighty degree turn was enough for Alira to get a clear shot, and she took advantage of it, disabling the engines with another rapid-fire punch of photonic torpedoes.

He whipped into a defensive spiral, but not quickly enough, as a volley of simultaneous disruptor fire struck the hull.

"Breaches on C Deck." Ethan shouted, at the moment another blast rocked them. "And B. We're venting atmosphere!"

Over her headset, the armory was reporting in, and Alira rotated her chair to face the wall, cursing up a blue streak in Denobulan. "We've lost all four aft torpedo launchers. If you want them back, we're going to need some air."

Trip peered into the hail of smoke and sparks filling the bridge, noticing the sudden movements of the Phoenix. Quickly, he gave the order to pursue them, for as long as they had impulse power.

Curiously, the Romulan cruisers let them go.

Back on the Enterprise, Crewman Rosner had come to the frightening conclusion that the cruiser nearest them was experiencing a critical loss of containment rapidly leading up to a core breach that was growing more and more imminent by the second.

T'Pol went to join her at her station; a moment later, Jonathan saw her eyebrows fly up into her hairline. Neither thought they'd done enough to cause that kind of damage, but apparently they had, and they were all about to suffer the consequences, unless…

"Range."

"Eight hundred thousand kilometers from the planet's surface. With the magnitude of this explosion, nothing will survive within a million." Miriam and T'Pol exchanged wide-eyed glances, simultaneously coming to the realization that this meant everyone in the fleet, as well as the Solnarans remaining on the surface. If they had time to formulate a plan, they might have come up with a variety of options, but as of now, they had to go with their instincts.

"Start venting as much ionized gas as you can, Crewman. Whatever we have. It's got to contain the explosion, at least temporarily." She disengaged from supervising the science station and approached the conn.

"Ma'am?"

She whirled around to look at her, really study her, taking in the fear in her eyes.

"You don't think they planned this, do you?"

Come to think of it…

"Captain T'Pol to the fleet. Withdraw to a distance of over a million kilometers. The cruiser nearest us is about to have a core breach in about sixty seconds."

"We may have a problem." It was Captain Tucker, and he sounded frantic. "We disabled another Romulan ship on our way out. If yours goes up in flames, so will ours."

"Maintain position, Maelstrom," she advised, then made eye contact with Miriam. "Increase vapor flow rate."

She nodded and complied; the rest of the bridge was held in tense silence as the clock ran down. All the while Simon's hands were hovering over the attitude controls, and they were hoping for a miracle.

With five seconds remaining, T'Pol gave the order to jump to full impulse, and the Enterprise sped away from Solnara, carried forth by the immense pressure of a wave front emerging from the core breach.

The day of the battle dawned chilly and gray, with the persistent threat of rain on the horizon.

Lieutenant Cutler and her science team had spent the entire day dodging torrential downpours and getting caught in windstorms up and down the coastlines of both continents. They worked quickly, setting up the force field emitters, connecting the mobile power source, and then testing it by hitting it with several simultaneous phase pistol blasts. It was nothing compared to the impacts they were designed to withstand, but given the resources they had on hand, it would have to do.

At first they were moved from place to place via a series of site to site transports arranged by the Enterprise, but eventually, they followed the patrol ships wherever they went, boarding with the evacuees after every consecutive installation. The Solnarans were an understandable mixture of frightened and apprehensive, dressed for travel with their worldly possessions packed away in suitcases and backpacks. A few of them were unspeakably angry with their hosts, a few were in tears, but all were overwhelmed with the foregoing knowledge of what was about to happen to their planet, their home.

The storm finally caught up with them at the tip of the southern continent; their last stop was the domain of the Corsettis, where their adventure began, and fittingly, where it was about to come to an end. Liz met Lord Moberly on the beach ahead of the crashing waves, the horizon obscured by a swirling and churning tempest.

It began to rain as she ran across the sand, a steady downpour that immediately soaked her to the skin and set a chill in her bones. She had to shout to be heard over the howling wind moving in from across the sea. "It's almost time. You need to be on this next transport."

He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and seeming to shrink farther into the folds of his overcoat. "It feels wrong, leaving home like this."

"There's nothing you can do," she reminded him. "We're going to do everything we can to keep them in the air, but if they get past us, your militia will be ready. Our MACOs have seen to that."

"And then what?" He pinned her under his gaze, his eyes burning with anguish. "We fight to the death to an almost certain loss, and hope they don't find our citizens hiding underground?"

The wind carried the sound of someone shouting her name, and she turned, finding two of her crewmen standing at the mouth of the cave along with the Corsettis. She waved at them, indicating she would join them momentarily, then looked back on him, eyebrows furrowed with concern. Liz wanted to say they'd cross that bridge when they came to it, but that seemed especially insensitive. Instead she closed the distance between them, reaching for him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He met her halfway, laying his hand over hers. Suddenly the heavens opened up and a patrol ship descended through the clouds, cutting their engines as they did so, using thrusters to lower themselves down onto the beach.

By that time, Liz and Lord Moberly had retreated to safety against the rock face, the turbulence whipping their hair and clothes. As if on cue, they heard the rush of screaming and running from far overhead, and a moment later, a crowd appeared at the edge of the cliff. The charge down the ledge was lead by a cluster of MACOs, all shouting and urging them on, until they reached the beach and they soon found themselves amidst a dense crowd.

The people just kept coming and coming, until the rear bay doors of the patrol opened and they started to push and jostle those around them, each uniquely desperate to get a spot on the final evacuation ship.

The MACOs were fighting a losing battle to maintain order; eventually, Sergeant Cole caught her eye through the crowd and fought her way toward them. Though Malcolm had ordered they keep their phase rifles out of sight so as not to frighten anyone, she could see it strapped to her back underneath her rain slicker, knocking against her knees as he approached.

"We went ahead and evacuated the entire population of the capital city. Even with the emergency shelters, they're on a plateau. There's no way they could-" She glanced at a very stricken Lord Moberly, and swiftly censored herself.

"Make sure you're both on this transport when it departs," she ordered, watching as the stream of Solnarans kept coming, so concentrated that she was sure it would never end.

She broke away, meaning to check on the progress of the force field. At the last moment, Lord Moberly caught her by the arm. "What about you, Miss Cutler?"

"I'll be right behind you," she promised, though at that point she wasn't quite sure if she would be.

Liz pushed through the mass of people, muttering her apologies, all the while trying and failing to block out the weeping, the shouting, the screaming she heard all around here. Eventually, she reached the other side and broke out into a run, reaching the mouth of the dilithium mine in seconds.

"We're ready to go, ma'am." One of her crewmen was rapidly shoving calibration tools back into his satchel, his disquiet obvious.

"Did you test it?"

"Yes, ma'am. If you want, we can-"

"No," she interrupted, gesturing towards the patrol, which was rapidly filling up. "Get out of here."

They glanced at one another, then at her, and she shook her head at their unanswered question. She watched them trundle off across the sand, then took Martina's hands, hoping to convey her sincerity. "You don't need to do this. You can leave right now."

"We've made a commitment, Miss Cutler," Dario said, holding the activation switch of their force field between his hands.

"Are you sure? This is going to be your last chance."

"They're staying," someone called out from the shadows. A moment later, they stepped forward through the waterfall streaming down from the top of the cave, revealing an immaculately composed Lord Senath. "As am I."

"If the Romulans break through our lines, this place is going to be their first target." Somewhere up the coast, lightning struck, and it sounded incredibly close. It set her senses alight, and she realized that she was frantic, desperate, and that her heart was racing out of control.

"I thought your force field could protect us." Martina seemed confused.

"It can," she confirmed, though she knew it wasn't the entire truth. In all actuality, they had no idea what the enemy was about to throw at them, just a particle yield reading of a disruptor from the investigations of a surveillance satellite that had already been destroyed. "You can always come back. Don't be stubborn about this. You need to-"

"Thank you, Miss Cutler," Dario interrupted, and his gratitude seemed genuine. "We've made up our minds, though we thank you for your concern."

She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing, but looking between them, taking in their twin resolute expressions, she could tell they were serious. The compassionate part of her wanted to stay and continue pleading with them, but the pragmatic side of her knew that if she didn't get moving, she would be stranded on the surface and doomed to an almost certain demise.

She locked eyes with Lord Senath, and he nodded, seemingly resigned to his fate.

It was all the permission she needed.

Liz charged across the wet sand, slipping and sliding, repeatedly pulling her hair out of her eyes, her arms and legs cutting the air. At that point, the crowd had managed to wedge itself into every conceivable open nook and cranny on the patrol, and she joined them, accepting a MACO's outstretched hand and pulling herself aboard. She was right next to the edge of the platform, and she knew that once the doors closed, it would be a tight fit.

At least she would be alive.

Somewhere behind her, someone was crying, which quickly turned into weeping and then into wailing. It was shrill and eerie, and immediately every hair on her body stood on end. Turning to the crowd and holding her UT up in the air, she attempted to find out what was going on.

Her baby, her little one, her daughter. The replies of the Solnarans reached her, and as if in cue, a child appeared on the side of the cliff.

She looked very small, very far away, and very terrified, turning and running down the ledge as fast as her legs could carry her. A few times, she slipped and tumbled forward over the rain-drenched steps, once so close to the edge that Liz was certain she would fall, until she reached the beach and made a beeline towards them.

Liz could hear the patrol ship firing up its thrusters, indicating their departure was imminent. The cries of the evacuees reached a fever pitch, and instincts took over.

She didn't hesitate for a second, leaping from the platform and sprinting towards the child. She was frightened, though she ran into her arms all the same. The second Liz swept her off the ground and prepared to beat a hasty retreat, she heard the unmistakable sound of the loading bay doors closing behind her.

She wouldn't know of how the evacuees and MACOs screamed and thrashed and hit things against the wall of the loading bay, trying and failing to get the pilot's attention. She wouldn't know how seconds later T'Pol would watch the final patrol leaving the surface, dearly hoping in vain that she was on it.

The only thing she was aware of was how hard the girl was shaking, how desperately she was weeping, how she buried her face into her shoulder a second later as lightning struck the top of the rock face. Together they helplessly watched as their last chance of salvation flew away.

Liz gingerly pulled the girl's wet hair back from her face, asking, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Qulin," she answered, her voice strained and pinched as she attempted to control her tears.

"Qulin," she repeated, bouncing her on her hip and giving her the very best reproduction of a smile she could muster. "I'm Liz. We're gonna find your momma, okay?"

She nodded solemnly and wrapped her arms around her neck, clinging to her as if she were the only anchor in her otherwise sinking world.

Perhaps she was.

It was in that moment Liz realized that this was the same little girl who had approached her two days ago, who had pulled on the hem of her dress uniform and asked if they were really about to make them leave home.

At least, they now knew the answer to that.

That understanding catalyzed her, and she found herself compelled back to the mouth of the cave through adrenaline alone, where she had to shout to be heard over the torrential downpour.

Lord Senath was back at the entrance in the second, peering at her through the haze of the newly-activated force field, his eyes aflame with horror and awareness of their plight.

"Are there any shuttles near here? Something that can get us into space?"

"Sure, but you might not make it in time. If that's the last transport, they must be close. You would be better off staying here, sheltering-"

Liz was shaking her head slowly, adamantly. Though she didn't know for sure, her gut was telling her that if they remained exactly where they were, it would mean certain death. Senath saw this, and immediately gave in. "Our warp drive research facility is about twenty kilometers up the coast. If you run, you might be able to-"

"No!" She cried, before remembering herself and lowering her voice an octave so as not to frighten Qulin. "I'm taking the hovercar. Ask the Corsettis."

She realized too late how forceful and demanding it came out, but at that point, she was through with being nice. No matter what, no matter what she had to do, she had to survive.

She had to get this little girl to safety.

He was gone for what seemed like an eternity, but when he returned, he was holding what she'd so fiercely wanted to see. A moment later, he deactivated the force field and the keys changed hands, only for their defenses to immediately raise back up.

"You're making a mistake," he advised, "It's better off down here. Trust me, I-"

She didn't wait for him to finish his thought. Turning on her heels, she trundled off across the sand, around the curve of the coastline where she knew Martina had stashed the hovercar.

It took a second for her to figure out the controls, and longer than that to ensure Qulin was firmly secured in the backseat, but eventually she was backing up towards the crashing surf and executing a somewhat ungainly three-point turn, before laying on the metaphorical gas and speeding off across the beach.

This ride in the Corsettis' ancient hovercar wasn't much more bearable than the first few; it was still rickety, unsteady, with a roaring engine that seemed like it could fly apart at any second. To compound onto their misfortune, the storm seemed to worsen, the downpour thrashing the windshield and nearly obscuring her path entirely, all the while the wind was whipping their vehicle, shaking them from side to side and threatening to throw them into the churning surf. Liz gripped the steering wheel with a strength she hadn't known she possessed in a desperate attempt to maintain control. All the while, she was trying to keep Qulin distracted, asking her if she had any siblings or pets or favorite foods, all to limited or reticent replies.

It could have been ten minutes, an hour, or ten hours, but at last a close outcropping of domed buildings appeared on the horizon. The Solnarans' warp research facility was situated around a shallow bay bracketed by the same tall, craggy cliffs they'd seen further down the coast. Liz could tell that it was normally a bustling, lively outpost, but at the moment it was a ghost town, the only sound for kilometers around being the howling wind and her own ragged breathing.

She burst through the security gate and drove right up to a tall structure that reminded her of an aircraft hanger, dearly hoping her instincts would prove to be correct. The second she stepped out of the car, Qulin was at her side, reaching skyward and allowing herself to be lifted into her arms. Liz asked if she'd ever flown before, and she shook her head, a little bit of excitement breaking through the fear in her eyes.

It was more than a little difficult to open the doors with one hand, but she eventually succeeded, stepping out of the rain and into a dusty, disused chamber cloaked in darkness. She reached for the flashlight strapped to her belt and switched it on, studying the dimly lit consoles and massive, hulking objects all around them. Carefully, she passed the flashlight into Qulin's hands, and she accepted it, joyfully darting the beam around the room.

She made a beeline for the tallest and widest mass, bending slightly at the waist to pull the drop cloth covering it to the ground. This churned up a nearly impenetrable cloud of dust, and she coughed, shielding the little girl's face with her hand. She squinted into the shadows, studying the multicolored hull seemingly cobbled together from many different metal fragments, the oblong bullet shape of the frame, and the exterior of the porthole, seemingly only big enough for one person to look out of.

There was no mistaking it. She was looking at an escape pod, or perhaps a short-range vessel for personal travel, but at least it appeared to still be functional.

Muttering her apologies, she set Qulin down, only for her to cling onto her legs. Shuffling to one side, she studied the unfamiliar Solnaran characters on the buttons of the console, before finding one she thought might represent a pre-launch sequence and pressing it.

Overhead, the two panels of the ceiling separated and retreated to opposite ends of the structure, exposing them to the elements and the unrelenting deluge. Liz shook her head and pressed another. The hatch of the pod opened, revealing a space scarcely large enough to seat one person, tilted at an angle towards a wall covered with switches and displays.

It was ancient, and she suspected, more than a little claustrophobic. It reminded her of one of the old twentieth century crafts meant for a moon landing she'd seen in a museum as a child.

Another selection, and a row of lights at the base of the craft switched on, the air around them suddenly filled with a vibrating drone.

"Here we go!" She called out in a sing-song manner, taking her seat in the pod, finding herself almost laying completely on her back. Liz gestured for Qulin, indicating she wanted her to sit on her lap. She complied, and she pulled the restraints around both of them, tighter and tighter until she was positive they weren't going anywhere.

She reached up to close the hatch, and soon they were fully enclosed within the craft, with mere centimeters of room to move in either direction. It took a couple of minutes of deciphering the controls through the UT for Liz to get the hang of it, but she was finally able to locate the thrusters, directional controls, and what she believed to be an early prototype of an impulse drive. Try as she might, she couldn't believe that she was about to pilot an alien craft into an open battlefield, with no defenses to speak of and no idea of what they might find.

And to think that up until now, she'd jumped at every opportunity to pilot a shuttle. She'd looked forward to it. Begged for it. She'd always felt in control behind the wheel. She always felt free.

It had to be some kind of cosmic joke.

"Are you ready?" She asked, activating the thrusters. Soon, they felt the gentle lift of the pod pushing off the ground, and they rose meter by meter until they were passing through the ceiling.

"I'm scared, Liz," the little girl replied, sinking farther into her.

"Me too," she admitted. "But it's important that we're brave anyway. Can you be brave for me?"

She nodded quietly, solemnly, as they ascended through the clouds and into the upper atmosphere.

The air in the cabin was getting thin, and Liz was briefly terrified that there was a leak somewhere, that they were about to suffocate upon their exit. Finally, the environmental controls kicked in, and she breathed a literal sigh of relief, watching through the porthole as the horizon darkened to an impenetrable black.

They came about only to see the great, hulking figure of what she thought might be in the Enterprise in the distance. Her heart soared on the wings of elation temporarily, but in the next moment, just about every single bell and whistle in the cabin went off at once.

Her gaze whipped around, running her UT over the displays, coming to the unfortunate realization that there was an energy surge nearby, that it was rapidly building by the second, that the radiation levels in the cabin were rising.

She'd only seen such readings once before, in a worst-case scenario simulation back at STC. Even through the lens of such unfamiliar technology, it was unmistakable.

Somewhere within reach of their scanners, a reactor breach was imminent.

The range was eight hundred thousand kilometers, much too far away to be emanating from the Enterprise. The thought was momentarily comforting, though she realized they were much more likely to survive the blast than the two of them were in an unshielded craft.

Making a split-second decision, Liz banked the pod hard to one side, the great curve of the planet rising and falling away ahead of them. No matter what, they had to put as much distance between them and the explosion as possible, but at a maximum speed of one quarter impulse and mere seconds to go until the detonation, she wasn't sure they could make it.

Her thoughts were racing at breakneck speed, thinking about how she hadn't bothered to say goodbye to Phlox before she left, how the away mission she'd presumed to be so quick and cut and dry had progressed into an all-day affair. She should have known that would be the case, but she'd been hesitant to acknowledge the truth, to give credence to her suspicions, to acknowledge her own mortality.

And to think that just after Kandar, in a rush of emotion, she'd told Malcolm that by the end of the war they'd just be a list of anonymous names on a plaque somewhere, a footnote in some Admiral's speech.

It was ironic.

Terrifying.

Tragic.

On the screen directly at her eye level, the internal computer began to count down the seconds until the detonation, and she began to pray silently, pleading for mercy from a God she hadn't so much as spoken to since she was a teenager. Keeping her foot on the accelerator, she released the joystick and clutch, wrapping her arms around Qulin.

"Can you give me a big hug?" She asked, and the little girl complied. Carefully, she turned to one side, away from the opposite side of the planet, hoping to shield her with her body.

She knew it would ultimately be of little use, but she had to try.

Qulin had cued in her unease and started to weep anew. Liz began to stroke her hair, singing to her what she hoped would be a comforting lullaby.

It only took a couple of moments, but the shockwave soon overtook the pod, ushering them into oblivion.

The shockwave hit the Maelstrom next, sending a majority of the bridge staff tumbling out of their seats. There was a pause, and then Ethan was pulling himself off of the deck, shouting: "We've lost hull polarity completely. Warp is down, but impulse drive is functional. Shields are down to twenty percent, inertial dampeners are shot, and the grav plating-"

He didn't have a moment to finish his thought, because in the next second they all felt the sensation of being pulled off the ground. That, coupled with another disruptor blast, was enough to throw them violently to one side before they could grab a hold of anything.

Alira was thrown backwards into the dorsal display on the wall, her head striking the rippled surface with an audible crack. She frantically reached for something, anything, and seized the bottom rim of her station, pulling herself in. Trip saw her wrap her legs around the base of her console and squeeze with all her might, resting her forehead over the controls. It was only then he noticed she was bleeding profusely from a wound atop her head, gushing and surging, oh God so much blood, and he wasn't sure how the hell she was still awake.

Meanwhile, Hoshi and Ethan tumbled forward over their stations and all but flew across the room. Ethan was thrown into the domed ceiling light and lost consciousness; rather than falling to the ground, he continued his arc, floating above them and coming to a rest against the far wall.

Julia moved to intercept Hoshi, but was having a hard time navigating the bridge for all her weightlessness, eventually starting to move as though she was swimming. Hoshi reached for her, and they joined hands, slowly pulling themselves together, until they were able to grab hold of Travis's console and lower themselves to the ground.

Trip and Travis had been lucky; their stationary chairs had prevented them from being thrown too far. The Captain peered into the near darkness, studying the crackling and shifting image on the view screen, wondering if anyone else could possibly be coming to the same conclusion he was.

Independent of the stationary United Earth and Andorian vessels around them, the three modified Vulcan cruisers made a rapid about face and rocketed back towards Solnara.

It had all been a trap to draw them away.

"Sir," Alira croaked, and he watched her eyes shift and wander, as though she was having trouble focusing on him. "It's not the people they're after-"

"It's the whole damn planet," he said quietly, reaching for the comm. "Can anyone read me?"

He was greeted by silence, a crackle of static, and then Captain Pritchard's voice came through: "We've lost engines, helm control, and weapons. There's no way we can-"

"As have we," Captain Al-Shahrani interrupted. "I believe they're trying to-"

"My thoughts exactly." It was the Commodore. "Maelstrom, can you intercept?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they'll have some help. Ready when you are, Mr. Tucker."

Not for the first time, Trip said a silent prayer of thanks for Commander Shran.

Seconds later, the Maelstrom and the Undali were speeding back towards the Solnaran homeworld in a final gambit to cut off the invasion force. Julia took up a post at the science station, noticing with relief that they were still reading biosigns coming from the surface. Slowly, the grav plating started to come back, and they began to sink farther towards the deck, but not enough to get their feet solidly back on the ground. The hull continued to shake, perilously so, until Trip was almost sure he could feel his brain rattling around in his skull.

"We've got one torpedo launcher and a forward phase cannon online," Alira mumbled, rubbing at her temples, unaware that she was spilling blood across her console. "I just need a clear shot. Only one, and I can…"

At that moment, two of the three modified cruisers jumped to warp, disappearing in a flash of bright light on the horizon. A second later, the remaining ship banked sharply to one side, increasing speed and making a beeline for the planet. They were close enough to fire on active dilithium deposits from the distance they were at, but they weren't slowing down.

"Half a million kilometers," Travis called out through the smoke. "Four hundred thousand…"

"Lock on, Ensign," he ordered, and she complied, though her response time was somewhat delayed. He heard her strike her console with her fists.

"We've lost targeting sensors. I'll need to get closer. I need-"

"Two hundred thousand kilometers-"

"My God," Julia said, her voice hushed, reverent, horrified. "Sir, they're going to-"

"I see it," he acknowledged, taking a deep breath. "Undali, retreat!"

"One hundred thousand kilometers-"

Shran was frenzied, confused. "What are you talking about? We can still catch them!"

"Fifty thousand kilometers-"

"Not unless we plan on crashing into the planet!" He shouted, watching through the view screen as Travis made an about face and accelerated to full impulse, drawing them out into open space. There was a fraction of a second in pause, then Shran pursued without hesitation, overtaking them with ease.

"Ten thousand kilometers-"

"Everyone, get the hell out of here, as fast as you can!"

"Five thousand-"

Ahead of them, the Enterprise and the Undali jumped to warp, but the Cochrane and the Phoenix remained motionless, helpless, powerless to evade the oncoming cataclysm.

A second later, the Romulan cruiser crashed into the surface of Solnara III, igniting the natural dilithium deposits with the anti-matter in their warp core, sparking a fireball that rapidly covered the surface.

In the blink of an eye, paradise was lost.

An hour after the conclusion of the battle, T'Pol entered one of their cargo bay triage units to a series of horrifying sights.

Immediately after the explosion, many of the patrols had made an about-face and returned to Solnara III, carrying holds full of injured and frantic evacuees, which quickly spilled over into their makeshift hospitals. The room was filled with hundreds or perhaps thousands of people, all crying and shouting and trying to make sense of what had happened.

There were innumerable wounded accompanied by friends or family laid out in cots dotting the room; every so often, a Solnaran would seize the arm of a passing field medic, begging and pleading with them to save their loved ones before it was too late. She saw a handful of truly gruesome injuries: bones breaking through the skin, a handful of impalement and stab wounds, and blood everywhere, so much blood.

The sheer enormity of the emotional undercurrent in the room threatened to overwhelm her, and she slammed down her mental defenses before they could even begin to touch her typical unflappable calm. At the far corner of the room she found Sergeant Cole leaning against the wall surrounded by exhausted MACOs, holding an ice pack to an ugly cut spanning her forehead.

"Was everyone accounted for?" She had to shout to be heard over the din.

Slowly, she turned her head and their eyes met.

She didn't need to say anything. She already knew.

"Captain!" It was Phlox's voice, and she began to press her fingernails hard into her palm in a bid to stave off a rapidly rising emotional response. Turning on her heels to face him, she took in his posture, his distraught expression and ruffled hair, the blood covering his tunic from one side to the other. He was between emergency surgeries and trailed by two field medics, both of whom looked immeasurably terrified. Rapidly, he closed the distance between them, not touching her, but wringing his hands in agony. "How many more?"

She swallowed, hard. "By our preliminary estimates, there are about thirty thousand survivors on the surface in addition to the evacuees, but it will be longer before we can complete our scans, given the-"

"Where is she?" He interrupted, taking another step closer, drawing so near that she could see the sweat on his brow and the fire in his eyes. It occurred to her that she'd never seen such intensity from a Denobulan before, and that the sight was certainly unsettling.

T'Pol inhaled slowly, then exhaled, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Fortunately, Cole came to her rescue, explaining what she'd seen, the ultimately tragic sacrifice she'd seen her make.

Phlox took all of this in stride, seeming to shrink farther and farther in on himself until he suddenly surged forward, and she was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"You promised," he whispered. She was nearly overwhelmed by his anguish, by his heartache, and when she replied, her voice was wavering uncontrollably.

"I said I would do what I could."

He knew she was right, but that didn't stop him from being swept under by the current of grief, turning away from her and muffling a sob into his hands.

At that moment, the hatch opened, issuing Commander Shran accompanied by a small swarm of Andorians. They made a beeline for the Captain, and across the room Lord Moberly laid in an intercept course, weaving and ducking through the crowd as if his life depended on it.

"Our search and rescue teams have finished their first sweep of the southern continent." He paused, glancing between the tearful doctor and the frantic lord, then continued. "Many of the cities are leveled. Everything within five hundred kilometers of the capital has been destroyed. We've brought the most severely wounded with us. They're waiting at your starboard docking port."

"What about the Corsettis? Lord Senath?"

"There's no evidence of the dilithium mine having been there. The coastline's been obliterated, and the southern sea is completely gone." Shran passed a PADD into T'Pol's hands, exposing her to the full extent of their damage report. At the moment and with present company, there was no way to explain how a majority of the crops and vegetation had been vaporized, that the formerly lush oasis of Solnara had been transformed into a barren wasteland, that the collision had ushered forth a near nuclear winter.

"They were right there as we loaded the last transport. They could've gotten on, they had every opportunity," Sergeant Cole insisted.

"It doesn't make any sense," Moberly mumbled, shaking his head, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "They didn't need to die like that."

There was a weighty pause, then Shran dropped the bombshell they'd all been waiting to hear. "As we jumped to warp, we picked up four Solnaran pods in the upper atmosphere."

This caught Phlox's attention, and he turned to him, studying his expression for any indication of what he desperately hoped to be true.

"By the time we returned, three of them had vanished off of sensors. We're not sure if they escaped, or..."

"We picked up no such thing," T'Pol said, much to his consternation.

"Our sensor range is much wider than yours," he reminded her. "At any rate, we found something that may belong to you."

Behind him, Phlox's medics seemed to take the hint, retreating to the far fringes of the room to collect an emergency first aid pack. Shran's entourage was already moving away, leaving the four of them alone in a deafening crowd.

He went on to explain how they'd found it around the far side of the planet with multiple hull punctures and failing life support. It was a rickety, ramshackle pod, and they weren't sure at first if they'd just found a bit of debris from the breach. Just to be safe, they'd towed it in and brought it all the way to the rendezvous point, where they'd found the Enterprise resting between the Phoenix and the Cochrane.

It was enough for Phlox to spring into action; before T'Pol could stop him, he stepped out of the circle and made a beeline for the hatch, leaving every single other obligation behind.

Six hours after the Romulans left the Solnaran system, Enterprise's triumvirate docked with the Maelstrom at the one port which hadn't entirely been caved in by the impact. Pulling up to the starboard side in Shuttlepod One, they'd been taken aback by how scorched and blistered the hull looked, how burn marks radiated from the opposite side to the center of the saucer section, and how the entire vessel listed to one side, indicative of the widespread grav plating and inertial dampener outages.

It took a couple of minutes, but Captain Tucker and Commander Hammond managed to shoulder open the hatch, pushing over a few fallen pieces of the bulkhead in the process. They were both covered in debris and dust and blood, most of which Jonathan suspected was not their own. The arms and torso of Julia's uniform were torn, and Trip was sporting a series of ugly cuts across his forehead and up one side of his face.

He knew they all must have looked a fright; none of them had found the occasion to clean up since the battle, and he suspected they wouldn't for quite some time. T'Pol's face was all but covered in smoke, and her hair was ruffled and displaced to what would have been a comical degree if not for the present situation.

"How bad is it?" Jonathan asked, and he could tell from the stricken look on Trip's face that he didn't even know where to begin.

Julia quickly came to his rescue, reaching for her PADD and reading from the screen even as her hands shook prodigiously. "Hull breaches across three decks, grav plating outages across four. Starboard nacelle is shot to hell, and about sixty percent of our EPS relays are damaged. Fifty-seven injuries in the cargo bay, not to mention the evacuees we've taken on. There's not been any casualties." She paused, inhaling deeply, then slapped her PADD into her opposite palm with an audible crack. "...yet."

Trip turned and began to lead the way down the corridor, side-stepping debris and crewmen working at consoles lining the walls. "We probably would have been vaporized entirely if Jules hadn't routed those new stable EM barrier tuning parameters through whatever shields we had left at that point." Like the rest of the bridge staff, he'd been knocked unconscious by the impact of the explosion, but when he came to, he'd all but crawled over to the tactical station, shaking Alira awake and asking her, begging her to tell her what she'd done to ensure they were still alive.

His ears were ringing so loud he wasn't sure if she said anything at all, but he saw her point to the science station before slumping down again, rolling over to her side and clutching the laceration on top of her head, from which she was still bleeding profusely, to an almost frightening degree.

Julia was barely lucid, but she'd told him what she'd done in the flickering lights of her barely functioning console, acknowledging it had been a huge risk but given the alternative, she was certain her split-second decision had been the right one. Trip had just patted her on the back and pulled her to her feet, vowing to get her a commendation somehow, come hell or high water, as long as she helped him get the rest of the bridge crew to the makeshift sick bay.

"We'd be appreciative of any help you can offer us, sir. Kelby says we won't be mobile again for another week at this rate." Julia caught Trip's eye and nodded, then looked back at them, immensely hopeful.

T'Pol knew they own engineers were currently working double shifts trying to repair the damage the hybrid ships had wrought, as were the brigades from the Phoenix and the Cochrane, but given the circumstances…

"I will see what I can do," T'Pol said quietly as they came around the corner and found themselves before a sealed bulkhead leading towards the turbolift.

Julia tapped the duranium plating with her knuckles, feeling the chill of space from the other side. "The sciences non-comm block. We're lucky no one was in this section when it decompressed."

"Apparently the auxiliary weapons lockers and torpedo storage rooms are also decompressed. I sure hope the Romulans don't come wandering back for round two," Trip mumbled, dropping his face into his hands and rubbing at his temples.

"At the very least, the Cochrane will be remaining here for the next few days. They've taken on the majority of injured evacuees."

And not the Enterprise? It was hard to believe that they could be departing the Solnaran system any day now, chasing another telepresence unit or joining on another border patrol. Nothing was set in stone yet, but Malcolm didn't care to think about leaving the Maelstrom behind in this state.

As if on cue, Lieutenant Novakovich approached down the hallway from the way they'd come, clearing his throat to announce his presence. Together as one they looked back at him, and he said, "If you don't mind, I've been sent to retrieve Mr. Reed. There's a matter of the ship's business that needs his attention."

T'Pol looked somewhat skeptical; he lifted his PADD and tapped the screen, as if he was indicating it was important. "Ensign Nguyen needs his opinion on this repair schedule. It's urgent."

The mere mention of the armory at the moment was enough to make him uneasy, though he tried to swallow his trepidation. Malcolm glanced back towards his COs, but they seemed perfectly disaffected; at that point in the day, nothing that happened around them could have surprised them. Ethan was indicating his impatience by tapping his foot over and over again on the deck plating, something he could hear over the roar of welding and fabricating nearby. He glanced toward Julia, and she reciprocated, seeming to look through him rather than at him.

He took it as a silent overture of permission.

As they traversed the corridor, Ethan began to walk faster and faster. Malcolm could tell that he was in pain; with every step, the corners of his lips contorted into a grimace, and he leaned heavily to one side, producing a noticeable limp. At least once, he paused and bent into an intact section of the bulkhead, breathing deeply to steady himself, before forging on.

"Have you gotten that checked out, Lieutenant?"

He shook his head and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if to say, no time. It was a page out of his own playbook; during their time in the Expanse, he'd often worked multiple duty shifts while injured if only to stay out of sickbay and avoid the momentary interruption of his work. But things had changed since then.

Now, he was a commanding officer.

"You need to see Dr. Yuris."

"After this," he insisted, coming to a stop at the junction of two corridors and glancing back at a storage locker behind him. It was one of the few units in the section that was still accessible.

"After what?"

Ethan shrugged and pulled out his PADD, though his eyes kept wandering to one side, his insinuation obvious.

Suddenly, Malcolm understood. He approached the door, sought out and activated the controls, and slipped into the room.

The locker was cramped, with cargo containers all around. Those which hadn't fallen to block his path were twisted and bent over at an unnatural angle, casting warped shadows across the floor. He squinted into the darkness, attempting to make sense of his surroundings, when a sudden flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye.

She stood next to the wall, his beloved, her uniform soiled with dust and smoke and heaven knew what else. Her hair had largely fought its way out of her ponytail to cascade around her shoulders, though it was caked with dried blood originating from a deep, angry cut on the crown of her head that looked like it had been hastily sealed with an autosuture. Her posture was slumped, utterly defeated, though he knew she couldn't possibly be looking any more worse for wear than he was.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered, and in the low light, he could see her breath catch in her throat.

She paused, wringing her hands momentarily, then met his gaze with certainty. "They've got me on bridge duty. I know I should be there, but I had to see you before you left. I couldn't let you-"

Alira didn't have the time to finish her statement, for in the next moment he'd closed the space between them, drawing her in and kissing her once, twice, three times, until she pulled away and pressed her forehead to his, breathing deeply, feeling his heart beat under her fingertips like thunder on the horizon.

"That explosion. I thought that-"

"Me too. I realized that it probably won't be the last. It could easily happen anytime. That's why I…" She trailed off, shaking her head, simultaneously realizing that he understood and that there was no need to explain further. He seized her hand that she'd laid on his chest and kissed her palm in a surprising but profoundly intimate gesture, then leaned into her touch as she cupped his cheek. "Can I see you tonight?"

He knew they were both burning with the need to get closer, to hold and to touch and be touched and seek the comfort that had always been there in their love. He wanted to tell her yes, of course, I'll make it happen even if I had to move heaven and earth, but knew it was impossible. "Bennett and I have double shift tonight. If we don't get started on these repairs soon, they're going to take weeks." Then, desperate to recapture some of the hopefulness that was rapidly retreating from her eyes, he said: "The next time we rendezvous, guaranteed I'll pack you in one of these cargo containers and take you with me."

She inhaled rapidly, the precursor to a laugh, though she caught herself at the last second, feigning curiosity. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise." She wasn't looking away, not even daring to blink dare she miss a single thing, and he could feel her passion, her devotion, her adoration, especially as she leaned forward into his arms, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, doing his best to avoid the dried blood tangled there. He wanted to ask how long they had, but at the same time didn't want to know, because he knew that they could stand there for hours, relishing in each other's company and maybe, just maybe, forgetting about the death and destruction all around them. The moment was perfect, and he didn't want to spoil it.

She spoke first, her voice somewhat muffled in the fabric of his uniform. "My old Infantry contact came through a couple of hours ago, by the way."

Malcolm knew she was talking about her former superior, the old Special Ops Captain who had taken her under his wing all those years ago. These days, he remained off the grid, though he prided himself in his ability to collect and disseminate information. "Where is he?"

"Xantoras. He says he's got what we need, but we need to see him in person." She pulled back momentarily, the glint in her eyes positively devilish. "Fancy going undercover, Mr. Reed?"

"You're kidding," he said, though he could clearly see she wasn't. "Do you think the Commodore would agree with that?"

"He already has. I've got to warn you though, there's going to be treachery and danger at every turn-"

"And you know I wouldn't have it any other way."

She was suddenly overwhelmed with excitement, and stood on her toes to nuzzle his cheeks in a very Denobulan kiss. Alira could feel him smiling, but she needed to know. "When he asked, I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather take with me on this mission. The stars should align about three months from now. Think you can wait?"

"I'd wait forever," he whispered in the space between them, and meant it.

"I hope it's not that long."

"It won't be. One of these days-"

"One day," she promised, taking a step back, suddenly remembering obligation and responsibility and the world falling apart around them. The gesture partially freed her from his arms and she felt isolated, cold, wanting and without. She wanted to stay there forever, but knew she could wait no longer to return to the bridge. "Until then, you have my heart."

"And you have all of my love," he said, stepping forward to kiss her slowly, deliberately, with the promises of the future, just one more time.

As he stepped over the threshold and found himself alone in the corridor, realization struck him like a lightning bolt, and he understood that he really could kiss her just one more time, for one more day, over and over again for the rest of his life.

The thought both catalyzed and terrified him, and he turned and rushed down the hall to catch up the Captain and the Commodore.

Twelve hours after the destruction of the Solnaran homeworld, the Captains of the fleet, Commander Shran, and Lord Moberly met in the near darkness of Enterprise's wardroom.

The table and most of the chairs had been thrown against the wall or else smashed into dozens of pieces during the battle, so they'd settled for standing in a huddle around the cracked and flickering view screen, their heads bent together conspiratorially.

Trip was the last to arrive; he'd watched a handful of engineers attempt to draw enough power from their shattered EPS grid to get the launch bay doors open, before giving up and spending nearly an hour with them trying to beat their transporter into submission. When at last it was at least minimally functional, he'd stepped onto the pad, saying a silent prayer that his molecules weren't about to be scattered across tens of thousands of kilometers, but entirely resigned to his fate nonetheless.

Jonathan had immediately welcomed him into the fold, and he'd listened as Laura and Mustafa detailed their damage and casualty reports with the perfectly detached, clinical expressions that he'd sooner expect out of their resident Vulcan.

T'Pol, on the other hand, was gratified to be able to report that they hadn't lost a single crew member during the onslaught, though several Solnarans had expired in their makeshift hospital, and they were determined to work with Lord Moberly to see to their last rites according to local tradition.

She said all of this, but in her mind's eye, she was back in the collapsing and ruptured corridors of the Enterprise, rushing into the shuttlebay on the trail of their doctor. She meant to charge after him down the stairs, but she hesitated, peering over the railing, studying the smoking and charred mass of the Solnaran pod far underneath her.

It took some muscle to get the hatch open, but he eventually did, revealing a tearful little girl. She remembered him scanning her, asking if she was okay, but she ignored him, wailing that something was wrong, something was really wrong, she's not waking up, she won't open her eyes.

T'Pol felt the child being passed into her arms. Her weeping continued, and she held her as tightly as she could, listening to the doctor shouting and bawling, his voice so warped with emotion she could scarcely understand him. He called out for assistance, for a stretcher, but she knew that his medics had gone along with Shran to tend to the injured on his ship, leaving them to their own devices.

He soon gave up, saying that this couldn't wait, that he would do it himself, and T'Pol was soon greeted by the sight of him carrying the crumpled form of her science officer, her features obscured with blood, her extremities completely limp and her chest fluttering as she struggled to catch her breath. She stepped to one side, and the doctor swept into the corridor, determined to bring her to safety, determined to save her life.

The last she heard, he wasn't sure that he could. Lieutenant Cutler and the little girl had absorbed a nearly fatal dose of radiation, and they would both need extensive treatment before they could even hope to return to their daily activities. She knew that it was the result of several decisions made in the heat of battle, that it wasn't her fault, but she still felt incredibly responsible.

That guilt would stay with her for a long time.

"We've had one casualty," Trip explained. "Private Hodges. She was on a rescue team in a decompressed section, searching for survivors, and she made contact with a bare relay in the wall that was still polarized. She…" He trailed off, averting his eyes, mentally continuing his recitation, but not daring to say it aloud.

She was only twenty-one years old. It was her first deep-space posting. She was a persistent smiling face in the MACO brigade, always the first to volunteer for a mission. According to Alira, she'd left behind a boyfriend and a large, extended family, one that would need to be contacted with the devastating news. She volunteered in Sergeant Kemper's stead, and for that he was grateful, but the loss still hurt as though she was one of his own.

"The Undali lost two of our finest warriors during the battle," Shran said without preamble, removing two vials of sapphire blood from his pocket and showing them to the group. Archer knew he'd take them back to Andoria in due time; whenever that would be was truly up in the air.

"And the Solnarans…"

"Approximately ten thousand." T'Pol interrupted, passing her PADD into Lord Moberly's hands, not for a second missing his stricken expression. "By our latest estimates. We haven't yet completed our sensor sweep of the surface."

"That's-" He trailed off, leaning into the wall and resting his forehead on his first, breathing in and out rapidly. They all watched him, unsure on how to intervene until he whirled on them, exclaiming, "That's one in ten. One in ten, Captain. Our population has been decimated, and you're telling me there could be more?"

"It would have been much more if we hadn't evacuated, and even more if we hadn't build shelters on the-"

"I don't give a damn about your analysis, or your theories, or your numbers!" With a sudden flick of his wrist, the PADD went flying across the room, hitting the opposite wall and sliding to the floor. "My people were counting on me, and I led them into this trap! I led them to their deaths!"

"You may have," Laura asserted, and he turned to her, plainly furious. She raised both hands in an attempt to placate him. "But there's nothing you can do about that now. You've got the unwavering support of Starfleet-"

"And the Imperial Guard," Shran added.

"And I can promise you my ship and my crew aren't going to leave until you're back on your feet."

"Are you volunteering, Captain Pritchard?"

"I most certainly am," she replied, glancing at the Commodore, then pinning Lord Moberly back under her gaze. "We're here for the long haul. Whatever it takes."

"I've spoken with my senior officers. With your permission, sir, the Phoenix would like to join the effort to run humanitarian supplies between our nearest allied territory and Solnara," Captain Al-Shahrani offered. Wordlessly, Archer nodded.

"The Maelstrom-"

"We believe it's best for the Maelstrom to spend some time behind the lines. You said it yourself, Captain, it's going to take weeks to completely finish repairs. As soon as you have warp drive, your crew will take the officers transferring out of their deep-space assignments to Starbase 1," T'Pol said, knowing full well the ranks of people returning to Earth had likely grown by leaps and bounds in the past three days.

Trip looked somewhat dismayed, but nodded, resigned to their assignment. "What about you?"

"The Enterprise will join the patrols along the border, as will-"

"As will the Undali. Soon, the Vulcans might find it within themselves to join us," Shran offered them a smirk, and Trip thought he seemed to be in remarkably high spirits for someone whose partial claim to Solnara's dilithium deposits had literally gone up in smoke.

"They will. Within the week," the Commodore affirmed, having just gotten off of subspace with Administrator Kuvak and Ambassador Soval.

"They are making a few detours. What with the devastation on the surface, we must consider resettlement," T'Pol said, meeting Lord Moberly's gaze head-on. "Someplace closer to Sol, someplace more defensible."

"Captain, my people have lived here for millions of years."

"We're going to make every attempt to recolonize the northern continent," Jonathan assured him. What remained of it, anyway. "When the Phoenix comes back this way, they're going to be bringing a team of terraforming experts from Utopia Planitia."

Terraform Command was a new department within Starfleet, and up until then, their expertise had been mostly confined to Mars. Admiral Gardner had all but offered them up on a silver platter, and he was all the more willing to take advantage of them.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where would you have us?"

Jonathan and T'Pol looked at each other, then looked back at him, their expressions indecipherable. "Right now, presumably Teerza Prime. It's an alliance colony, but there's three continents in their southern hemisphere which are uninhabited."

It was the natural choice, the most logical, due to its ecological similarities to Solnara III and its continual protection by the Denobulan Infantry. They'd yet to ask Ambassador Lexora, and knew they'd previously asserted their desire to stay neutral, but given the circumstances, they couldn't imagine they'd say no.

At least, they dearly hoped they wouldn't.

There was a pause, then Moberly turned away from them, approaching the window and leaning into it. Together as one, they studied the great sphere of his home, charred and barren, desolate and without hope of reprieve. He inhaled slowly, asking, "Do any of you ever wonder how history will remember you?"

Shran looked like he wanted to say something, but Laura reached for his arm, effectively silencing him.

"Whenever my people wind up, scattered across the quadrant and the next, I know when they lower me into the ground, throw a bit of dirt over my body…" He trailed off, miming the motion with a dismissive wave of his hand, then turned to them in profile. "They'll say something like: here lies the formerly great Lord Moberly, who led us to ruin because he dared to imagine a grander future for all Solnarans, because he dared to dream."

Across the room, Jonathan felt his eyes on him, and he felt his grief, his acceptance, his quiet contemplation.

"Because he dared to ally himself with dangerous forces he did not understand."

A full twenty-four hours after the battle, Lieutenant Kov was knelt down on top of the warp core, covered in grease up to his elbows, repairing plasma circuits in the reactor casing. It was long, painful, dirty work, but it kept him busy. It kept him occupied.

It kept him from thinking about the fireball which had consumed Solnara III, killing thousands of people and rendering the landscape an inhospitable wasteland. Several search and rescue teams had gone planetside over the past day, but he'd avoided volunteering on purpose, electing to remain on board and supervise repairs. The Enterprise, along with the Maelstrom, had absorbed a majority of the Romulan firepower, and he suspected it would be weeks before the fleet was again operating at top form.

He had taken a couple hours to himself at the behest of the Captain, meaning to get something to eat, meditate, and maybe get some sleep, but that plan had entirely been aborted by the time he made it to the turbolift.

By that time, the first engineering team was returning from the surface, having spent half the day erecting emergency communications relays and generators in the most devastated areas. Shuttles from the Phoenix were already running supplies, and the evacuees were asking questions of their hosts on the ECS vessels, suspecting but seeking confirmation that they didn't have a home to return to.

He noticed them stumbling out of decon, still wearing the insulated inner layer of the EV suits, with identical looks in their eyes that suggested they were a thousand kilometers away. Kov would learn later that the southern continent had been all but leveled, the seas boiled away, and all vegetation destroyed. Some underground shelters built by the MACOs had survived, but others had not, with no trace of the Solnarans who had sought refuge during the firefight having ever been there. A few were vaporized, some were maimed, others were disfigured, but all were traumatized.

He realized this the moment that Crewman Bennett stumbled out into the hallway, desperately trying to maintain her composure, but breaking down against the bulkhead a second later. Kov stopped dead in his tracks, wanting to comfort her but not being sure how, winding up regarding the tearful woman with unease and apprehension.

This was certainly atypical of her. Shelby was Mr. Reed's second, the consummate armory officer; as such, he'd never so much as seen her lose her composure, even when the ship was threatening to fly apart around them.

This, apparently, was an exception.

Lieutenant Commander Hess was at her side in a second, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her to her feet, all the while she was listing to one side, desperately sobbing, mumbling about how terrible the sight had been, how horrible she felt for those people, how they were doomed, how they were about to be hunted down and exterminated, world by world, until there was nothing left.

He'd locked eyes with Anna in that moment, and he'd known just how desperate the situation truly was.

Turning on his heels, he'd retreated down the hall and immediately returned to engineering.

He worked alone for the next few hours, only breaking his silence to deliver updated assignments to the crewmen rushing about. The damage all around them was overwhelming, utterly devastating, and he had to mentally repeat a few meditation mantras over and over to avoid thinking too much about it.

At some point in the evening, there was a chorus of alarms as nearly every PADD in the room chimed at once with a fleetwide message from Starfleet Command. There was a collective pause, as if the whole room was holding its breath, then a rush of chatter, a smattering of shouts, and a few cries. Kov almost didn't want to look, but forced himself to, and confirmed his worst fears.

After so much waiting and trepidation, they were at war with the Romulan Star Empire, and the course of history was forever changed.

He continued to work, haltingly, intermittently, as if in a daze, until he felt the tell-tale rumble of the ladder being extended all the way to the deck plating. After climbing atop the warp core, he'd been sure to retract it, indicating he'd prefer to be left alone, but clearly, the crew had other ideas.

Slowly, he sat back on his haunches, inhaling a slow, long-suffering breath, preparing himself for whatever fresh hell a member of their brigade was about to unleash upon him. He was surprised in that next moment to see Anna join him, clutching her PADD and a paper bag, dressed for duty but not looking to be in the mood for anything of the sort.

"It's happened," he reported, unceremoniously yanking the fuse of another circuit out of the control panel.

She nodded sagely, then to his surprise, smiled wistfully. "Seems like our big moment has finally arrived."

"Like a hovertrain bearing down on us," Kov remarked, glancing all around. They were presently in the middle of a double shift change, meaning those who had been off duty since the end of the battle were reporting to the stations to truly dreadful news. No one seemed to be paying much mind to them, and he knew Anna was aware of it, for in the next moment she reached into the paper bag and produced the end of a flask, screwing off the cap. He knew he probably didn't want to know, but he had to ask. "How was the surface?"

"Hell," she replied automatically, taking a swig of whatever was in the bottle. She grimaced, then passed it over. "Everything's gone, Kov. Especially on the southern continent. We'll be lucky if half the people on the surface survived. It's going to take weeks to do a full headcount."

He accepted her offering and tentatively raised the lip of the flask to his nose, recoiling slightly. "What is this, Anna?"

"Saurian brandy. It's banned on most worlds. Luckily for us, United Earth hasn't caught on yet."

"We're on duty," he admonished, though put up little resistance. Sparing a glance at her incredulous expression, he soon obliged, taking a massive swig, immediately starting to cough.

It burned like fire going down and set every nerve in his body alight. He felt slightly ill and a little restless, as though he needed to run down the corridor, throw things, and scream into oblivion. Meditation was long overdue, but he knew for certain it would evade him, as he planned on working until he fell over or until the doctor ordered him to bed, whichever came first.

"Aren't you feeling a little-" He paused, making a noncommittal gesture with his hand, words to describe the particular emotion escaping him.

"I am," she confirmed, retrieving her prize. "Hence the brandy."

Kov took another look into Anna's eyes, their unseen depths, the worry lurking underneath the facade of calm. Her partner, Max, was hundreds of light years away serving aboard the Columbia, and what with the growing Romulan threat, he could tell she wasn't sure if she'd live to see them again, let alone send one more letter. She'd been through one war and was about to dive headfirst into another one, one with an even more powerful and volatile enemy, one where they were sure to be hunted and pursued across this quadrant and the next. It mirrored many of his concerns, and he knew that no matter how much he tried to suppress it, it was written all over his face.

"You know, this one is different," Anna said, rolling over to one side and then laying on her back on top of the warp core, staring up at the ceiling contemplatively. "With the Xindi, we had no idea what we were getting into. With this one…"

She trailed off and was silent for nearly a minute until Kov joined her, folding his arms across his chest. He turned his head slowly and looked at her, watching the fear and unease dance across her features. She was there, present, but in her mind she was far away, back in Germany, reliving the distant past.

Both of her parents had died when she was quite young, so she and her sister been raised in a suburban home surrounded by assorted aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents. Her earliest memories were bright, pleasant, and all in all she supposed it wasn't a bad way to grow up, even though it taught her to blend into the background. To bide her time. To fend for herself.

She learned to love the chaos, then and now, and had always felt more at home with people running and shouting around her, with the distant discharge of weapons, with the occasional fire to put out. Engineering always felt inclusive, safe, comforting, even when the engine was threatening to fly apart around them. But this time, it was different. This time...

"Now I can feel it."

"That's just the reverberations from the core," he replied automatically, and she smiled carefully, then closed her eyes.

He repeated the gesture, and for once in the past three days, he was greeted with darkness. Blessed darkness.

A few minutes passed, and he began to drift off to sleep, only to be brought back to consciousness by Anna seizing his hand and squeezing softly.

"Is this what you expected?"

"What do you mean?"

"Out of your commission." She paused, thinking about the man next to her, the way she'd seen him change and develop and mold himself into the crew, make and lose friends, break and mend his heart over and over again. "Would you do it again?"

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to.

"Over and over again," he replied, and meant it.

End of Episode Fifteen

Next time on Enterprise...

Episode Sixteen: Here There Be Dragons

The Maelstrom retreats to Starbase 1, United Earth's first deep space station, and immediately is tasked with investigating suspected smuggling among the ranks of the ECS. The Enterprise answers a distress call in the Berengaria system.