Night is a relative concept on Andoria. The sky above was near-constantly consumed with the reflective surface of the gas giant it circled, glowing with the light from its distant sun. This light provided little heat, however, and as it cast over the planet's frozen surface, it gave a twilight glow to the ice and snow that rested on its rocky ground. So, too, was summer something of a relative concept on Andoria, in that sense. To most citizens of the Federation, such inhospitable wind-chill and sub-zero temperatures could hardly be considered more comfortable than usual. But this was an Andorian summer's night.

For Twaiheak Sh'abbas, though, these summer nights were the best time to be alive. The hunting grounds and the happy places of her childhood were more active than at other times of the year when the deep freeze returned. The topography obviously shifted quite a bit more during summer, as did each new blast of storm activity or sudden thaw that came along with it. That was part of its appeal. The surface of the moon was notorious for its changeability, which was the reason her people dwelt underground. But for Tw'eak, it had been many years since she had experienced a summer night on Andoria. And it still held an allure not matched by the deserts of Vulcan or the lush greenery of Bajor. She had been to many of the Federation's worlds, whether Tellar or Betazed or Benzar, and had admired the civilization that had emerged from them. But she had come, in these past months since her retirement from Starfleet, at long last to once again feel comfortable at home. The summer weather had certainly helped in that regard.

It had not always been this way for Tw'eak, of course. As an impetuous, brash young woman, she had left her homeworld behind, traveling to Vulcan, learning the self-control and inner discipline that would serve her well in her years in Starfleet. She had also spent much time on Earth, whether during her Academy days or while recuperating from losing her right arm as a lieutenant aboard the starship Nelson. And her travels in service had taken her everywhere - the Klingon homeworld of Qo'noS, the hostile sands of Nimbus III, the new homeworld of the Romulans, mol'Rihan or New Romulus... even the surface of Iconia, two hundred thousands years before their empire's fall. She had been to the Delta Quadrant, to the distant worlds found there and the Dyson spheres which had become the connective tissue of the far-flung efforts there. She had seen hundreds of worlds, of space stations, even of inhabitable anomalies. None of those many places spoke to her the way Andoria did, right now.

More like it sings, she thought to herself. And that did seem to be true. Her antennae were fully extended, alert, twitching in varying directions and angles as her senses responded to the static electricity and the magnetic resonance of the surrounding terrain. This was what she loved most about these night-time walks. The hum of a starship, with its conduits and bulkheads, had a similar sort of cadence to it, but it was repetitive, mechanical... predictable. Yes, there was danger in the wilds of Andoria, reason enough to wear her old commbadge in its usual alignment over her left breast whenever she came out here. But it was the rhapsodic way the land composed its melody, flooding her senses with unspoken harmonies, that made her feel so very alive.

There was also the presence of her occasional companion on her walks, Va'Kel Shon. The rugged attraction of the outdoors was easily outmatched by her desire for his company, a feeling mutually shared. And for the two of them, returning to Andoria like this was therapeutic. Va'Kel had lost his family on the Vega colony, and Tw'eak had never been part of a bond group - for the two of them, miscast as Andorian though they might have felt, finding each other brought them back together, and in turn brought them both back here. To be a part of each other's life, and to share part of it here on the homeworld, gave them both back something they had felt otherwise lost forever.

Slowing his pace, Shon raised his left arm, fingers pointed, indicating a direction. "Over there," he said quietly.

Tw'eak leaned into her senses and nodded. "Yeah." She took a moment to let the sensation become tangible. "Zabathu?"

Shon merely nodded as a grey furry mass meandered into their view from behind a snow mound. As the two of them came to a halt, Tw'eak's eyes darted about for cover, just to be safe. Zabathu were usually pretty docile, but given the rolling terrain, it might feel cornered. And a charging zabathu was a danger. There was no real sense in startling the creature, as it seemed to be lazily tottering about, probably searching for tuber roots or frost lichen to eat. But as it came closer, it recognized the presence of the two Andorians and, for one long moment, looked from Tw'eak to Shon, then let out a snort. Then it turned away, continuing to lumber along and sniff at the snowy ground.

"He's an old one," Shon said after a moment.

"All by himself," Tw'eak added. "Must have lost his place in the herd."

Shon smiled as he turned towards her. "Sounds familiar."

"Just what's that supposed to mean?" Tw'eak retorted.

"Oh, nothing. It just reminds me of someone else I know who wanders around out here, looking for a purpose."

"Walking," Tw'eak corrected. "No purpose required."

"Maybe," Shon replied, taking a step towards her. "It would explain why you've seemed so unsettled. It's not uncommon to be unhappy after a major change."

Tw'eak shook her head in disbelief. "Unsettled?" She took a moment to think. Was she not happy? What was Shon seeing? Was it something he wanted to believe about her, maybe? Her mind vaulted to conclusions rapidly - that he was projecting, that he had to be wrong, that she was lying to herself, that there was a reason he thought this way. She cleared her mind, swallowed, and looked him in the eye. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe it's just my impression but... I mean, what are we doing out here? It's nice, I'm always happy to be with you, but honestly, Tw'eak. We're walking in circles out here."

"You're just cold and want to go back inside," Tw'eak teased.

"Nothing could be further from the truth," Shon replied. "I'm every bit as Andorian as you are. You know I love being out here - is that what it is? Me?"

Tw'eak shook her head. "No, I'm just... I don't know. I like it, too. It's not like being anywhere else. The way the snow, and the air - it's not windy at all today, and when it's like this... I just... I don't know, I've been trying to re-connect to the things that make me feel like I belong here."

"Bet that's a short list."

Tw'eak opened her mouth to snark, then realized he was right. "It - yes. My family is here. Dashii, and her bond group, and Sassil, even Sassil somehow. And Spera, someday... someday she'll come back here. So, I wait."

"You'll be waiting a while," Shon said, finishing her thought.

"I don't know."

"Twelve years, I think it was."

Tw'eak smiled wistfully. "Eleven now, I hope. What, six months already?"

"It's a long time to wait someplace that makes you unhappy, though."

"That is a valid point," Tw'eak acknowledged. "Being in command meant responsibility, duty - and yes, purpose beyond myself. I suppose I just need someone throwing photon grenades at me to keep me happy. Andoria's certainly the safest place I've been in a while. Aside from the occasional zabathu, that is." She looked at the trail the creature had left in the snow.

Shon chuckled. "I can see why you'd find that unnerving."

Tw'eak shot a look at Shon. "Really. 'Unnerving'?"

"Well, I just - I know you too well to enjoy see you like this. Ever since you've been here, you've been ...unsettled. Yes, I know you've tried to give yourself a place here, among your family, and I appreciate that - especially since you'd like nothing more than for me to be able to join you in that space."

"Very much so, yes," Tw'eak nodded.

"And I love the sound of that, when my time comes to retire," Shon continued. "But I just don't know if it's the place for you. Don't get me wrong, you belong here, but maybe there's some intervening reason why it's not for you just yet. Something that's still left to happen, something you're a part of, somewhere, before you're fully ready to be here."

Tw'eak considered this, her eyes and her senses passing towards the horizon. "Here and now... are all I can handle." She smiled. "I can breathe here. The concerns of a crew, or a mission's objectives, occupied me... consumed me, for years. Duty - no. Ambition. There was nothing I wanted more than to succeed."

"And you did. The reason we're not all enslaved by the Iconians right now is because of you."

Tw'eak shrugged. It wasn't all her doing. There had been so many people involved in the Iconian War - including her own daughter. Spera had actually been born in an alternate timeline where, fleeing from the Iconians' tyranny, Tw'eak had raised a half-human child, but her involvement in the missions Tw'eak had commanded during that campaign made the difference. And then she had disappeared - to some other time. Temporal operations and timeline changes were beyond Tw'eak's comfort level, and yet with Spera's presence to guide her, Tw'eak had been able to come to the right conclusions and make the proper decisions based on the principles she had lived by - and, apparently, raised a daughter by in Spera's original timeline. It was all very confusing to contemplate because it rolled over on itself in her mind.

"Spera helped," Tw'eak noted.

"She certainly did."

Tw'eak sighed and felt the weariness in her bio-mechanical arm, which experienced cold differently than the rest of her Andorian body. "I've seen more combat than I'd have liked, lost a lot of good people along the way. Who knows what other opportunities I might've had if fate had dealt me a different hand. Maybe I'd still be out there, exploring the galaxy."

"There's no reason you can't still do that," Shon suggested. "Starfleet would always welcome you back."

"Yeah, to put me in stasis," Tw'eak joked, "until the right crisis comes calling again." She smiled as she looked into the distance. "That's what I like about being here. I'm not responsible for cadets or a crew, I'm not bound by rules of engagement. Only person who dies because of me is... me." She gestured expansively. "Out here, outdoors... and out of uniform. Not a bad way to go."

Shon took a step towards her. "Maybe that's what it is. You're making a pretty tempting offer to me, whether or not it's out loud."

"What am I offering? You already have me. I'd never take that back."

"It's not a take-back, it's... it's a question." Shon glanced skywards briefly. "There are so many places still to explore, so many discoveries yet to be made. Do I want to be the one to do that? Can I accept what I haven't achieved, may never achieve, out there is worth trading for days like this?" He smiled at her. "Out here, outdoors, out of uniform?"

"You're the captain of the Enterprise, Va'Kel. I'd never want you to give that up - to settle for me."

"Not for you - with you." Shon put his arms around Tw'eak, his warmth radiating through her jacket, welcome. "The way I should've, when my bond group went to Vega."

"If you had, would we be having this conversation?"

It was Shon's turn to gaze into the distance. "Probably not."

Tw'eak squeezed him slightly with her arms. "You know I'll always respect the place they hold in your heart. I know how much of you was lost when they died... and I would never want you to forget them. They're what drives you. Your service, protecting others out there, people who don't know you and don't know you're doing it - that's what matters most."

"But then why are you here? We're both driven by the same things. So is Starfleet... we could still use you."

Tw'eak put her head on his chest for just a moment, taking a deep breath. "I just can't do it any more, Va'Kel. I can't take it. Please understand. I wish it was easier to explain." She closed her eyes and listened to his breathing. It really was easy to explain - she wouldn't get assigned an exploratory mission, with her record. She was too valuable to the defense of Starfleet to be sent too far afield. But the cost of the Iconian War had been staggering for her, and she was simply tired of fighting. She had survived this long, and now that she had cause to stay alive... it was just too much to ask to go any further.

In a way, it would've been easier for her if her story had ended in some definite, sudden fashion, whether death in combat or some misadventure like a transporter accident. Then she would be immortalized, her blood taken to the Wall of Heroes, to its final resting place. Would there be closure, or even a certainty of her reaching an end that didn't result in her resurrection? or a temporal crossover? maybe a clone or a hologram to carry forth her legacy?

Did it matter?

Her time had passed. She was certain of it. This frostbitten ground was her frontier now. She felt - comfortable? Not particularly. There were still dangers and hazards, but they were ones she knew, ones she had grown up learning how to handle. It would be charitable to consider a zabathu sentient. She had been responsible for so many deaths and so much destruction - or at least, been witness to too much, red in tooth and claw, not just a spectator but a participant. Reasons be damned.

Tw'eak counted on her fingers. "It all seems to blend together, doesn't it? The Klingon War, and the Undine. Then the Elachi, the Voth, the Vaadwaur. And the Iconians." She shook her head. "I'm leaving stuff out. The Tal Shiar. The Tholians? Do they count?"

"Not on their fingers," Shon joked, his arms still around her, unable to see her face. "Tholians don't really have fingers like we do."

She ignored him. "It doesn't feel right - somehow are you supposed to get some special feeling at knowing you've killed hundreds, thousands of them even?" Tw'eak was having a hard time holding her emotions. Her antennae drooped forwards, her eyes brimming with tears. "Heralds are different, just automatons as they are, but how many Borg did I kill that maybe we could've saved? How many people had to die because of me? Their families grieve them, don't they? And how many of them would've even noticed if I'd been killed instead? Or would I just - just be one more dead Andorian out there?"

Now the sobs came, furious at being so long repressed, and Tw'eak collapsed against Shon. For his part, Shon held her tight, letting her lean against him in a way she had fought so hard to avoid. She hated being emotional, hated showing how much she hurt, to anyone, even Shon. And now she was completely unable to control her emotions as they wrenched her insides and came forth as great racking sobs.

Shon took a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke. "I understand," he began. "It comes with duty. That's how it works. We're to follow our orders, to live up to our principles, even if no one else does. But others don't like those principles, so... they challenge us. And that's why we have to prevail. In a way it'd be easier - for them and for us - if we could talk them into it, like diplomats, and then just... go back to await further orders as if nothing had happened."

"Or died," Tw'eak added.

"That depends on whether we did our jobs first."

Tw'eak gave a bitter chuckle. "True."

"But you did all that they asked of you, even the parts you were uncomfortable with... and you shone through it, all of it, brilliantly."

"I don't know."

Shon twitched his shoulder to let her head rest against it. The height difference between the two of them was rarely an issue for Tw'eak, but in this case it was a good thing. She held herself slightly tiptoe and nestled against him.

"You have a lot to be proud of, you know. I'm sure that if any of your old crew were here-"

The moment was punctured by what a scream must feel like to experience rather than hear. It was as though the area around them had been physically wounded, such was the noise, the resonance, like anguish. Tw'eak fell backwards from Shon, who stumbled to the ground. The two of them covered their ears and closed their eyes, individually, unable to shut out the horror.

And then it was gone - or still there, just not as piercing, not tearing through them like a plasma fire. Shon came to his knees, taking Tw'eak by the hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I - I think so," Tw'eak replied. She leaned forwards and opened her eyes. An effect like a severe hangover, or a migraine, took over her senses, and she quickly worked to shut it out. "What happened?"

"I don't know."

Tw'eak blinked, twice, wondering why the countryside around them was suddenly brighter. Then she looked up. "Uzaveh's name... what is THAT?"

Above them, in the sky, a blue-white rift had opened, like a gash in space. The surface of it rippled like an ocean, the light playing through it and out of it with a sort of electric effect.

Shon glared at it. "Whatever it is, it can't be good." He got to his feet. "I'll contact the Enterprise, and see what they can find out."

"Good idea." She frowned. "I'll..." She looked around uncomfortably. Shon was already walking away from her, rustling through his coat to tap his commbadge. "Guess I'll wait here." Awkwardly, she let her foot crunch the snow, trying to make enough noise to regain Shon's attention, but it was no use.

After a minute, Shon came back. "I've got to return to the Aquarius, and get back to the Enterprise." He gave her a quick kiss. "Are you alright to make it home on your own?"

"Yeah," Tw'eak replied sadly. "I'll manage." By the time she thought of something else to say, the sound of a transporter beam reached her ears, and she was alone in the night, not even a zabathu for company.