Star Trek: Mariposa Stellar Reckoning

by cpericol

This is the finished version! Enjoy!

77

Star Trek: Mariposa

"Stellar Reckoning"

Prelude

Two Weeks Earlier

Captain's Log, Stardate 48807.9: We have been ordered to the Zeta Alpha star system to chart some unknown spatial anomalies. I'm unsure why Northwind was even sent out here for this mission. We are an older ship, a workhorse for sure, but we're also outdated and don't have some of the most recent upgrades, including sensors. I'm concerned that there might be something more going on. I've been in this chair long enough to know when something doesn't feel quite right, but… Orders are orders, I suppose. We'll just have to see what we find out, but rest assured, I'll be talking to Admiral Dalloway the moment we come back from Zeta Alpha. End log.

Captain William Bell leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long breath as he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He let his fingers press into his scalp, as if the pressure could somehow push the unease out of his skull. The tension had been sitting between his shoulder blades for days now, a dull, insistent weight that no amount of logic could dislodge.

Bell was not a man prone to paranoia. He had spent his life immersed in reason, in mathematics, in the predictable beauty of subspace mechanics. But something about this mission was… off.

The orders were vague. Too vague. Zeta Alpha was a known region for subspace instability, but the reports lacked the kind of precision Starfleet usually insisted upon. "Spatial anomalies" was far too broad a term. Were they talking about gravimetric distortions? Quantum fissures? Dark matter fluctuations? The lack of specifics gnawed at him. Starfleet had ships built for this kind of mission—equipped with state-of-the-art sensors, reinforced hulls, and cutting-edge warp field stabilizers. Northwind was not one of them.

His fingers drummed against his desk.

"Frank, could you come into my ready room?" he said abruptly, slapping the comm button.

His first officer's gruff Slavic voice crackled through the speaker. "On my way, Captain."

The doors hissed open seconds later, and Commander Frank Jones strode in, his lanky frame at ease despite the evident concern on his face. He was dressed casually—by Starfleet standards, anyway—his uniform jacket unzipped at the collar, revealing a hint of the gray undershirt beneath. His dark eyes swept the room before settling on Bell. The difference between the men was like night and day—yet both carried an air of distinction and confidence.

"You look like hell, sir," Jones said, dropping into the chair across from Bell's desk without waiting for an invitation.

Bell smirked. "You're not exactly radiating sunshine yourself, Frank."

Jones shrugged. "Been a long week. And, well, I assume this is about the mission."

Bell leaned forward, hands clasped. "What's your take?"

Jones let out a low whistle and shook his head. "My take? My take is that we've been handed a steaming pile of targ crap."

Bell quirked an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

Jones leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Look, Bill, I love this ship. Northwind's held together with duct tape and stubbornness, and she's still one of the toughest damn ships out here. But this mission? It makes no sense. If they needed a science vessel, they could've sent Hawking or Curie. Hell, even Cochrane would've been a better fit. But instead, they send us? An older Oberth-class ship with second-rate sensors and a crew already running double shifts to keep everything running? It doesn't add up."

Bell exhaled sharply through his nose. "Exactly my concern."

Jones studied him for a moment before leaning forward. His voice lowered. "You think we're being set up?"

Bell hesitated. "Not set up, necessarily. But I don't think we're being told the full story."

Jones scratched his stubbly chin, "Could be some kind of classified intel mission. Maybe they suspect something's out here, and they don't want to send a top-tier ship in case things go sideways." He gave Jones a small but rueful smile as he studied the captain.

"That's what worries me." Bell tapped his fingers against the desk again. "If that's the case, we're walking into something blind. And I don't like flying blind."

Jones blew out a breath, nodding. "So, what's the plan?"

Bell folded his arms. "We proceed with caution. I want every sensor recalibrated to maximum efficiency before we drop out of warp. I want engineering running diagnostics on all key systems. And I want security running tactical drills—quietly. No need to spook the crew, but if something happens, I want us ready."

Jones gave a wry grin. "Understood, Captain. I'll make sure we're as ready as we can be."

Bell nodded, but the unease in his chest remained. He opened his mouth to dismiss Jones when the ship lurched suddenly, a soft but unmistakable tremor running through the deck plates. The overhead lights flickered once before stabilizing.

Both men were already moving. "Bridge," Bell barked, leading the way as the red alert klaxon blared to life. They burst onto the bridge, stepping directly into a maelstrom of controlled chaos. "Report!" Bell demanded.

His science officer, Lieutenant Delilah Chant, was already hunched over her console, her fingers flying across the interface. "Sir, I'm not seeing anything on sensors—wait." Her breath hitched. "I—I don't know."

Jones crossed the bridge in two strides. "Clarify that, De."

Chant's hands clenched into fists before she forced them open again, taking a steadying breath. "It's like… there's something there, but it's not there. Our sensors are detecting mass displacement, gravitational fluctuations, but there's no visual confirmation. It's as if—" She stopped, eyes wide. "It's as if there's an asteroid, but I can't see it."

Bell frowned, his instincts screaming at him that something was going terribly, terribly wrong. "Calm yourself, Lieutenant. The absence of data doesn't mean anything—it just means we haven't identified it yet."

Chant nodded quickly. "Understood, sir. I'll try recalibrating the sensors to rotate the bandwidth."

The ship shuddered violently before she could finish. The overhead lights dimmed, casting the bridge in an eerie red glow. Consoles sparked. An explosion sent the Betazoid helmsman sprawling, and Bell barely caught himself on the railing as the ship bucked hard to starboard.

"Damage report!"

Chant's voice was strained, thick with emotion. "Hull breach in engineering. Force fields aren't responding."

The ship rocked again, harder this time. Bell felt himself lifted off his feet. He hit the deck hard, pain flaring through his ribs as his vision blurred. Through the chaos, he registered a terrible sound. A deep, resonant groan. Northwind was dying.

Fighting through the pain, Bell dragged himself to a console, blood trickling down his temple. His fingers found the emergency command override. "All hands, abandon ship. This is not a drill." Through the smoke and flickering emergency lights, he saw no one else standing.

Chant. Jones. The bridge crew. Gone.

A choked sob caught in his throat, but there was no time. Stumbling into his ready room, he punched in the distress signal, his shaking hands barely managing the controls.

His eyes landed on the framed picture on his desk. His daughter, smiling. Tears blurred his vision as he reached for the frame, clutching it to his chest.

The ship was in free fall now. Northwind groaned one final time, a deep, mournful sound. Bell exhaled, closing his eyes. His last thought was of his crew. Of his daughter.

And then, a catastrophically massive and fiery explosion ripped the ship to shreds, and its warp core breached. Northwind was gone.

Chapter One: Darkness and Light

Two Weeks Later

Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 49075.6. It has been four weeks since the launch of Mariposa, and the crew and I have gotten off to a wonderful start. Our first mission was easy, a four-week-long mission to survey gaseous anomalies using Starfleet's newest sensor upgrade suite. The Mariposa is a workhorse, designed for this kind of research. I am excited to attend a symposium on Tallar Prime with Lieutenant Commander Colette Pearson, my chief science officer. She has researched dark matter, a concept I find both interesting and uniquely disquieting. I hope this symposium brings something fresh to the table. We should be at Tallar Prime within a few hours.

I leaned back, pressing the button to turn off the console. I stretched and yawned, my tall, lean body reaching for the transparent aluminum window behind my office desk. I stood up and paced over to it, standing in front of it, and lost myself in thought, still holding on to the PADD the report was on. I thought about it as I stood, pensively trying to quell the discomfort on my chest.

Dark matter was a relatively new concept, early in its understanding. Dark matter isn't visible, but its effects on subspace are palpable. The Federation, specifically Dr. Rachel Chen-Minatta, created a sensor protocol to detect these fragments, or sections of dark matter. The problem with dark matter, aside from its inability to be physically seen, is that it is also highly unstable and extremely dangerous. It can be weaponized as well, lending an even more serious threat to the presence of dark matter.

As I thought about the potential consequences, the chime to my door sounded, and with a sigh, I sat back down at my desk and called, "Enter!"

The doors parted, offering a small glimpse of the bridge's bustling activity as my Vulcan-Romulan first officer, Commander T'Varis entered, her severe short hair a sharp contrast to the vibrant crimson color of her hair. Standing at just under 2 meters, she was statuesque as she was professional. She nodded slightly as she entered. "Captain," she said briskly, handing me a PADD. "These are the latest crew evals. I know they're a bit early, but you know I don't like to waste time."

I grinned, knowing full well of this. In the four weeks we'd been working together, T'Varis had proven to be a literal rock. She had an almost intuitive understanding of how to anticipate my orders, often acting them out before I went to give the order. She's a remarkable first officer. Her half-Romulan heritage certainly makes her non-Vulcan, and gives her a sense of humor, also rare for someone who's Vulcan.

I nodded, taking the PADD. "Thank you, T'Varis, as always you surprise me with your efficiency." I set the PADD down, "have you been to Tallar Prime before?"

T'Varis shook her head as she sat down. "No sir, I haven't had the pleasure yet. I have heard that their world is quite lovely," she said, a bit uncomfortably, which just made me smile.

"C'mon, T'Varis, you aren't all Vulcan," I say teasingly. "Surely you know how to appreciate strange new worlds, or you wouldn't have joined Starfleet?" I smiled, because I found it humorous, but T'Varis simply gazed at me quietly before answering.

"I find it curious that so many humans are interested in what other people do to socialize instead of worrying about their interests, but to answer the question, yes I do know how to have a good time." She said this so deadpan, that it took me a moment to respond, and I burst out laughing, eliciting a small upturn on T'Varis' lips.

I tried to stop laughing when I looked at T'Varis. "And they say Vulcans have no sense of humor," I wiped the tears from my eyes, as T'Varis shifted in her seat, clearly slightly annoyed at my laughter. I raise my hands placatingly, "Sorry, sorry…" I cleared my throat and shook my head softly. "But really, I think you'll enjoy it. I want you to be running the ship while I'm on the surface with Colette."

T'Varis nodded and without missing a beat, said, "No problem, sir. I'm sure you'll enjoy sitting in a three-day scientific symposium on a subject nobody is eminently familiar with." Again, her deadpan shook me.

"T'Varis," I begin, trying to stave off another round of laughter. "Quit trying to make me enjoy this," I teased as well, and T'Varis smiled and stood up, but quickly, the Vulcan calm settled in.

"I'm needed on the bridge, sir." She said with deliberation.

I just chuckled, nodding, "Dismissed, Commander." With that, my doors parted with a pneumatic hiss, and I was once more left to my thoughts. I sighed and sat back down, tossing Chen-Minatta's report on the desk with a clatter. I grabbed my mug of coffee, taking a sip and wincing when I realized it was cold and gross. I put the mug back into the replicator and it dematerialized, absorbing the energy back into its power matrix.

I finally decided I'd had enough, and decided to head back to my quarters, since it was eighteen hundred hours. Before I could get to the door, it opened, and in strode Lieutenant Commander Kyle Valore, my ship's counselor, and as it happens, my ex-husband,

Kyle and I married when we both served aboard the Manitoba, while I was its first officer, and Kyle was just a junior counselor. I was offered command of the Crazy Horse, and Kyle felt that he wanted to stay on Manitoba. I chose the promotion over him, which effectively caused us to split.

Now, you might think that having him on the ship now would be awkward, right? Well, it is. But it's also different. He isn't the same anymore, he's more guarded and hardened. I briefly wondered if that was my fault, before letting that self-destructive thought go and internally chiding myself. I had changed also. I had become more introspective, more cautious of moves and countermoves. I learned much from my marriage, but the one thing that had never changed was the love I had for him, that I still had.

I know it seems weird, but the dynamic between us was more professional than ever. We didn't let our past relationship define what happens here and now. I smiled and raised an eyebrow at him. "Is the door chime broken?" I asked, innocently, but curious as to why he hadn't knocked.

Counselor Kyle Valore was a tall, well-muscled man, with dark green eyes that quite literally pierced my soul. His rich baritone sounded, "I need to knock now?"

I glared at him. "Yes."

He glared back. "We're past that shit, aren't we?"

I didn't let up, with a voice like iron. "In case you have forgotten, I am the captain of this ship. Please knock next time." I said it as politely as I could, but honestly, that really pissed me off.

He struggled not to roll his eyes, but I let it go and stepped back, allowing him entrance. "What's up?" I asked kindly, trying to readjust the direction and diffuse some tension.

Kyle sensed this and took a deep breath before responding, "I'm sorry, you're right, I should have knocked." He gave me a hard look. "Okay?"

I sighed. "Fine, Kyle, what is up?" I asked again. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but honestly, the way he came in really threw me. Then I thought about how he operates. Kyle had always been the one to make those moves with me, where I didn't see it coming. He's got an agenda, so I rephrased my question: "Actually, what do you need?"

He fidgeted briefly and looked up at me, his green eyes suddenly soft. "You know me too well." He sighed and looked up at me again. "I'm sorry. I…" He trailed off.

I suddenly realized he'd come in here to tell me something important, and although I might be angry at him a bit, I'm also concerned. I took one of his hands lightly in mine, marveling at how warm and big his hand was. "Kyle, tell me what's wrong?"

He took a moment but just said quietly, "I just wanted you to know that I know this isn't easy for you, but you're handling it well."

At my confused look, he chuckles, "Oh, I mean you and me on the same ship again." He paused, and I could see the emotions brewing behind his eyes.

"Kyle, thank you. I appreciate you coming here and saying that. But we already had this conversation. What's going on?"

"I just feel off, Jackson. I feel adrift." He says, almost miserably.

I winced and squeezed his hand kindly. "Hey, you don't have to face anything alone, right? I'm here for you, and so is the rest of the crew. We have other trained counselors on board, why don't you see one?"

He gave me a rueful smile before responding sardonically, "Yeah, that's always been who I've wanted to go to first."

It wasn't just what he said that shook me, but how he said it. Did that mean… Was there more here than I thought? Did he still have feelings for me? It was a question worth answering, but I wasn't sure if I wanted or needed that right now. Instead, I focused my thoughts on being a captain first.

I gave Kyle a look of seriousness before gently saying, "Come on, Kyle, please don't make me order you. It's clear that we both have unresolved issues here and while yours may be closer to the surface, that doesn't bely my own issues. But I am the captain, and it's my first responsibility to look after my crew." I said it mock-sternly, but the truth was, I was really concerned about him. I hadn't ever seen him so vulnerable or raw; and, to be honest, it really unsettled me.

Kyle nodded, sensing that I wasn't budging and rose, his long legs unfolding. "Yes sir," he said in a light-hearted attempt to make me smile, which of course, it did.

"Dismissed," I said, chuckling. After Kyle left, I head back onto the bridge, crossing to Pearson's station. As I approached, I saw that her screen was full of data from the upcoming mission to the symposium on Tallar Prime.

Pearson smiled at me, her dazzling white teeth looking so bright compared to her dark Egyptian skin, a testament to her heritage. Her jet-black, purple-streaked hair accented her delicate features, giving her an almost pixie-like look. Don't let that fool you, however. Pearson holds the ship's records for the second-fastest phaser draw and most targets hit and had a mean right hook. I wouldn't mess with her.

I placed a hand on her shoulder as I approached. "Lieutenant, how's it coming," I asked quietly.

Pearson smiled and turned in her seat to look at me. "Captain," she said enthusiastically by way of greeting. "I've been sifting through Dr. Chen-Minatta's data here, and I'm learning quite a bit more about dark matter."

Dr. Chen-Minatta was a prominent Federation scientist, currently at the forefront of the "dark matter explosion," as they were calling it, and rapidly gaining attention. Her work helped provide sensor upgrades that can see and detect dark matter fragments, even down to the picogram. It was a stunning breakthrough, and a boon for the scientific community.

"So, does that mean you think her theories are right about the Zeta Alpha sector?" I asked, sort of surprised. Chen-Minatta's work is highly controversial because many scientists are convinced there isn't a possible way of seeing dark matter clearly. Chen-Minatta posits that the highest level of dark matter in our universe rests within the Zeta Alpha sector.

Pearson's eyes darkened, whether from thought or curiosity, I didn't know, but it reflected a larger fear in her eyes, one that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but made my captain's senses tingle, and mirrored my own disquieting thoughts from earlier. "No, sir. I don't think she's wrong, per se sir, but I don't think she's exactly right, either." Her eyes flash a little. "For example, where did she even get the data for these results? Isn't this data supposed to show us how she arrived at this premise?"

Her question threw me. "Of course it does." I paused and blinked, my mind suddenly on alert. "Doesn't it?" I asked carefully as the hair on my neck rose.

She slowly shook her head. "No sir." She took a breath. "Now I'm even more curious as to what this symposium is really about," she said, her golden eyes meeting mine in a shared moment of unease.

I just couldn't figure out where this unease was coming from, or what I should do about it. I had learned over the years to trust my instincts—it was like my first command. I remember making some hard decisions then, too, but I had learned to trust that little tingle, very much like the one I was feeling now, and it scared me to my core.

I thought for a moment, trying to quell the surge of uncertainty I feel. Now wasn't the time for me to appear indecisive. "Noted. Let's continue the mission and see what happens at the symposium." My eyes marrow for a moment as I ponder the larger question plaguing me: why? Why now? The idea that something wasn't right kept building in me, until I shook it off, realizing that pressuring myself to find an immediate answer was foolhardy. I reminded myself that without proper information, I could not do anything.

Pearson nodded, her eyes still heavy with thoughts, but she, too, brushed it off. I was at once impressed and discomfited—is that what it looks like to others when I do that? "Yes sir," she said, pressing a button on her console and returning to her studies. "I'll keep sifting through it. We still have 4 days until we get to Tallar Prime." She smiled at me, another one of those brilliant ones that could power a small moon. "I'll try and uncover something about this before we arrive."

I nodded and clasped her shoulder before heading to the turbolift. "Carry on." As I entered the lift and called out for deck six where my quarters were located, I sighed and tried to excise my mind of these unsettling thoughts. The more I reflected on it, the more I realized… I suddenly ordered the lift to halt, then changed the destination to deck 14, Sickbay. I wanted to talk to Doctor Bosett.

Doctor Krell Bosett was the chief medical officer and a Betazoid. With multiple advanced doctorates, he currently leads both my Sickbay and my Xenobiology departments, making him extremely valuable to the ship. On top of that, he is currently Betazed's most prominent countertenor singer, often performing for the Federation Institute of Music on Trill. I've heard the man perform, and it is as exquisite as the care he takes to repair an arterial contusion. At a staggering 2.01 meters, a strong, chiseled jaw, curly blonde hair, and an extremely good bedside manner, Doctor Bosett was one of my favorite people, and someone I trusted implicitly.

Doctor Bosett and I also went to the Academy together, along with another friend of ours, Captain William Bell, currently in command of the USS Northwind. It's safe to say that when I found out Bosett was assigned to my ship, I nearly cried. Come to think of it, I had a similar reaction when I found out that Kyle was going to be here, too, although that one was for totally different reasons.

The lift doors slid open, just down the hall from Sickbay, and as I entered, I could hear Bosett in his office, humming some aria as he worked on his viewscreen on some medical mystery. I paused at the door to his office, watching him, smiling. He was humming absently, as he poked and prodded around some holo-display of what looked like some DNA. Dr. Bosett was also a highly skilled geneticist, who routinely gave symposiums and lectures at multiple facilities throughout the Federation and even some less reputable worlds. I trusted him implicitly, and with his Betazoid heritage, was one of the few people on board who knew me best.

"Hey doc," I said with a smirk. "What are you into?" I leaned against the door, crossing my arms at my chest.

Bosett straightened and spun on his heels to face me, his large dark Betazoid eyes piercing mine with a thoughtful gaze. "Well, just playing with the DNA of a Takaran cat." He pointed to a pair of base sequences, highlighting them in his holographic display in the office. The display zoomed in upon Bosett's request and he began explaining. Despite my lack of knowledge on genetics, I couldn't help but be drawn in with him as he talked about re-sequencing base sequences that would make the cat stronger and live a longer life.

Bosett zoomed in and began to explain. "All DNA is comprised of 4 sequences, normally through the combination of adenine with thymine and cytosine with guanine. These comprise the quaternary helix which most complex life forms possess at the cellular level." He smiled and manipulated the controls, and I watched, fascinated, as he dragged base sequences around, putting them together like a colorful puzzle. When he'd switched several of them, the computer let out a chirp and he pointed to the base pairs, which were highlighted in red, showing the change. I still didn't know what it meant, though.

I nodded thoughtfully through the lecture, and when he was done, I clapped softly. "So, what's your endgame with this Takaran cat DNA, Krell?" I said with a small grin. The exact nature of this still eluded me.

He zoomed in again to point out what he'd been trying to show me. "Now see here, when these two base sequences interact with one another, the guanine and thymine always want to pair together." He paused to be sure I was following along. When I waved my hand to continue, he kept going. "Instead, if we take the normal sequences A-T and C-G and reverse them into A-G and C-T, it enhances the physical qualities of the cat, removing several diseases, enhancing the longevity of life and strength. This technique could be used on humans as well, or so I hope to prove, but the data looks good."

I raised my eyes in true surprise. I wasn't surprised at Bosett's audacity or tenacity; I was surprised by the fact that this was a morally questionable area of research, and I couldn't let my responsibility as a captain go by without asking.

"Bosett," I began, a warning clear in my eyes and tone of voice. While I trusted the man, I also had to be sure he was considering more than his scientific curiosity. I needed to know that he'd gone through the right channels. Before I could continue, he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I already know what you're going to say, Jackson, that this is morally questionable, the ethics here are off the chart."

I nodded, acquiescing the point. "Well, yes, and since you already know about it, do I even need to ask if you're pursuing all the proper channels?" I asked seriously. I trusted Bosett, but I still had a ship to run and therefore, needed to know that he's doing the right thing as my chief medical officer.

Bosett handed me a PADD, highlighting the approval from the Federation Institute of Genetic Engineering on Tellar. "The approval comes from the director of the Institute herself, and she's asked that I present my findings on this in a few months." He said the last part with no small amount of pride. Bosett was a powerful figure in the Starfleet Medical community.

Bosett helped figure out the Andorian genetic crisis when Andor seceded from the Federation, shaking the Federation to its core. Bosett's research and eventual repair of the Andorian DNA also led to a major political boon: Andor rejoined the Federation. Bosett was instrumental in solidifying this and was often sought out for medical mysteries. In short, I was lucky to have someone of such caliber on my ship.

I nodded finally, more to show my solidarity for Bosett. "Good work, Krell," I said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. Even as I did, Bosett's eyes narrowed and he set the PADD down, almost with a clinical look in his eyes. I felt the familiar tug in the back of my mind, and I knew Bosett sensed exactly what was wrong with me.

"What's bothering you, Jackson?" He asked quietly, his concerned dark eyes boring into mine. Suddenly, the small office felt cramped, and I felt light-headed with claustrophobia. Krell sensed this and stepped forward with clear concern. "Jackson," he began.

I raised my hand to stop him. "It's the symposium," I blurt, my voice barely a whisper. "I can't shake the feeling that we shouldn't be going." I huffed, clearly torn between my feelings and my duty in this matter. I picked up a picture on the shelf beside where I was standing and looked at it. It was a picture of Krell with his wife and 6 children. They were all smiling and happy, making me smile at the joy apparent in everyone's eyes. I set the picture down reverently.

Bosett didn't rush me, but leaned back against the wall, staring at me to continue. Patiently, he waited for me to gather my thoughts. "I just have this feeling, you know? That something bigger is going on. I spent my entire career listening to my instincts and now they're screaming at me not to go to this symposium." I run a hand through my short blonde hair and down my face in a moment of mental exhaustion.

As I kept thinking, I heard Bosett pick up a medical tricorder and quietly scan me. I gave him a curious look and he clicked his tongue in mock seriousness. "That's what I thought," which of course prompted me to question him.

I narrow my eyes in mock annoyance. "And here I thought you didn't need medical instruments to know what's wrong with me."

Bosett just chuckled and snapped the tricorder open. "Just confirming a hypothesis, captain," he said with a gentle tone that belied his humorous response, as he pointedly tapped on the tricorder as if to get some reading from it.

"Well?" I asked, pretending to be impatient. The truth was, I was conflicted. I knew, in my gut, that this mission was off, I just couldn't prove it. I hoped whatever he said would shed some light on my feelings.

Bosett gave me a sympathetic look as he shrugged and responded, "That you're dehydrated and still in complete control of your faculties."

I let out a small laugh, but he effectively reduced my tension to the understanding that I had always trusted my instincts. As if to underscore this, Bosett continued. "Jackson, you have gone through way too much to ignore your instincts. If they are screaming at you, listen and proceed cautiously." He furrowed his brow for a moment. "There just isn't enough data on this dark matter symposium to know what's real or not real, Jackson."

I smile, my gratitude unwavering. "I'm not trying to stir up anything Bosett, but I can't shake the feeling that this is more than it seems," I said, emphatically.

Bosett just shook his head and laughed at me, his gaze compassionate. "You never do Jackson," he said with a grin, "and that's why we all trust you as the captain."

I nodded, but deep inside, the gnawing feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong wouldn't leave me alone. I desperately attempted to shove it down and smile at Bosett, offering him a parting shot as I stepped out of the office. "Stop, you're making me blush." With that, I shot him with a parting smirk and left the sound of his laughter echoing in the office as I left.

I continued my pensive thinking as I walked down the corridor to the turbolift. Bosett has made me feel better, but I was still convinced something was amiss. Either way, it wouldn't do me any good to wallow in my thoughts on this. Bosett was right, I didn't have enough data yet, it was better to wait until I had more information.

I told the lift, "Deck eight," as I entered, and it hummed to life, whisking me away towards my quarters, where I was heading. I was hungry. Plus, with my shift over, there was no need for me to be on the bridge or ready room. T'Varis was on bridge duty for the next couple hours, and I wanted to go relax.

I exited the lift when it stopped and walked straight into Lieutenant Commander Merth Ananarin, my Takaran Chief of Security. "Ooof," I let out, as I tumbled to the floor.

With a series of soft hisses and clicks, Ananarin's voice came over me as I stood up. "Oh, Captain, I'm so sorry!"

I smiled as Ananarin helped me up, his eyes concerned briefly. I noticed that he was shiny and a bit wet. I guess he'd been doing one of his famous 24-hour workouts. Takarans were physically superior, they could regenerate limbs and organs at will, and with three arms and legs, were extremely quick and agile.

One of Ananarin's favorite workouts was to wear a special device that would alter the gravity around him at random, so at one moment, it would feel like he barely weighed anything and could cover the deck's distance quickly, and the next, it might feel like you were wearing a 70-pound backpack, filled with 70 pounds more of concrete while wading nose deep in marsh water. A pretty effective workout, but I wasn't about to try. I could think of about a thousand reports I'd rather deal with than that. But, I wasn't in the shape he was, either.
Ananarin's third hand wiped a band of sweat off his face, even as his other two hands smoothed out some wrinkles in his jumpsuit. He grinned at me and pointed at the hall. "You're always welcome to join me, Captain, I always enjoy a good workout partner," he said, eyes twinkling.

Ananarin knew well my dislike for the yearly evaluation of handheld weapons. While my aim is quite exceptional, I do hold spot number 2 in the ship's record for most targets hit in the least amount of time, nobody can beat Ananarin's three arms and legs. I just laughed and shook my head. "Thanks, Commander, but I'll pass." I smirked a bit before saying, "but, uh, if you feel like sparring later…" I trailed off, as I saw Ananarin's face light up.

While being an excellent security chief and brilliant tactician, Ananarin was almost 7 feet tall, densely muscled, as befitting his reptilian heritage, and had large, deep emerald eyes, with two sets of eyelids. He was very handsome, even by Takaran standards, but was a genuinely kind and soft-hearted person, highlighting his already impressive visage with a raw emotional vulnerability that was rare for someone in security.

That was what made him special, though. Ananarin viewed his role as security chief not necessarily one of force, but of protection. He often resorted to unorthodox tactical maneuvers that sought to disable rather than destroy a ship, but was also not afraid to show that he wouldn't hesitate to destroy it, if necessary. He was fiercely protective of both me and the rest of the crew; he often called us his "second family."

Ananarin smiled at me and look at the chronometer on his wrist, and said, "Are you free in about an hour? I'd like to finish my run, but you could meet me in gymnasium 4 in an hour, and I'll try not to wipe the floor with you again."

I groaned as I recalled the last time I sparred with Ananarin: I wound up in Sickbay with three broken ribs and a stern lecture from Doctor Bosett about having moved beyond the basic human instinct of wanting to beat the crap out of someone. "I swear, if I have to hear one more lecture from the Doc…" I warned, laughing.

All three of Ananarin's hands went up in mock-surrender. "Aye sir, I'll take that under consideration" he said, lightly, but playing along. Part of the reason I liked sparring with Ananarin was that I knew I couldn't win. But it kept my reflexes sharp and alert, and my muscles toned and active, always ready for anything—necessary skills for a Starfleet captain.

I sighed dramatically and said, "Well, then consider yourself paired with a sparring partner in an hour." I smirked and leaned in, "And, if you think I'm going to go easy on you this time, think again."

To his credit, Ananarin just threw his green and yellow-scaled head back and laughed, booming and resonant, that had some crew members turning their heads in amusement as they passed, and I couldn't help but join in for a moment. Then, he nodded and said, "see you then, sir," and continued his jog with a grunt of exertion, and I wondered how much his backpack weighed.

Before I could ask, however, Ananarin shot out over his shoulder," 70 kilos!"

I rolled my eyes and tossed back, "Show off," to which he kept jogging, but his laughter echoed through the corridor as I headed back towards my quarters.

I chuckled as I walked down the corridor, pausing only as a crewman and his young daughter came by, their quarters near my own. I waved at the girl and said hello to the crewman as he walked by and I turned the corner to where my doors were and again, ran smack into someone.

As I picked myself up off the ground, I heard a light chuckling and I looked up to see Nina Mel'Th'eeve, my Bajoran chief engineer, and the designer of the Mariposa.

The NX 99621 USS Mariposa was a Stellar class vessel—literally the class name is "Stellar—," designed for planetary survey missions, deep-space exploration, and full diplomatic service. The Mariposa was equipped with the latest sensor upgrades, operating on a multispectral bandwidth and equipped with automatic rotating modulation frequencies, both in the subspace and quantum levels, making the sensor array the most up-to-date Starfleet possessed.

While it was a ship built primarily for the exploration of space and diplomatic functions, the Mariposa was not without teeth. The Mariposa also had multiphasic, metaphasic, transphasic, and temporal shields, full complements of photon and quantum torpedoes, a small set of transphasic torpedoes, and five 360-degree transphasic phaser arrays.

The truly special part of her design was the multivector assault mode feature, which essentially separated the ship in half, making two mirrors of one another and doubling its firepower, though at a big cost on energy and adaptability: for instance, you couldn't use the transphasic shields while the ship was in multivector assault mode. But in a high pressure moment, it could determine life or death for the starship.

I gratefully accepted Nina's hand up and grinned as she handed me a PADD. "What's this, already got the diagnostic done?" I really didn't expect her to have completed the slipstream diagnostic I'd requested this morning already done. I'd asked her to do it because our helmsman, Ensign Marcus Menter, who recently graduated from Starfleet Academy, mentioned that the ship was "a bit sluggish" the last time we fell out of slipstream, and that there might be an issue with the drive.

A truly remarkable navigation officer, Menter not only graduated Starfleet Academy a year early, but came up with a tactical maneuver that basically flipped the ship around and upside down to come at an opposing ship from below and behind—many ship's most vulnerable spots. It was so effective in the combat simulations, that Starfleet adopted it as "Evasive Menter One" aboard all Federation starships.

Along with his remarkable piloting skills, Menter was also an exceptionally brilliant mathematician. He had an amazing ability to be able to perform the necessarily complex mathematical equations for going in and coming out of slipstream without the use of the computer—and was never wrong. He had a near-intuitive sense of math, and that translated to some truly fantastic piloting skill.

I glanced at the PADD, noting that it was in fact the diagnostic and it did show a slight deviation from the norm. I looked at Nina, shaking my head slightly. "You mean to tell me that Menter felt that the slipstream was off, and it was—by .0007%?"

Her beatific smile only made me smile back as she nodded. "Yes, and that's not even the most amazing part," she continued as I perused the report. "The computer didn't even detect the deviation it was so far outside of the safety levels." She looked at me with her wide, hazel Bajoran eyes, her strawberry blonde hair coiled neatly atop her head in a tasteful bun.

Mel'Th'eeve was married to the captain of the USS Rendezvous, an Akira-class vessel currently patrolling the Cardassian-Tzenkethi border. They had two beautiful children, living on Bajor with their grandparents. Mel'Th'eeve spoke of them often, and that matronly imprint didn't stop there, it went right on into her feelings of the ship.

Not only did Mel'Th'eeve design Mariposa, but she was also a brilliant engineer. She had advanced degrees in particle physics, quantum field theory, warp theory, cosmic string theory, and slipstream field technology. She was, in a word, priceless to me. Her knowledge of the ship and systems was unmatched, and though the ship was an experimental design, it was the hope of us all that we'd work out some of the kinks.

I sighed and handed her back the PADD. "Well, remind me to tell Menter I owe him a beer. I told him there was no way he could tell the drive was out of alignment—" I broke off laughing, but continued, "well, either way, that's impressive. We'll have to keep our eyes on our young Ensign," I said, with a twinkle in my eye.

Mel'Th'eeve nodded and headed back towards the direction I'd originally come from and I walked ahead into mu quarters thinking about this all. I had a great crew, for sure, and we were headed to our first official mission to the Symposium, so why couldn't I shake the feeling that something was wrong?

With a huff, I strode into my 'fresher, tossing my shirt on the floor. I continued undressing until I was standing in the sonic shower, which I activated with a whir.

The soft sound emanating from the sonic shower relaxed me, almost as much as the soothing effect upon the muscles, and I thought about why I was feeling so off. The Mariposa was ready, we'd done the shakedown cruise, passed inspection, and had our first mission, so I wasn't afraid of the performance aspect of it.

I grinned as I spun around, letting the sounds wash over me some more and consider how lucky I was to have such a brilliant crew under my command. I was lucky aboard the USS Crazy Horse, my previous billet; T'Varis was then my security chief, and I also took Ananarin, who was her deputy chief of security. I was fortunate to have a good relationship with my ex-husband Kyle, who, despite my initial reservations, contributed brilliantly to the ship's performance.

Kyle and I met when we were both serving aboard the USS Manitoba, I was its first officer and he just a junior counselor. We were younger, but very much in love. We'd been married for two years, during which he'd been promoted to senior counselor, and I was offered command of the Crazy Horse. I felt I was a fool to not take Starfleet up on it, but Kyle was happy on the Manitoba. One thing led to another, and we couldn't see eye-to-eye on it, so I took command, leaving Kyle behind.

I turned off the sonic shower, thinking about my role in that. I felt awful over it, honestly. I chose a ship over my husband, but come on, we're both in Starfleet, he knew that had to be an eventuality, right? I let out a deep breath as I got some comfortable clothes on, tossing myself on the couch and running my hands through my face with a groan.

Kyle and I eventually reconciled, but it took four years and certainly created some awkwardness between us when we first came aboard. I remembered that well. I wasn't even on board for 10 minutes when I heard a chime at the door to my ready room. I went to open it and nearly died when I saw Kyle standing there, that same charmingly benign smile on his handsome face—had he not aged at all—and I knew my life was about to be turned on its axis.

We had a good chat, and we both outlined our expectations and desires from the working relationship we'd need. We both agreed it was for the best that we maintained a certain level of professionalism, but neither one of us denied the connection we once shared, nor the spark that was clearly still there, if I could read those bright green eyes at all. So far, that's what it has been, very professional, with a lingering feeling of chemistry.

T'Varis noted on more than one occasion that we seemed, oh what was the word? Oh, frosty. Frosty! From a Vulcan! I suppose she wasn't wrong; I did tend to be a little frosty towards Kyle. But that was just me guarding myself.

Yet, the more I thought about it, I wondered if this was where my uncomfortable feelings were, and I was just thinking it was about the Symposium. I ran my hands through my face, groaning. I rolled my eyes and stood up, stretching, and went to the replicator to get some food and, with that in my hand, I sat at my desk and pulled up the latest crew reports.

I finished my dinner quickly and after a couple more hours working on the crew reports, I decided to turn in for the day, tired, and I fell asleep quickly.

Chapter Two: The Light Diminishes

The next morning, as I strode onto the bridge to begin my duty shift, I headed to my ready room, wanting some coffee before the staff meeting; the briefing before the Symposium. I needed to refresh my mind on the details beforehand. I briefly glanced at T'Varis, who was already hunched over a console with Ensign Menter, studying a slipstream chart that would take us to the Symposium. We were already enroute, but using slipstream required multiple jumps to avoid planetary systems or other stellar phenomena.

The doors to my ready room swished open as I stepped into the room, just off the right-hand side of the bridge. I ordered a coffee, hot, from the replicator and sat at my desk, pulling up the file of the Symposium, I began to pore over the material.

As I began to read, the chime to my door sounded. "Enter," I said.

The doors parted and Rocking walked in with her characteristic smile and today, she had spiky blue hair, accenting her very blue eyes even further. "Rocking," I said, smiling. "What's up?"

She smiled at me and sat down across from me and sighed as she collected her thoughts. I already knew. "It's the Symposium, something feels off, doesn't it," I asked, peering softly into her eyes.

She nodded, her eyes meeting mine with a grim look. She ran a hand along the short length of blue hair that framed her face. "I can't put my finger on it, Captain. It just…" She shook her head as she trailed off, fingers drumming on my desk.

I nodded. "I feel it too, but the truth is, we can't really do anything until we have more evidence," I said, apologetically.

She nodded, pursing her lips. "Sure. But what if I might have something," she asked softly.

I looked at her curiously. "Explain." I asked.

She nodded and pulled up some data and handed it to me on her PADD. "You see these highlights here," pointing at them for me. I nodded for her to continue.

"Yeah, they look like random quantum fluctuations to me," I said, studying the wavelengths.

She smiled and nodded, "right you are." She pressed another button and the PADD beeped with an absence of data. I gave her a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry, Rocking, what are you trying to show me here," I asked kindly. I looked at the data again, and then I saw it. "Wait," I said slowly, as Rocking stared at me with intent. "Where did these come from? Don't quantum fluctuations have an origin?"

We both made eye contact, knowing that this wasn't a good sign. She nodded and spoke softly, "what I don't understand is why even include this data if there's no explanation?" She looked out the transparent aluminum window in my ready room, as the distorted quantum slipstream votex shimmered, a greenish-golden spiral with a beautiful silver hum, and then back at me. "It just feels weird, sir. I don't know what this means, but I know it's unusual for quantum fluctuations not to have an origin—nearly impossible on a quantum level."

I nodded, she was right: quantum physics indicated that a quantum fluctuation should have an observable quantum origin point, but here, the origins weren't shown or even able to be traced. I was struck with a thought—what if this were purposeful?

"Rocking," I said, slowly, "do you think these fluctuations are man-made? Not natural in origin?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know her answer, but she went on anyway.

"I don't know," she said, after a pause. "I can try and dig out the data, but I don't think it'll work. Those fluctuations look like they want to stay hidden, at least for now," she said, resolutely.

I nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Let's operate on the premise that we don't know what's really going on, but keep our eyes peeled," I said, and after a pause, I narrowed my eyes and looked at Rocking. "Also, try and see what you can dig up before the conference about the origin of the fluctuations," I said. "Maybe at least we can begin getting to the bottom of what's going on."

She nodded and stood up, her visage once more reflecting her normal happy state. "Yes sir, thank you sir," she said as she exited.

"See you shortly," I said by way of dismissal as the doors hissed shut. I stood, stretching my long legs. I was a tall man, even by human standards, at 1.96 meters. I leaned against the window, lost in the sea of green and gold, as I pored over my conversation with Rocking and thought about my own feelings of frustration on the matter.

I sighed as I pushed myself off the wall, and, checking the chronometer, I realized I needed to get to the senior staff briefing. I headed out of my ready room, and across the bridge, to the left hand side, noting that most of the senior officers were notably absent from the bridge, but I strode into that room right on time.

An undisclosed location: The sirens were blaring everywhere, and Lieutenant Ayala was running. Her feet flew across the deck, racing for the escape hatches. The smell of smoke and chemicals to combat it filled her nostrils, mingling with the scent of burnt flesh and putrid body parts. She gagged, but kept running, past the piles of dead people still smoldering on the floor—a testament to the first torpedo that had blown a hole through the station's outer hull.

As she rounded the corner, she ran hard into a solid-feeling force field and yelped as she bounced off it. As she jumped up, her head darted around frantically, the force field was blocking her way to the escape pods! Ayala brushed her arm off, and wiped the tears, sweat, and grime from her face, thinking furiously.

She took off running back the way she came and made it all the way to the end of the deck before she felt the steady rhythm of the station's core shutting down. She knew she had to act quickly.

She furiously typed in commands to the escape pod to get it to open its doors, but the system kept showing a lock in place. She began to tap at the controls, desperately trying to open the hatch. Slowly, quietly, almost without notice, the lights began to flicker, dim, brighten, then fade out altogether, and the station's life support systems shut down with a quiet sigh, and the controls to the escape pod went out completely, leaving Ayala totally in the dark.

Ayala swallowed, trying to quell the fear rising in the pit of her stomach as she ripped off the bulkhead so that she could employ the manual override. As she reached for the switch, she heard several soft pops and some rather alarming hisses, and what sounded like groaning metal. She palmed her beacon around, the harsh light not really illuminating anything but the smoke, but then she saw it: the smoke was slowly beginning to move!

She raced to follow the direction the smoke was going in and coughed as she wandered into a particularly dense patch. She groped and searched around her, tying to orient herself in the corridor. Her fingers brushed up against something cold and slightly wet, and when she pulled her hand back it was covered in blood.

She retched and turned away, stumbling against the wall, she felt the station tremble. She slid to the floor, tears streaming, and she noticed that it was becoming harder to breathe. Looking up and around, she finally noticed where the smoke was going: a tiny—but expanding—hole in the bulkhead.

She knew her time was limited, but she forced herself to stand up, walk to the escape pod, and try again. She made the switch halfway up before the bulkhead's rupture expanded and blew her right into space. Seconds later, the station exploded, blanketing the surface of Kalendra IV's third moon only for a moment as the station dissolved into nothing, the station and people inside vanished, as though it had never even been there.

I allowed myself a brief smile as I walked into the conference room, and seeing all my senior staff around I took my customary spot at the head of the table. "Thank you all for coming. Our first official orders have come in: we are to attend a Dark Matter Symposium, given by Dr. Rachel Chen-Minatta, and shortly after that, we will get our assignment to study the formation of dark matter phenomenon". I smiled as I nodded at Rocking.

"Commander Rocking, would you be so kind as to explain the significance of this for us all, as I'm sure many of you are wondering why we are only going to attend the Symposium." As many heads nodded at that, I left the floor for Rocking, who got up and walked over to the display on the wall, activating it with a switch, her silver-gold hair shining brightly from the overhead lights.

"Dark matter," she began. "It comprises over 90 percent of our cosmos, and yet we know very little about it." She took a breath, highlighting the molecular structure of dark matter.

"What Dr. Chen-Minatta has developed is nothing short of extraordinary." She shifted the view on the screen to one of the galaxies, a complex web that looked very much like an ethereal web across the galaxy, like a massive connection network.

"Think of dark matter as the invisible glue of the cosmos, the unseen force shaping galaxies and their movement. For centuries, it was only theoretical—an absence inferred by what it left behind—but now, with the sensor upgrade Chen-Minatta designed," her fingers danced over the controls, zooming in on a specific region. "The array works by detecting the minute gravitational distortions caused by dark matter. Think of it like tracing the ripples on a pond when something moves beneath the surface. These distortions allow us to visualize its presence and even map its distribution."

Dr. Bosett's face leaned forward, awe flicking across his handsome Betazoid face, his dark eyes sparkling with interest. "So, its like—we're seeing the skeleton of the universe," he asked, smiling.

Rocking nodded, her own eyes lighting up. "Exactly," she responded enthusiastically. "It doesn't emit light, doesn't reflect light, and its not directly observable. But its everywhere, making up nearly 27 percent of the universe's mass-energy content. But this upgrade transforms the subtle effects of dark matter on the visible universe into something we can see, by detecting these as they interact with subspace on a quantum level."

Lieutenant Delek R'Gore, my Romulan Operations chief, spoke up, his deep voice sounding intrigued. R'Gore was a brilliant scientist in his own right, but his specialties lay in plasma technology. "So these filaments," he began slowly, "they're what hold galaxies together?"

Rocking nodded again, zooming out to show the interconnectedness and complexity of the filaments of the galaxy. "Precisely," she responded. "Without them, galaxies would fly apart, scattered by their own rotation. And beyond that, this technology allows us to study not only dark matter itself, but its influence on the formation of stars, the evolution of galaxies, and even the movement of entire clusters."

She grinned and continued, "it's like unlocking a sixth sense, one that lets us perceive the universe as it truly is, not just as we see it, or want to see it." She finished with a smile.

A quiet sigh came from Mel'Th'eeve, who said with no small amount of wonder, "We're finally seeing the invisible," eliciting smiles from all at the table.

I nodded, genuinely intrigued. "Okay, but what's the relevance now, Colette?"

She laughed as she took her seat. "You mean, aside from the incredible scientific breakthrough?" She ran a hand through her short, spiky blue hair. "Well, the Mariposa is a state-of-the-art vessel, equipped with this modification already." She made eye contact with all of us in the room before continuing. "We get to be among the first scientists in Starfleet to get to explore this up close and personal—and that's exciting," she said with a triumphant smile.

Her energy, as always, proved to be infectious, and as I looked around, I saw many heads lowered in thought. I, too, was lost in thought, but I took control back of the meeting, turning to the task at hand.

"Well, we're about ten hours from Tallar Prime, so let's be prepared when we arrive." I looked at Rocking. "Colette, I'll go down with you for the Symposium, especially since Starfleet requested my presence to receive orders right afterward."

Rocking nodded and smiled. "I'd suggest we bring Delek, also," she said, looking at R'Gore. "He has been interested in how plasma tech might interact with dark matter."

R'Gore flushed green, blushing before responding. "Well," he began, somewhat apologetically. "I was thinking that dark matter comprises nearly all of our galaxy, so since plasma is phased differently from dark matter, I wonder if there would be any interaction?"

I nodded, my heart beating fast. It hadn't even occurred to me that dark matter could be weaponized, but now that R'Gore had mentioned it, it wasn't something I could ignore. "Wait, R'Gore, are you thinking of dark matter as a weapon?"

He shook his head emphatically, and I noted a small but pleased nod from Ananarin. "No sir," he said, speaking with more confidence now. "I'm not suggesting anything like that, sir, I'm simply asking if there exists that possibility." He looked at Rocking, who gave him a demure smile in return, forcing R'Gore to chuckle. "I'm more interested in whether plasma can illuminate dark matter," he clarified.

R'Gore continued, "what Lieutenant Rocking failed to mention, was that I was thinking of how plasma might be used to create a way of making dark matter visible, in real-time, and not just by sensors." He let the postulation hang for a moment before Mel'Th'eeve spoke up.

"Well, you can use plasma to interact with dark matter—but not directly, Delek," she began, adopting the lecture tone we all were quite familiar with by now. She continued, "Plasma could theoretically respond to the gravitational distortions caused by dark matter. If a cloud of plasma is released into an area where the dark matter is concentrated, the plasma might be pulled into certain shapes or distributions by the dark matter's gravitational field, making a soft of 'skeleton' of the dark matter."

Rocking nodded and continued. "Exactly, we could inject plasma into a region we suspect has dark matter anomalies, and we can use the sensors to observe how the plasma moves or distorts." She looked at R'Gore, clearly impressed. "That's not a bad idea, Delek."

He smiled but then turned serious as he looked back at me. "I am curious, though now, Captain. What motivation would anyone have to weaponize dark matter?" He looked truly troubled by the thought, and I couldn't blame him. As I opened my mouth to speak, it was Kyle who spoke instead.

"Delek, you of all people should understand that not everyone has the same interests and thoughts of science as we tend to." Kyle looked around the room at all of us, commanding our attention. I was surprised, usually Kyle stayed out of scientific matters, unless they fell into psychology.

He continued, "There are many factions—some even within our own governmental body—that think the ends justify the means." R'Gore nodded in understanding.

"You're referring to Section 31," R'Gore asked.

The entire room took a collective inhale. Section 31 was Starfleet's most shadowed organization. Citing the need for a military black operations arm, the Federation, while knowing of its presence, also studiously disavowed any affiliation with or knowledge of the organization, stating that Starfleet Intelligence was this branch of Starfleet. The organization tended to prioritize the safety and continued survival of the Federation, usually at means that were either extreme or simply morally questionable. Nobody wanted Section 31 around, but nobody knew how to get rid of them, either.

I took a deep breath, holding my hand up to stall the conversation. "Look, I know that there are many species who would love to weaponize this concept, but given that we are the only political power with this technology, it seems a bit hasty to assume that it could be weaponized."

Kyle rolled his eyes and crossed his ankles, a clear sign he was perturbed. "So, you're just suggesting we turn a blind eye to dark matter's possibilities? Ignore the fact that it could be weaponized," he asked, bluntly.

Ananarin spoke up in defense of that instead of me. "No, Counselor, we shouldn't ignore it," he began, leaning forward toward Kyle. "Knowing something and being able to prove something are two different sides of the same coin, and without information, we cannot do anything but prepare," he said astutely.

I nodded, "I agree, Merth." I turned to Kyle. "Kyle, I'm not suggesting we 'turn a blind eye,' as you put it, I'm suggesting that we proceed cautiously, carefully." I looked at Rocking, who sensing my thoughts, nodded.

"Colette discovered some odd quantum fluctuations in Chen-Minatta's work, which, if I'm being honest, makes more sense to me now that we're talking about whether dark matter can be weaponized."

Rocking and I shared a tense but palpable look, while Nina looked horrified and Ananarin looked sick. Bosett spoke up next, "So, what I'm hearing is, prepare for the worst, but expect the worst?" He said it so lightly that it eased the tense atmosphere in the room, allowing us all to smile.

Ensign Menter elbowed Bosett playfully. "Well said, Doc," which just made us all laugh even more.

I shook my head and spoke up, ending the conference. "For now, let's proceed as we are, until we know more." I turned to each person as I spoke to them. "Colette, keep working on finding the source of those quantum fluctuations. Nina and Delek, work to see if we could use plasma to 'illuminate' dark matter. Thank you, everyone is dismissed.

I stayed in my seat as everyone flew out of the room, Menter following R'Gore, almost on his heels, draping his lanky arms over the Romulan's shoulders. I smiled as I saw R'Gore's lips turn up in a smile. I turned to see Kyle still sitting there, looking troubled, but looking straight at me.

I grinned at him, "what is it, Kyle?" I knew he wanted to say more and I could tell the thought of weaponizing dark matter had disturbed him deeply.

He stayed silent for a moment, just analyzing me with those green eyes of his. I waited patiently, knowing he'd speak when he was ready. "I just think you brushed off the concern of weaponizing dark matter aside too quickly," he said carefully.

I nodded. From anyone else, this might seem like insubordination, but Kyle, being my ex-husband, was also the one person in my life who probably knew me better than I knew myself—and he wasn't wrong.

"Yes, I did, Kyle. For a reason. I find it terrifying and unsettling." I paused, collecting my thoughts, and Kyle, sensing my unease, gave me the space to work it through. "I'm not saying there isn't the possibility of it being used as a weapon, I'm just saying that in any situation, I can't imagine anyone bold enough to manipulate something as unstable as dark matter." I tried to quiet the voice within me that was screaming out that I was onto something, but I couldn't quell it.

Kyle stretched an arm out and lightly brushed my hand with his. "Tell me what's really bothering you, Jackson," in his quiet counselor voice. I knew that he was right—I needed to let this out, even if I wasn't totally sure what was bothering me.

"I already told you something about this mission feels off to me." At Kyle's nod, I continued, "We found traces of quantum subspace fluctuations that have no identifiable origin, and we also have the mystery of dark matter becoming…well, light." I smirked at my pun, even though it wasn't great, but Kyle grinned anyway.

"Nice, but don't deflect: what has you rattled, Captain?" The fact that he pulled out my rank indicated to me that he was asking professionally, not personally, so I adopted that tone with him.

"I don't know, Kyle, I just can't articulate a feeling that something isn't sitting right." I forced a smile, though it didn't reach my eyes and I patted Kyle's hand softly. "Thanks for asking, Kyle, but I'm okay. I just want to get this Symposium over with and get to the next part of the mission," I said, standing.

Kyle also stood up, and we both began walking out of the conference room, back onto the bridge, but he whispered into my ear as we parted, "keep me in the loop, Captain—don't make me pull it out of you, trust your instincts, they've never been wrong before."

As I sat in the center seat, I thought about those instincts. Every one of them was screaming at me to proceed cautiously, and so far, that was pretty much all I could do.

She looked around, unsure where she was for a moment. One moment she'd been standing in her quarters, and now she was on the bridge of the Mariposa. She turned to look around, and her eye caught someone standing on the aft deck, above and behind where Captain Valore usually sits, somewhat obscured by the shadows.

A deep resonant voice rang out, startling her, "That which is found must be lost in order to be found again." The voice stepped forward, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw her own face emerge from the shadows. An icy dread crawled up her spine, mingling with the faint, inexplicable warmth of familiarity.

Another voice spoke up from behind her, this time with the voice of her mother, Gloria. "This one has a purpose, a goal, but she does not know yet what she must do to complete her task." The woman's hand briefly reached up and grabbed Nina's ear, at her pagh.

Instinctively, Nina knew these were the Prophets, but her logical mind refused the connection. The image of her mother turned to look away, at another person who appeared out of nowhere, walking behind her and again spoke in riddles. "Trust in the unseen, or all will unravel." The being, with Kyle Valore's face, turned briefly to her with a sad but beatific smile on its face, "the path is already written. This one must walk it." The image of Kyle handed her a small, glowing red orb, and cryptically remarked, "This one must infuse herself with the Spirit."

Even as she struggled to make sense of these words, she felt a rush of wind, and as she sat up in her bed, she realized she was holding a small glowing red gem in her left hand, which pulsed and throbbed in her hand, its warmth both alien and comforting. It felt impossibly heavy, as though it carried the weight of something far greater than herself. She sighed and clutched the gem to her chest, its glow casting faint amber shadows on the eggshell-colored walls of her quarters. She wanted to dismiss it as a dream, but the weight in her hand defied reason, whispering a truth she knew she wasn't ready to face yet.

Chapter Three: Dark Matter Rises

I adjusted the collar of my uniform as Rocking and I made our way through the bustling corridors of the Tallar Prime Science Complex. The Symposium had just ended, but the unease it left behind was still heavy in the air.

"Well," I began, my tone deliberately light, though my brow was furrowed in thought, "that was… illuminating."

Rocking shot me a sidelong glance, her usually bright demeanor subdued. "If by 'illuminating,' you mean a maze of half-truths and unanswered questions, then yes, it certainly was."

I let out a dry chuckle, though my mind replayed the critical moment. The Symposium had started as expected, with Dr. Chen-Minatta delivering an impassioned lecture on the potential of her breakthrough sensor technology. Her diagrams of dark matter filaments crisscrossing the galaxy and the gravitational signatures they left behind were impressive, even to those who had only a passing interest in subspace physics.

But then the Admiral spoke.

I still couldn't shake the tension that had gripped the room when Admiral Dalloway, standing at the back, had interrupted. "Doctor," he'd said, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the audience, "if this technology is so precise, could it not be adapted for… less peaceful purposes? Could it not be used to destabilize enemy systems or even as a weapon?"

The room had fallen silent, the weight of the question sinking into every corner of the hall.

Chen-Minatta had looked genuinely horrified. "Admiral, with respect, this technology was developed for exploration and understanding, not destruction. The thought of weaponizing it is—" She'd faltered, her words trailing off under the scrutiny of the audience and the Admiral's impassive gaze. "It's unthinkable."

Rocking's voice pulled me back to the present. "It wasn't just the Admiral's question," she said, her voice low. "It was the way he asked it—like it wasn't a question at all, but a challenge. As though he already knew the answer."

I nodded grimly. I'd noticed it too. The Symposium, which should have been a straightforward discussion of scientific advancements, now felt like the setup for something far more sinister.

As we neared the Admiral's private office, Rocking hesitated. "Do you think Chen-Minatta knew what she was walking into? Or do you think this was always the plan?"

I sighed. "I don't know. But I have a feeling Admiral Dalloway is about to clarify… or not."

The door to Dalloway's office slid open, revealing the Admiral seated at his desk, a holographic map of the Zeta Alpha star system hovering before him. He didn't waste time on pleasantries.

"Captain Valore, Commander Rocking, I have your next assignment."

I exchanged a glance with Rocking before stepping forward. "Let me guess. It involves dark matter?"

Dalloway smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Correct. Your orders are to investigate a significant subspace instability in the Zeta Alpha system. We believe it could hold answers to some of the… unexpected questions raised during today's Symposium. The Mariposa is uniquely equipped for this mission."

Rocking crossed her arms, her sharp blue eyes narrowing. "And if we find evidence of something more dangerous than unstable subspace?"

Dalloway's expression didn't waver. "Then I trust you'll handle it accordingly, Commander."

As Rocking and I exchanged uneasy glances, I thanked the Admiral, who nodded gruffly and waved us out, his attention already elsewhere. As we exited, my mind was dark with unpleasant thoughts.

Rocking's mood seemed to mirror my own as we walked back to the transport site. She looked at me, her big blue eyes wide with concern, "Captain, this just doesn't feel right. We're being sent into a situation with very little guidance and an extreme amount of leeway."

I nodded, quickening my pace. I felt it too, but I had to be the captain. "Rocking, I share your thoughts, but we still don't have enough to go on." I sighed and halted my steps, the bright sunshine flooding the courtyard with ambient radiation, and forcing me to turn to look at Rocking, eyes squinted. "But there's too many things not adding up right now." I thought, quickly.

"We need to be sharp, Colette. Stay sharp," I said, giving the command, but it wasn't necessary, as Rocking gave me her normal thousand-watt smile. "Don't worry, sir, I'll be on the lookout."

I smiled and we resumed our stroll through the beautifully landscaped courtyard, with its winding paths and unique botanical gardens, it felt more like a recreational facility than a science facility.

We approached the transport site, and I tapped my communicator badge to alert the ship. "Valore to Mariposa, two to beam up please."

The deep voice of R'Gore came back over my communicator, "Aye sir, stand by for transport." Less than four seconds later, we materialized on the transporter padd, stepped down and out the door, Rocking to the science labs, and me to my ready room. I needed to do a few things.

I said my goodbyes to Rocking and made my way up to the bridge, and after briefly checking in with T'Varis, she followed me into the ready room.

As I rounded the corner in my ready room to the replicator, I asked T'Varis if she wanted anything, to which she politely declined. I programmed a fruit juice drink I'd seen called maata, which came from Betelgeuse II, and had more caffeine than 5 cups of coffee. It was also sweet and tart, something I enjoyed in a refreshing drink.

I sat down in the chair and sipped my maata. I looked at T'Varis, who quietly asked, "Well, was the Symposium as…delightful…as we'd imagined?" Her deadpan caught me off guard, but it made me smile, nonetheless.

"Ever so much," I began, with a small eye roll. "Let's just say, the Symposium raised more questions than it answered, and Admiral Dalloway outright asked if this technology could be weaponized." I huffed. "He wasn't even subtle about it." I drummed my fingers on the table.

"Then, he gave me our next mission: to go chart what they believe to be dark matter anomalies in the Zeta Alpha star system." I paused for a moment, thinking. Wasn't my friend William Bell out there? It's possible he knows something. "T'Varis," I began, "I just remembered, Captain Bell of the Northwind is also in Zeta Alpha, studying the same thing we are." I looked happy for a moment. Bell was one of my best friends, and we'd gone to the Academy together.

"Maybe when we get there, we can track him down. Maybe he'll know something we don't," I responded, even as my brain knew he wouldn't. Everything about this mission was becoming more and more shadowed, and that wasn't something I liked.

T'Varis sighed but smiled slightly. "It's possible sir, but correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the Northwind an Oberth-class vessel?"

I nodded. "Yes, specifically suited for missions like these, why," I asked, genuinely curious.

T'Varis nodded, continuing. "Well, those older ships really can't do much more as far as upgrades—the older systems just aren't designed for it." She paused, as though considering her next words. "If I may suggest, sir, this is yet another piece of the puzzle that doesn't exactly fit the mission profile." Her dark eyes narrowed as she thought it through, and I could see her connecting the dots as she spoke.

"Think about it, Jackson," she said. "Why in the world would Starfleet send out a ship that old for a mission this high profile? It makes no logical sense." Her dark eyes flashed, a sure sign she was agitated, but her voice gave nothing away. How I envied that ability! "As Admiral Dalloway said, we are the best equipped ship for this task, uniquely so."

I couldn't disagree with her, but I had to argue the point. "T'Varis, one thing I recognize about Starfleet, is that sometimes the people over us give orders that we do not understand. It is our duty to follow them, even when they don't make sense." Even as I said the words, I knew they rang slightly hollow—orders normally did make logical sense.

T'Varis shook her head at me, even as I said the words, and I knew she felt as I did, that orders should make sense, at least in a peripheral sense. "No sir, I'm sorry, I don't fully agree with that." Her demeanor became very serious, and she spoke softly. "Not that long ago, captain, Romulus felt very much as you did—that a good soldier followed orders, no matter what." Her voice took on a haunted tone, and the look in her eyes seemed far away as she continued.

"It took we Romulans centuries to overcome the inherent bias that commands total submission." She returned to the present by looking at me square in my eyes, her crimson hair tossing slightly as her head moved. "It isn't right for command to give orders that make no sense, and it isn't right that we don't question that. Following orders blindly is never a good idea, sir." She paused after that, looking at me, wondering if she'd said too much.

I smiled softly and conceded her point instead. "As always, T'Varis, you give me much to think about." I sighed and ran a hand through my facial stubble. I kept it short these days, to offset my perpetual babyface. "We can't let the mistakes of the past dictate the actions of the future, T'Varis. We operate in a system that very much depends on the chain of command, and people following orders correctly. Without that in place, the entire system falls apart."

"It must be a fragile system for it to operate so blindly," she said, somewhat enigmatically.

I nodded. "Yes, but not for the reasons you think, T'Varis." I looked at her, proud of the way she digs when she doesn't feel something is right. "Your instincts are good, and you should always trust them. But you should also know that orders exist for a reason, even if we don't know what it is." I tried to explain to her, but I also thought she had her mind made up about this.

She sighed and cocked her head slightly to the right. "But what happens, sir, when you are absolutely certain that the order you're being given is wrong," she asked quietly, her fingers fidgeting only for a moment, betraying her emotions. "What if that order puts innocent lives at risk?"

I gave the question the thought it deserved. "That's one of those moments in command where you learn that line, T'Varis, but you should also know that the line is never in the same spot twice."

I smiled, quietly pleased, as, to her credit, instead of looking confused by that, she nodded in understanding. "Of course, because the situational ethics are different for each situation." T'Varis was a master thinker, and a brilliant leader, but this was an ethical dilemma that she needed to be ready for when she was offered her own command.

T'Varis stood and paced for a moment before looking back at me, her demeanor once more gravitating towards the cooly logical side as she spoke, "I do understand, Jackson, though I still have my doubts." Her eyes again took on that haunted quality as she flopped herself down in the chair once more, her posture stiff and rigid. T'Varis paused before looking at me again, her demeanor shifting from cool logic to a haunted vulnerability. "Did you know my mother was a rebel fighter against the Empire in the short days before the overthrow of Praetor Kamin?"

My face fell in sympathy, and I shook my head. "No, T'Varis, I didn't. I'm so sorry."

She nodded slightly. "Praetor Kamin declared that any soldier who defied his orders would be executed. He made an example of Warlord Giselle—publicly executed her because she refused to destroy a school full of children." Her voice tightened. "My mother saw that. It was her moment of change—she realized that blind obedience leads to ruin."

T'Varis straightened, but her voice cracked. "I was serving on the Vorta'Vor when Kamin issued a similar order. We arrived at Archer Prime, expecting resistance fighters. But it was a school. Children." She drew in a slow breath. "We refused. We were arrested. My mother and the non-conformists stormed Ki Baratan and executed Kamin before our sentences could be carried out."

I exhaled slowly. "Your mother saved lives—and you."

"Yes," T'Varis murmured. "But the story doesn't end there." She hesitated, gaze distant, and then her voice lowered. "Two years later, we lost Romulus."

I stilled. Of course. Romulus—destroyed by the Hobus supernova in 2387. The entire quadrant had felt the shockwaves of that loss, but I'd never thought about how it had shaped T'Varis personally.

"The people fought for change, for freedom," she continued. "But all those hopes—everything my mother believed in—vanished in fire and dust." Her eyes glistened but remained hard. "Romulus withdrew from the Typhon Pact before the end, as if sensing what was to come. An alliance with the Federation followed, but what good is diplomacy when your home is gone?"

I swallowed hard. The pain behind her words wasn't abstract—it was lived experience. T'Varis had survived not only political upheaval but the annihilation of her world"I'm sorry, T'Varis," I said, voice soft. "For all of it. The loss of your home. Your mother's fight."

T'Varis glanced at me, the barest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Starfleet may not give orders like the Empire did, Captain. But I will never stop questioning. Not after Romulus."

I nodded. "And you shouldn't."

Her posture eased—only slightly—but enough for me to see a flicker of trust behind those sharp eyes.

"Good talk, T'Varis," I said with a grin.

"If you tell Kyle I shed a tear…"

"Oh, I'm absolutely telling him."

The doors hissed shut behind her, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the Mariposa. Romulus may have fallen, but T'Varis? She was still standing. And I'd make sure she stayed that way.

The next morning, as I was putting my uniform on and getting ready to head to the bridge, the comm beeped, and T'Varis' voice came through. "Captain, we're 5 minutes from Zeta Alpha, you asked to be informed."

I grinned, lifting my head up I called out, "thanks, T'Varis, I'm on my way." With a final adjustment to my commbadge and uniform top (why could these things never fit correctly?), I headed to the lift and strode onto the bridge.

As I walked to my seat, I saw Ensign Menter inputting the complex equations for the dispersal of the slipstream vortex. His face was set in concentration, his blonde brow furrowed in deep thought as he input the equations to disperse the slipstream.

I took my seat, nodded at T'Varis, and spoke to Menter. "Ensign Menter, time to exit slipstream?"

His crisp tenor response was quick, "one minute to threshold, sir." His voice was tight with concentration, which I could understand. The quantum slipstream corridor was no small feat to accomplish, and the fact that Menter did these calculations on the fly without the use of the computer and had never been wrong always surprised me. The man had an intuitive sense of quantum physics; a rare trait to possess.

The ship began to vibrate slightly suddenly, and a high-pitched ring started to peal, gradually increasing in pitch.

T'Varis snapped out, her usual Vulcan calm shattered by her Romulan emotions, "Report!"

Rocking instantly answered, "sensors are detecting a tear in subspace in the slipstream." Her fingers flew over the console as she darted a look at Menter.

Menter's voice came back firm but calm, "Reversing polarity to disperse slipstream. I am adding a damping pulse to force the subspace tear closed safely." We all held a breath until Menter smiled brightly and the ship stabilized, the pealing sound going away. "There. We've reached the threshold. Dissipating slipstream corridor…now."

The quantum corridor slowly faded away as we soared back into regular subspace, the transition smooth as butter, a testament to young Menter's control of the ship. As we cruised to impulse speeds, I stood, with my hands on my hips, smiling.

"Well done, Marcus," I said proudly. He just gave me a demure nod as a way of thanks, but he elbowed R'Gore, and whispered, "that's fifteen credits you owe me. I told you I could do those equations!"

I grinned as R'Gore just nodded and said in his deep baritone, "Well, I'm not convinced that you aren't an android or AI." Though he said the words so seriously, it was offset by R'Gore's smile. Menter just laughed.

"Ensign, set course for…"

Ananarin interrupted me, concern in his voice. "Captain, I'm picking up a distress signal." He paused only for a moment, "Coordinates 171 mark 5."

T'Varis jumped into action, anticipating my orders, which is one of the things I most love about her. "Red alert," she barked, as the alert sounded, she continued. "Raise the multispectral shields, that should protect us from some of the subspace instability around this system."

Rocking took over, "There are tears in subspace all over this system, and I'm detecting the presence of large amounts of dark matter." She gave me an alarmed look. "There's more dark matter in this system than in any I've studied so far."

Before I got into that, I said, "Marcus, set course, maximum impulse," who nodded and laid in the course, moving the ship. I turned to Ananarin.

"Merth, do we know what ship it is that sent the distress call?"

Ananarin's usual scaled face flushed slightly as he read the data. "Yes sir," he said tightly. "The signal is coming from the USS Northwind."

I instantly felt a sharp pain in my chest, and I exchanged an alarmed look with T'Varis."

I barked at Ananarin, "Let's hear it then!"

He pressed a button, and the voice and image of Captain Bell showed up on the viewscreen. Bell looked awful. His face was bloody, the Northwind's bridge was torn to shreds, and we could hear the ship's death groans all around him. His voice was thick with emotions as he spoke.

"This is Captain William Bell of the USS Northwind. We have encountered some sort of anomaly that has impacted my ship." His voice cracked, and he looked away for a moment before continuing. "My crew is dead. I'm the only one left. Please…"

I couldn't bear to watch anymore, and I snapped, "Get that offscreen Merth," which he gratefully did. I immediately turned to Menter.

"How long, Marcus," I asked, knowing we couldn't warp through the system, and pestering my helmsman wasn't a good idea. To his credit, Menter didn't even hesitate.

"Less than five minutes sir, we'll be in visual range in about a minute," he said softly. Everyone knew that Captain Bell and I had been friends. As I stood there, waiting, just waiting, Kyle strode on the bridge, worry in his eyes as he stepped over to me.

He leaned in closer to me and said, "Bell?"

I nodded, the pain clear in my eyes. "Yes. We're on the way."

He nodded, then squeezed my shoulder and said, "I'll go inform the doctor we might have casualties." The quiet moment of him doing this somehow grounded me and allowed me to set aside my feelings of distress, if only for a moment. I nodded gratefully as he left for Sickbay.

Ananarin spoke up, "We're within visual range, sir."

I hesitated, my fear paralyzing me for only a moment, but T'Varis, perceptive as always, gave the order instead.

"Put it on viewer," she said, even as Ananarin did so.

Northwind was in very bad shape. The tiny science vessel was missing one of its squat engine nacelles, there were large holes in its structure, and sections of it were smoldering and alight with plasma fires. The ship was on a slow tumble, rolling listlessly to its impending doom.

Rocking barked out, "sir, that core is going critical, there's not much time." Her eyes were wide with adrenaline, and I instantly turned to R'Gore.

"Delek," I began, but his fingers were already flying over the console.

"I'm attempting to lock on to Captain Bell, but…" His normally calm Romulan face fell a bit, as he quietly said, "I'm sorry sir, I'm not detecting any life signs."

My mouth involuntarily dropped, and I staggered slightly, but T'Varis noted it. She calmly led me to my seat so I could sit down. "No life signs whatsoever, Delek?"

I spun on my heels to look at Rocking, who confirmed it. "No sir, the ship has vented all its atmosphere. There's no one left alive over there." Her voice was thick with emotion. "I'm sorry, sir," Rocking said, her fingers trembling as she fought back tears.

I shook my head. "Don't be sorry, Colette," I began.

I was harshly interrupted by R'Gore's warning, "their warp core is breaching, sir."

I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't tear my eyes off the screen. I needed to be a witness for his family, for myself. I couldn't stop the tears that began to roll down my face. The destruction of the Northwind was catastrophic and fiery, the ship exploding in a large burst. My head sagged, and I exhaled with a heavy sigh as I tried to grasp what had just happened.

My mind wasn't comprehending the events taking place. Bell had been my friend for years. We shared drinks on shore leave, debated over captains' decisions and endless briefings—and now, he was gone.

My hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair for a moment as I processed things. My voice was a whisper even as my mind screamed at me to stop the madness, "What just happened?" How had this all gone like this? I couldn't even process this. I felt so incredibly guilty for not having arrived sooner, even though the logical part of my mind told me there wasn't anything I could have done about it.

I wouldn't get an immediate answer to that, as the lights on the bridge began to flicker, causing us all to look up, alarmed.

R'Gore and Rocking both blurted out at the same moment, the alarm evident, "Sir, incoming!"

I stood frozen, Bell's death still clouding my mind and thoughts with anger and grief. T'Varis snapped out an order, even as she noticed my indecision. "Evasive, get us away from it!"

Rocking's eyes paled as she shook her head softly. "These readings… This shows a dark matter asteroid heading straight for us sir," Her voice was tinged with fear, and I could see her normal calm exterior starting to show cracks. That's okay, I was too. She continued, "it's trajectory seems…erratic—if it makes contact, we'll be crushed under its gravitational pull." Her voice, though calmer, still left me feeling powerless during a moment when I needed to be powerful.

Ananarin belted out, adding to the fray, "if it breaches the shields, we'll be torn apart by gravitational waves before we can even maneuver out of range."

I gathered myself together with an effort and reminded myself that I was the captain, and couldn't afford to appear weak to my crew. I stood up, once more in control of myself. My voice came out strong and clear, not at all reflecting how I felt. "Ananarin, make sure those multispectral shields are up and strong."

I turned to Nina, manning the Engineering console behind me. "Nina, make sure we have enough power to be able to hold those shields—they go down, we're done for," I added, with just enough emotion to convey how important that was.

Mel'Th'eeve nodded, and I watched the transfer of power from weapons to shields, and impressively, they increased by nearly 65 percent. Her alto voice came back, "I've transferred power from the auxiliary weapons systems. Sorry, Merth," she said with a rueful grin.

"Well done," I said, then turned to R'Gore. Before I could get another word out, the lights went out, and then came back on, but the vibrations in the ship were beginning to increase. A deep resonant hum began, making my teeth hurt slightly.

I held onto my armrests, as the ship took a violent tumble to the port, tossing Ananarin and Mel'Th'eeve across the bridge. Mel'Th'eeve's tiny body was flung hard against the wall, where she lay, crumpled.

Rocking shouted, "hang on to something," even as the ship took another, harder hit, causing several showers of sparks to explode across the bridge from various consoles.

The navigation console exploded, blasting Menter out of his seat, but unharmed as he grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the flames. The lighting was extremely erratic, and as I raced over to Mel'Th'eeve's body, I slapped my commbadge. I prayed a silent prayer, even as I felt the weak pulse in her throat. Please, please, please…

"Valore to Bosett, medical emergency on the bridge!" My voice was getting hoarse from the smoke that was beginning to fill the bridge—a clear indication that life support systems weren't working properly.

Bosett's voice came over the comm, strong. "I already have thirty-four casualties down here, sir, three dead, but I'm on the way."

T'Varis and I exchanged a glance, wondering how this had spun out of control so fast.

As I made my way back to my seat, the console to my left exploded, hurling me violently to my right, slamming into the rail hard. As I did, I heard and felt a couple of ribs snap, and I was tossed over the railing to land square on my back on the deck with a loud, painful grunt, and the sickening sound of my arm being bent the wrong way. I groaned, trying to roll over onto my legs, but my body wouldn't respond.

T'Varis was on her feet instantly, her voice strong despite the chaos. "Bosett, get to the bridge right now, it's Valore, he has been seriously injured!" Her voice, though controlled, still held the seeds of worry and concern, but she kept on going, snapping out orders left and right like the powerhouse she was.

"R'Gore," she began, "what about your plasma idea?" She moved quickly to Rocking, who instantly caught on. R'Gore nodded, who instantly began the reroute of the plasma flow.

"I got you, sir," Rocking said, even as the console next to her sparked and blew out, she avoided it, dancing gracefully out of the way. Her Elaysian-Human physiology made her stronger than other Elaysians, and that also meant she didn't have to wear the restrictive neuro-muscular body suit that Doctor Julian Bashir had made for Melora Pazlar, now a Captain in Starfleet's Corp of Engineering.

As Rocking waved away the sparks, she said, "R'Gore, I'm rerouting all the plasma manifolds and conduits to disperse the plasma at the greatest concentration of dark matter."

R'Gore input a few more commands on his console. The ship lurched again, violently to the starboard, tossing all of us around a bit more. I watched Menter go flying, landing hard on his right side, and crying out painfully as his arm broke. An overhead conduit exploded downward, collapsing a large amount of the ceiling, bulkheads and debris rained down on me, as I lay on the floor, bleeding out from the wound in my head, and I could smell burnt flesh. I briefly wondered if it was mine. The smell reminded me of the last time I'd been injured on the bridge, a console had exploded against me then, too—in fact had left me with some serious burns. Once you smell that stench, there isn't any forgetting it, it's a visceral experience.

The sensation of the debris falling on me barely registered to me. I think my body was in so much shock that it wasn't even registering the pain anymore. A thin silt rained down onto me, coating me in a thin white powder, also complicating my breathing. My chest became even tighter.

As I threaded in and out of consciousness, Rocking shouted, "Done!"

R'Gore didn't wait for the order, even as T'Varis shouted "Do it," as she wiped a trickle of green blood from her nose. She threw herself to the ground next to me, as I was half buried under rubble. The weight of it didn't even register, but her small hand in mine felt wonderful.

I struggled to maintain my consciousness. "T'Varis," I began weakly, feeling very woozy. The flickering lights seemed too bright to me, and I felt like I had sandpaper in my eyes. I tried to wipe my face, but my arms were pinned under a bulkhead, effectively pinning me down.

T'Varis gently wiped my eyes clear of some blood, for which I was grateful. She leaned close to murmur, "hold tight, Jackson, you're going to be fine."

I chuckled weakly as I shook my head. "you're a terrible liar, T'Varis," I started, but she shot me with a look that absolutely made me shut up, and I nodded weakly. "Yes, ma'am," I said, with my typical smirk, though weak as hell.

The bridge was quiet for a moment, with only the groaning of metal and the thrum of the impulse engines keeping the ship alive for the moment. The shaking subsided, and the lights steadied, and a noticeable surge of power refreshed the ship. R'Gore's voice, usually so composed, broke through the silence with a rare hint of relief: "The dark matter is dissipating. It worked."

T'Varis stood up, leaping into action, and snapped her fingers at Ananarin. "Lieutenant, help me get some of this off the captain," she ordered.

Ananarin strode down the three stairs to the command center, his three legs carrying him quickly as he, T'Varis, R'Gore, and Menter—with his good arm—all began pulling debris off me carefully.

As they began to get me clear of the rubble, I heard the lift doors hiss open, discharging Bosett, Kyle, and four med techs. Bosett's eyes widened as he took in the state of the bridge. After catching sight of Mel'Th'eeve, he quickly bent down to attend to her.

Kyle, in the meantime, had rushed to my side and was helping them clear the rubble. I was actively bleeding out onto the carpet, the red blood staining the floor, looking like a red balloon framing my face. I could barely breathe, probably had some broken ribs. I couldn't feel my legs anymore, either, an odd sensation, to be sure.

As Kyle bent down, he grabbed my hand fiercely, his bright green eyes radiating nothing but love and concern. "Jackson, can you hear me," he asked softly, tenderly brushing some blood off my face.

I nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Yes," I began and had to stop as a coughing fit took me over. I coughed hard, which hurt more than any physical pain I've ever been through, and I was alarmed when I spit out a mouthful of blood.

Kyle's eyes widened and he snapped out, "Bosett!"

Bosett raced down the stairs and began to scan me with a medical tricorder. He shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing. He set down the tricorder and looked at me carefully. "Captain, you have severe internal injuries. Your spleen has erupted, you have some minor spinal damage to your lower back, which will require significant surgery. You have a concussion and cranial trauma."

Kyle and T'Varis stood by as Bosett calmly delivered the prognosis. T'Varis nodded and snapped her fingers at the other two medical technicians, who brought a stretcher over.

I was already shaking my head as violently as I could. There was no way in hell I was leaving this bridge—were they crazy? I had just lost a good friend, my own ship was critically damaged, and I wasn't about to go to Sickbay. "Hell no, I'm not going anywhere."

Kyle's normally calm exterior contorted in pain before he looked at T'Varis, whose eyes were laser-sharp on mine. He spoke quickly, betraying his emotional response. "Jackson, don't be like that, you know this isn't a good idea. You have internal injuries—that's life-threatening." Kyle's bright green eyes burned with concern, but I could see the fight within him—to plead with me as an ex-husband versus the duty to remain professional. I could tell it was taking a toll on him.

T'Varis added, "sir, logic dictates that you cannot lead effectively while critically injured. The crew needs you alive, not a martyr." Her response still didn't move me, and I really didn't care about it—my ship and crew needed me; hell, Bell needed me too, to speak for him because he couldn't.

I shook my head once more emphatically. "No. I'm not going to Sickbay when my ship and crew need me." I was being stubborn and I knew it. The nausea was beginning to well up, but I'd be damned if that would be what stopped me. "I'm fine," I said, and even as I tried to sit up, I found that I could not, the nausea became so much, that I had to lie back down, and try not to vomit.

Bosett watched the entire exchange silently, his dark Betazoid eyes locked onto mine. "Captain, this is not the type of message you wish to send to your crew, is it?"

T'Varis added, "your refusal to accept treatment indicates that you don't value your life as the rest of this crew does." Her pointed look made me flush, even as I tried not to lose consciousness. "You are the leader of this ship, and we cannot do this without you, sir."

Kyle took over now, gently brushing a lock of hair away from my blood-soaked face. "Jackson, don't do this, you don't have to do this, please…" I could tell Kyle was trying to be professional, but the way he was looking at me both made me warm and tingly, and curious. The look in his eyes told me the truth, but it wasn't necessarily a truth I was ready to hear just yet, so I sighed and let my head fall back in resignation.

Maybe it was my ex-husband's plea, maybe it was both T'Varis and Bosett, or some combination of all three, but I knew they were right. I wasn't being a good leader. I could feel the eyes of everyone watching me as I wrestled with my warring desires of command and personal experience.

R'Gore looked extremely concerned, and stood rigidly, with both arms crossed. Menter nursed his broken arm as he watched the scene unfolding, the concern for me clear in his eyes, and I could feel that he was both amazed and alarmed by my refusal. Rocking just looked at me, with a combination of admiration and empathy.

I sighed, sagging back down onto the floor, accepting defeat. "Fine." Maybe they were right. Maybe I was too angry to think straight. But if I'd stayed here bleeding onto the deck, I'd be failing the crew—and Bell—just as much as if I'd walked away.

The entire room sighed, relieved, but I wasn't done yet.

"But you're treating me on the damn bridge."

Bosett's eyes crinkled as he fought back a smile, Kyle just rolled his eyes and shook his head, while T'Varis smiled, as though she'd known that was the choice I'd make all along. I spit out another mouthful of blood as Bosett began to move a medical instrument over my face.

I grinned at him as he shot me with a painkiller, even as he used a dermal regenerator on my face, he said, "The topical injuries will be easy to fix, but the rest of your injuries will take a little time." He gave me a deliberate look. "I hope you're the one that's gonna clean all this blood up…"

I tried to laugh but ended up coughing as I looked at Kyle and Bosett. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure I will be." I glared at Bosett. "Don't expect me to enjoy this, Bosett."

Bosett shook his head and rolled his eyes before responding sarcastically in his beautifully rich countertenor voice, "I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

I painfully snorted with laughter as Bosett gave me one final shot. "Captain, you're lucky I'm not charging by the injury," his voice laced with sarcasm. Then his expression turned more serious. "But seriously, you have lost a large amount of blood—don't make me knock you out."

The sincerity with which he said it made me believe it and I nodded sagely, did as Bosett requested, and promptly passed out.

Chapter Four: Darkness Has Always Been There (Part One)

I awoke in Sickbay, much to my annoyance, but I knew it was the right place for me to be. I looked around, noting that the area I was in was empty. Last I'd heard we had thirty-four injured. Shouldn't Sickbay be full of people?

I heard a noise approaching, and as I tried to turn, I found I couldn't, the pain in my back prevented me. It felt like a thousand fire ants biting my lowest spine all at once. I gasped, even as the pain slowly subsided and Bosett calmly strode up to me.

His normally calm and pleasant demeanor was absent from his face as he approached. "Hey, Krell," I began, but Bosett held a hand up to prevent me from talking further.

His voice was quiet as he spoke. "Sir, I've repaired the damage to your face, and spleen, and repaired your fractured arm." His voice betrayed nothing, but I could tell from his face that something was wrong. This was further reinforced when Kyle walked in the door, hurrying over to me, relief evident in his face, but he was giving Bosett a dirty look.

"I told you to notify me when he awoke, Doctor," Kyle chided softly.

Bosett simply raised his eyebrows, "I hadn't yet had the opportunity, as he just woke up."

I cleared my throat to grab their attention. "As much as I'm enjoying the witty repartee, can we skip ahead? I'm really not feeling top-notch," I said, with my trademark smirk.

Kyle laughed at that, as did Krell, and I could feel the tension slipping away in the room. I knew I'd ruffled some feathers when I refused to come to Sickbay. I knew I'd have to face those choices with my crew, specifically with T'Varis and Kyle, but I wanted to know what had happened and how long I had been out.

Bosett, sensing my thoughts as only a Betazoid can do said, "As I was saying, I've repaired all the topical injuries, and the ruptured spleen, and the broken arm." He paused and took a deep breath, and I braced myself for what was coming next.

Kyle looked at Bosett almost impatiently, as he said, "well?"

Without missing a beat, Bosett stood straight up and delivered the news as dispassionately as he could. "Sir, when the console exploded and tossed you over the railing, it twisted your vertebrae, and when the bulkheads fell on you, it crushed the vertebrae, specifically, the L3 in your lower back, resulting in a compression fracture."

Well, no wonder I felt so bad and couldn't move without extreme pain. I took a deep sigh and glanced at Kyle, who looked horrified, and upset, and had his hand over his mouth. I looked back at Bosett. "So, what's the prognosis, then," I asked slowly, wondering if I was going to be able to recover from this. I forced myself to swallow the pain and panic that welled up in my chest, knowing that I had the best doctor in the galaxy on my ship. Somehow, it only eased my tension slightly.

Bosett pursed his lips and brought up a visual of my spine, highlighting the damage to my L3 vertebrae. Bosett spoke quietly, but clearly, to both Kyle and me. "We have advanced spinal regeneration technologies available, and while we can repair the fracture, it will require some time for full recovery. The bone will heal, but the surrounding tissues—ligaments, muscles—need rehabilitation. You'll be undergoing physical therapy over the next five weeks to regain strength and flexibility. The good news is, with the right care, you'll make a full recovery, though it will take some time and effort on your part."

Five weeks? Was I going to be able to command this ship? Would I be able to do anything? This was almost too much to bear, but I made myself quell the panic rising in my chest, as I shifted uncomfortably in the biobed. Krell noticed and injected me with another painkiller, which instantly reduced my physical pain to a tolerable level. But that only handled the physical pain. What was I going to do about the emotional pain? I'd have to talk to Kyle about it, and probably T'Varis, as she needed to know where my head was at, too. I made a mental note to speak with her about this at the next opportunity.

I reflected on this for a moment. I thought about the events of the last few days and knew this wasn't over, but I'd do nobody any good if I didn't heal. In my heart, I knew that Bell deserved better—hell, my own ship had nearly been destroyed, which made this even more personal. I had to investigate what happened; I needed to know. I returned my attention to Kyle and said with a chuckle, "Well, you have been pushing me to take a vacation."

I experienced a brief moment of doubt, where I wondered if I'd be able to go through with the therapy because if the pain I was in were any indication, the physical therapy would be just as bad, if not more. Wasn't sure I was ready for that, but it wasn't like I could just lie around Sickbay until I died, either.

Kyle's face fell slightly, but he turned to look at me with a smile. "See," he said. "I knew you wouldn't be down long; you never are." He grinned, the tiredness momentarily leaving his face. I was still concerned for Kyle; he didn't seem to be taking things well. He grinned again, and I saw exactly why I'd fallen in love with him in the first place—it was those eyes! Those eyes could speak to me on so many levels, and it kind of freaked me out that they still seemed to have the same effect on me.

I smiled at Bosett, pursing my lips as I thought about the situation. "I guess that means I'm stuck here for the time being, then," I asked nonchalantly.

Bosett cocked his head, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Well, I have heard that you aren't the best house guest," he said, clearly trying not to laugh.

I shot a playful look at Kyle before saying sweetly, "I wonder where that came from," glaring pointedly at Kyle, who acted like nothing was happening, stuck his hands in his pockets, and whistled a tuneless tune.

Bosett just laughed and gathered his instruments up and gave me a cheeky grin, "I'm going to leave now," his eyes darted thoughtfully between Kyle and me. "sweet dreams, captain. We'll begin the physical therapy tomorrow after I repair your L3 vertebrae." The doors swished shut behind him, leaving us in silence, with only the soft beep of the monitor as it constantly read my vitals.

I turned to Kyle. "What happened to the rest of the crew that was being treated," I asked, curiously, as Kyle tossed himself down in the seat next to me, giving me a curious look, before running his hands down his face.

"Most of them have been released, there are still three in stable yet critical condition." His eyes were serious and full of deep empathy, as he turned to me again, his bright green eyes searching mine. "Jackson, you have been unconscious for three days."

Three days? I let out a huff of wonder and nodded slowly. I guess I needed it. "Three days, huh?" I grinned, "bet T'Varis is loving this." Honestly, the thought that I'd been out for three days…well, that just had me in knots. Speaking of knots, the slightest movement I made sent excruciating pain up the entire length of my spine, again making me feel as though I were being stabbed with a million hot needles along my spine—it was enough to take my breath away.

Kyle noticed my discomfort and leaned over to adjust my pillow. He snorted and gave me a sardonic look. "Do you have to make everything a joke?" He shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed as he continued, but softer this time, staring at the floor. "I thought I was going to lose you, Jackson." He turned a face towards me, and I could see the pain and desperation etched into his face. He did a remarkable job controlling the myriad of emotions that played across his face as he looked at me, and I had to look away before I began to tear up. I didn't like to see Kyle in pain, even if it wasn't intentional.

Truth was, I wasn't totally sure what Kyle's deal was. Did he still love me? I knew he still had feelings; even when you divorce someone you still have feelings. Was Kyle being vulnerable? I had to think hard about why he wanted to be vulnerable now; why was he showing me how scared he'd been? Was this just a Counselor worrying about his captain, or was this more? I didn't know, but there would certainly be time to find out.

I sighed and laid back in the biobed, wincing as the pain shot up my spine, taking my breath away. I spoke softly, "well, you didn't, and I'm going to be fine." I didn't want to look at him yet, but Kyle was having none of that. He slowly got up and walked over to the bed beside me and took my hand in his. My breath caught in my throat as I felt his big, warm hand take mine.

I fought back a sense of deja vu, thinking about the last time he'd held my hand. We'd been walking through the arboretum on the Manitoba, and we had just passed the Ullian orchids, my favorite flower, and Kyle took my hand in mine and kissed me. I remember that well, even years later, as one of the happiest moments of my life. Kyle had told me then, without words, how he loved me, too. I shook the thoughts from my head and instead focused on the here and now.

Instead of recoiling from the moment, as I normally would have done, I allowed myself to be drawn in by him, sighing and closing my eyes in a brief but needed respite. I might be thoroughly confused about my feelings for Kyle, but I couldn't lie; his touch felt really good and helped calm me down somewhat. I wasn't going to let that go too quickly. Besides, this felt different to me. Maybe it was the time we sent apart, and had now reconnected, but after we'd split, there was very much a time when I would have pushed him away. Those moments seemed rather foolish now, but then again, I was confusing myself even more.

Kyle's other hand brushed the hair off my forehead and kissed me lightly on the same spot, before whispering, "don't ever do that again, Jackson," With that, he patted me lightly on the shoulder, staring at me with those same thoughtful green eyes, before exiting the room.

After he left, I groaned softly. This wasn't what I needed, was it? I know a captain's role is supposed to be somewhat isolated, due to the nature of command, but honestly, I wasn't sure exactly what to think right now. I knew there was a lot left unsaid, but for now, I was too tired to continue thinking about it.

I lay there, slowly feeling my body float, I considered whether I'd be able to be an effective captain still. The thought if not commanding the Mariposa, well, that wasn't an option. I loved this ship and crew, and they'd have to force me into retirement (or promote me) to get me off.

I shifted around somewhat, trying to get comfortable. I ruminated on the fact that with all our advanced technology, we still couldn't make a truly comfortable hospital bed. The thought made me grin, but I yawned, too, even as my thoughts began to wander in the direction of the Northwind and Captain Bell's untimely death. The thoughts never seemed too close, but I noticed that my mind wasn't quite there, and I slowly succumbed to the inevitability of deep sleep.

(Interlude)

The dim lighting of the crew lounge did little to chase away the cold coil winding through R'Gore's chest. The Mariposa's warp engines hummed faintly beneath the deck, steady and sure, as if nothing had happened. As if their captain hadn't nearly been broken in half only hours ago.

Lieutenant Delek R'Gore lounged in the corner booth, his tall frame stretched out with deliberate carelessness, but his posture betrayed him. His shoulders were too stiff. His fingers tapped a slow, restless rhythm against the glass of Romulan Ale in his hand. The deep cobalt liquid caught the low lighting, glinting like distant stars.

He had come here seeking silence. The lounge was mostly empty—gamma shift ensured that. But silence wasn't what he'd found. His mind wouldn't stop circling the same image: Jackson Valore, crumpled on the deck of the bridge, refusing to leave. Bloodied, barely able to stand, ordering them—ordering him—to hold position.

Stubborn bastard. R'Gore took a slow sip of the Ale. It burned, sharp and familiar. A taste of home. Or what had once been home. Romulus. A planet reduced to memory and ash. He scowled into the glass.

"You should not drink that alone." The voice—cool, composed, unmistakable—pulled his gaze toward the entrance. T'Varis. Her Vulcan-Romulan heritage was etched in every line of her bearing. Back straight, hands clasped behind her back, crimson hair braided neatly. The dim lighting glinted faintly off the green undertones of her skin. Her eyes—sharp and unreadable—regarded him with a scrutiny that made R'Gore shift slightly.

"Should," he echoed, setting the glass down with a faint clink. "Fascinating choice of words, Commander."

T'Varis tilted her head, unblinking. "Your attempt at mirroring my phrasing is noted."

R'Gore snorted. "Didn't say I was good at it." He nodded at her to sit down with him, his sharp Romulan eyes searching hers, just for a moment before flicking back down to his drink. A pause stretched between them. Finally, T'Varis stepped forward and took the seat opposite him.

"You are disturbed."

"Direct," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I like that."

T'Varis folded her hands on the table. "Your physiological cues are evident. Increased tension in the shoulders. Dilated pupils, restless tapping, all indicators of distress or... concern."

"Or maybe I'm just enjoying the Ale," R'Gore said, swirling the glass.

T'Varis regarded the drink. "Romulan Ale is... potent. Often consumed in times of reflection or mourning among my people."

"My people, too," R'Gore murmured. The room fell quiet again. Only the faint hum of the Mariposa filled the space between them.

T'Varis finally broke the silence, her voice softer. "You believed he would die."

R'Gore looked up sharply. "No point dancing around it, I guess." He leaned back, exhaling slowly. "He was broken, T'Varis. Shouldn't have been standing. Shouldn't have been commanding."

"But he did."

R'Gore barked a humorless laugh. "Damn right, he did. Jackson Valore—too stubborn to die, too reckless to stay down." He shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. "I've served under many commanders. Some brilliant, some brutal. None like him."

"Because he inspires loyalty?"

"Because he's fallible," R'Gore said. "He bleeds, breaks, /bBut never stops. He doesn't hide it."

T'Varis considered this. "Vulcan philosophy dictates that emotion is a liability in command," she said after a moment. "Yet Captain Valore's… openness is what galvanizes this crew."

"Yeah, well," R'Gore said, lifting his glass in a half-hearted salute. "The man's a damned paradox." He drained the Ale, wincing at the burn.

T'Varis regarded him quietly, contemplatively. "I was born on Romulus," she said, unprompted. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as if seeing something far beyond the lounge. "I remember the green-purple oceans. The tall spires of Ki Baratan. The smell of sehlat flowers after the rain."

R'Gore stilled. "I didn't know that," he said, voice low.

"Few do," she replied. "My Vulcan heritage has always been... more visible. Easier to present. Logical. Controlled." She turned her gaze back to him. "But Romulus was home."

The weight of her words settled between them. R'Gore looked down at his empty glass, then back at her. "You still carry it with you," he said.

T'Varis gave the faintest inclination of her head. "As do you."

R'Gore gave a bitter smile. "Romulan, born and raised. Trained for subterfuge, politics, war. And yet, here I am, drinking in a Federation lounge, serving under a human captain who nearly got himself killed because he wouldn't sit the hell down."

"A contradiction," T'Varis said softly.

"Seems we're both full of those." Another pause. R'Gore leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. "Tell me something, T'Varis," he said. "Do you think you could do it?"

"Do what?" She looked genuinely puzzled.

"Command. If Jackson doesn't come back—" his voice caught, surprising him. He cleared his throat. "—when he comes back, I mean. But if he didn't?"

T'Varis was silent for a long time. Her fingers traced an absent pattern on the table's surface. "I have contemplated it," she admitted. "Starfleet protocol dictates that I assume command in his absence."

"Protocol," R'Gore scoffed. "But could you?"

T'Varis lifted her gaze, and for the first time, R'Gore saw something flicker there—uncertainty. "I do not know," she said finally. "Valore leads with instinct. With emotion. He... connects."

"And you don't?"

T'Varis looked away pensively. "I have always believed logic sufficient," she murmured. "But observing him... witnessing what he inspires in you, in this crew—" her gaze hardened—"I wonder if logic alone is enough."

R'Gore stared at her, surprised. "You admire him," he said quietly.

T'Varis did not deny it. "As do you," she returned.

R'Gore smirked, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Damn right I do. He's the most reckless bastard I've ever served under." He leaned back, gaze drifting to the stars beyond the viewport. "But he's ours."

T'Varis followed his gaze. The stars stretched endlessly, uncaring of the lives that burned beneath them. "Indeed," she said softly. "He is."

They sat in silence after that. R'Gore ordered another Romulan Ale and slid a second glass across the table without a word.

T'Varis hesitated. Then, with a quiet nod, she took it.

"For Romulus," R'Gore said, lifting his glass.

T'Varis's gaze flickered. She lifted her own. "And for the ones who refuse to fall."

The glasses clinked together, the sound sharp in the quiet lounge.

As the stars blurred past the Mariposa, R'Gore and T'Varis sat together—two contradictions, bound by loss, by loyalty, and by a captain recovering in Sickbay who refused to stay down. The stars beyond the viewport shimmered, steady in their endless motion. The Mariposa surged forward, and with it, those who remained.

The Mariposa thrummed around him, the pulse of the ship steady, as if nothing had changed. As if the bridge had not turned into an inferno. As if Captain Valore had not collapsed, his spine shattered, his body crumpled in a way no living body should be.

Ensign Marcus Menter sat in the dim quiet of his quarters, cradling his mended arm like it might still shatter beneath his fingers. The bone was whole, the tissue repaired—good as new, Bosett had said. But the memory of it—the impact, the white-hot snap, the impossible weightlessness as he was thrown across the bridge—clung to his skin. His body still felt electric with the aftershock of it, but worse was the failure sitting heavy in his gut.

He had panicked. Not when the fire broke out, not when he'd had to force himself upright with one arm and push through the searing agony to put it out. But after. In the lull of sickbay, when the adrenaline had drained from his veins and all that was left was the knowledge that he had nearly died, that the Captain had nearly died, that—

The door chimed. Menter flinched. His breath hitched in his throat, and for an embarrassing second, he considered ignoring it. Maybe if he stayed very still, whoever it was would go away.

The chime sounded again. No such luck. With an exhale, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the movement jarred something deep in his ribs. When he palmed the door control, it hissed open to reveal Commander T'Varis.

She was immaculate, as always. Back straight, hands clasped behind her, her crimson braid wound into something precise. The dim lighting of his quarters barely touched the green undertones of her Vulcan-Romulan skin, but her eyes—piercing, unforgiving—cut through the haze in his mind with surgical precision. "Ensign." Her tone was cool. Clinical. "May I enter?"

Menter swallowed. His spine straightened automatically. "Uh. Yes, ma'am." He stepped aside, and she swept in like a shadow, the door sliding shut behind her.

T'Varis surveyed his quarters in a single, assessing glance. He could feel it—the weight of her scrutiny. Noting the unmade bed, the crumpled uniform jacket on the floor, the single, untouched mug of tea on his desk, gone cold hours ago.

"You have not rested." It was not a question. Her voice was sharp and unyielding.

Menter stiffened. "I—" He faltered. His throat felt dry. "I tried."

T'Varis's gaze settled on him, and suddenly, the small space felt much, much smaller. "'Tried' is insufficient."

Menter's jaw clenched. He knew this game. She wanted him to acknowledge his failure, to confront it. To wrestle it into something useful. It was the Vulcan way. The Romulan way. But his chest still ached from where he'd hit the deck. His fingers still shook with the phantom memory of fire at his console. And the Captain? He dropped his gaze, arms folding tightly over his chest. "I—I'm fine."

T'Varis exhaled sharply through her nose. "A lie," she said flatly.

Menter flinched.

T'Varis stepped closer, her boots whispering against the deck. "Your heartbeat is elevated. Your posture defensive. You refuse eye contact." Her voice was as sharp as the edges of broken glass. "These are physiological indicators of distress."

Menter forced himself to lift his head, but his breath was coming faster, shallower. "With all due respect, Commander, I was thrown across the bridge and broke my damn arm. I think distress is a little justified."

T'Varis's expression did not shift. "Your injury has been mended."

"That's not—" He cut himself off, hands curling into fists. "That's not the point."

T'Varis studied him for a long moment. Then, with a precision that was almost too casual, she moved past him to his desk. She picked up the cold mug of tea, turning it in her fingers. "The point," she said at last, "is that you believe you failed."

Menter swallowed against the lump in his throat.

T'Varis set the mug down. "Explain."

He almost laughed. Explain. As if this was a science experiment and not a spiraling panic clawing at his ribs. Menter exhaled shakily and sank down onto the edge of his bed, gripping his hands together so hard his knuckles ached. "I hesitated," he admitted, voice hoarse. "I—I froze for half a second when the fire broke out. And then I—" He let out a shaky breath. "I didn't know what to do when the Captain went down. I just—I didn't know what to do." The words hung between them.

T'Varis did not move, did not shift, but something in her expression narrowed—not unkind, but sharp, considering.

"You did know," she said finally. "You extinguished the fire. You completed your duty."

Menter let out a sharp breath. "That's not what it felt like."

T'Varis's gaze did not waver. "Emotion is not always a reliable indicator of success or failure."

Menter barked a laugh, hollow and sharp. "That's easy for you to say."

T'Varis arched an elegant brow. "You believe I do not experience uncertainty?"

Menter opened his mouth—then closed it. Because… well, yes. She was T'Varis. Cold, calculating, impossibly in control. Not like him. Not like— His thoughts stuttered as he saw the way she was standing. Perfectly poised, yes. Every line of her body immaculate. But her hands— Her fingers were curled too tightly into the fabric of her uniform. Something in Menter's chest went still.

T'Varis caught his gaze and, as if realizing her slip, released her grip. "Command," she said, evenly, precisely, "is not about the absence of fear. It is about function. About ensuring the ship continues, despite the chaos. Despite loss."

Menter's stomach twisted. Loss. That was something he didn't want to fathom any longer. It was too hard, too new, too raw. He felt his breath hitch.

T'Varis lifted her chin. "Captain Valore's absence is temporary," she said. "But until his return, I must act in his stead. That is my function. And you, Ensign Menter, must perform yours."

Menter swallowed.

Her eyes softened—a fraction. "You will find that even those in command experience moments of hesitation." She tilted her head. "It is what follows that defines them."

Menter hesitated. Then, softly: "I—I don't think I'm ready for this."

T'Varis studied him for a long moment. Then, without a hint of irony, she said, "Neither am I." Silence stretched between them, descending like an unspoken weight. Finally, T'Varis stepped back, folding her hands behind her once more. "But readiness is irrelevant. You are a Starfleet officer. And you are capable." Her voice was steel. "So be capable."

Menter let out a breath. "That an order?"

T'Varis inclined her head. "It is a statement of fact."

Menter exhaled, pressing a hand over his eyes. When he looked back up, something in his chest felt… lighter. Not gone, not yet, but lighter.

T'Varis turned toward the door. Before it slid open, she paused, and said simply, "You did not fail." T'Varis glanced back, her voice quieter. "Do not let yourself believe otherwise."

Menter blinked. Then, she was gone. Menter let out a breath, long and slow. His hands weren't shaking anymore.

Kyle paced the dimly lit corridor outside Mariposa's medical bay, his arms folded so tightly across his chest it felt like he was trying to hold himself together. His steps were sharp, his breath coming in uneven bursts. The ship's hum beneath his feet usually steadied him. It had been his constant for years. But tonight, nothing could stop the tremor in his hands. He still saw Jackson lying there, motionless.

His body twisted awkwardly on the deck, his breathing shallow, and that sharp, ragged inhale when he tried—and failed—to move. Kyle had dropped to his knees beside him, hands shaking as he reached out, instinctively, uselessly, his voice catching in his throat. He hadn't felt this panicked since… Well, best not to dwell on that particular thought.

"Stay still," he had said, his own voice barely above a whisper. "Just—just hold on."

Jackson, in true Jackson Valore fashion, had given him a pained grin. Blood on his lips, eyes a little too bright with pain. "I'm fine, Kyle."

Kyle had wanted to shake him. Fine? Fine? There was nothing fine about any of this. Jackson's spine had been compromised. His body was broken, and yet even then, Jackson had been so goddamn determined to pretend like it didn't matter. Like he didn't matter. Now, standing outside the medical bay, waiting on Dr. Bosett to fix Jackson's spine, Kyle clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms.

Jackson was unconscious now. But soon enough, he'd wake up. And when he did, Kyle knew exactly what would happen. Jackson would deflect. He'd crack some joke. He'd act like it wasn't a big deal, that Kyle was overreacting. And Kyle would be expected to swallow it down, pretending like his heart hadn't stopped when he saw Jackson fall. Pretend like he wasn't unraveling at the thought of losing him.

And the worst part? He would let Jackson get away with it. Because Kyle always did.

"You're going to wear a hole in the deck," Nina's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.

He turned, startled, to find her leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed, her dark eyes sharp as ever. She had that look—the one that saw through all his defenses like they were paper-thin. He felt somewhat awkward being on the other side of that thousand-yard stare. Kyle exhaled sharply, forcing himself to still. "I don't even know why I'm out here."

"You do so," she said simply, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. "You're waiting for an update. Because you care. Because this is tearing you apart."

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Of course it is. But it shouldn't be. Not like this." He rubbed his hands over his face, the tension in his chest coiling tighter. "He could've died, Nina. And the only thing he had to say to me was that he's fine. Like I don't—like I don't know the difference." As he said the last word, his palm slapped flat against the wall, the sound echoing for a split second in the empty corridor.

Nina sighed, watching him carefully. "Jackson has a gift for being an idiot when it comes to his own well-being."

Kyle let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "He lets you in." The words came out before he could stop them, and far sharper than he'd meant.

She didn't flinch. "Because I don't ask him for more than he's willing to give."

Kyle turned away; jaw clenched. "I don't either."

"Don't you?" Nina's voice softened, but it still hit like a knife to the ribs.

Kyle swallowed; his throat tight. "I—I just want him to be okay. I don't need him to say anything. I don't need him to—" His breath hitched, and he had to force it steady. "I just need to know that he's going to be okay." He tried and failed to calm his rapidly beating heart. The same heart that still beat for one Jackson Valore.

Nina studied him for a long moment before stepping closer. "Kyle, he knows how much you care. And I think that terrifies him more than anything else."

Kyle let out a bitter exhale. "Yeah? Well, it sure as hell terrifies me too." He turned, running a hand through his hair. "You know, I used to think… I used to think we'd figure it out eventually. That all of this—" he gestured vaguely, encompassing the pain, the distance, the ache that had settled between them since the divorce—"that it was just temporary. That he'd stop running. That I'd stop waiting." He shook his head, voice raw. "But now? Now I don't know. Maybe this is all we are now. This endless back-and-forth where we love each other but can't—can't reach each other. And maybe we never will."

Nina's gaze softened, but she didn't rush to reassure him. "You don't believe that."

Kyle let out a breath. "I don't want to believe that. But what am I supposed to do, Nina? He won't let me in. Even now. Even when he's lying half-broken in there, he won't—" His voice broke, and he had to stop, had to drag in a deep breath before he shattered entirely. He could not afford that right now, not when Jackson needed him strong. Because despite everything, Kyle would be the strong one, would be the one who carried Jackson—even when he didn't want it.

"He lets you in," Nina said, quiet but certain.

Kyle huffed out a humorless laugh. "Not the way I want him to." Need him to. Desperately.

"No," she admitted. "Not yet."

Kyle swallowed, the weight of it pressing against his chest. She was right. He knew she was right. Jackson did love him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that Jackson loved him too much. Too much to let himself fall again. Too much to let Kyle catch him. Because that meant letting go. That meant giving up control. That meant acknowledging that some things—some people—mattered more than survival. Kyle understood that better than anyone. He also understood that Jackson wasn't ready to accept it.

Kyle let out another breath, this one a little steadier, but no less heavy. "Then why does it feel like I'm the last person he'd ever let help him?"

Nina squeezed his arm, her gentle almond hazel eyes piercing his soul, grounding him. "Because you're the only one who really could."

Kyle closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of those words settle deep in his chest. He fought back the urge to rip the plating off the walls. He wanted to be angry. Maybe he was. But more than that, he just wanted Jackson to wake up. To look at him, really look at him, and stop pretending this didn't matter.

And maybe, just maybe, let Kyle matter too.

(End Interlude)

Chapter Four: Darkness Has Always Been There (Part Two)

I awoke to the sound of Bosett and T'Varis coming into Sickbay, which made me turn to look at them in greeting. "Krell, T'Varis," I said casually. I was hungry, but I could tell I was beginning to feel better.

Bosett greeted me warmly and brought a tray of food to me, which I gratefully began eating. T'Varis stood with her arms behind her back as Bosett pulled up a stool next to my biobed. He smiled tightly, and I could see that he was in his surgical uniform. I knew what that meant.

I tried to control the quell of fear that passed through me, but Krell, being a Betazoid, simply saw right through that, and gave me a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, Jackson," Krell said, his deep Betazoid eyes locking on mine with a calm, unwavering focus, "while the damage to your L3 vertebrae was severe, we do have the means to repair it. The L3 vertebrae is almost entirely crushed, along with some associated nerve and tissue damage. We will need to reconstruct the vertebrae, stabilize the spinal column, and regenerate the affected nerves."

He gestured toward the holographic screen that popped up in midair showing a detailed scan of my spine, highlighting the shattered vertebrae. For the first time since I'd gotten to Sickbay, I realized just how severe my injuries had been. I now felt very ashamed of my behavior on the bridge. I could feel my cheeks burning and I knew Bosett could probably read that, but I'd still make the effort to apologize to him, T'Varis, and Kyle.

I returned my attention to Krell, who continued, "first, we'll use a micro-neural probe to map out the damaged nerve pathways and identify areas that require regeneration." He pointed to the areas as he spoke, "Once we've isolated those areas, I'll apply a series of neural stimulators to jump-start cellular repair in the surrounding tissues."

I arched an eyebrow, the pain in my back flaring even as I attempted a dry smirk. "Sounds…thorough."

Krell smiled faintly, indulging my humor as he continued, "Next, I'll use an osteogenic scaffold—essentially a bio-synthetic framework—to reconstruct the L3 vertebrae." He paused for a moment as he zoomed in on the display, enlarging the image of my shattered vertebrae.

I shuddered, nearly passing out with pain at the involuntary movement. The reality of what I was seeing seemed to hit me in the face; the enormity of how close I'd come. I chided myself quietly that Bell had deserved better too, and look what he got. I decided that if the worst I'd gotten was a shattered vertebra, then I was far luckier than Bell. Still hurt like hell, on both accounts. I mentally filed that away for later—my emotions would need some unpacking.

Krell continued, "the scaffold is composed of a regenerative matrix programmed with your DNA, ensuring it integrates seamlessly with you existing bone tissue. Once in place, we'll stimulate growth using a targeted plasma field the encourage rapid ossification."

I was trying to absorb everything, but I had to admit that my mind was spinning. "Right," I muttered, looking at T'Varis. "Plasma fields. Totally normal."

She didn't even bat an eye. "Logical and effective."

Krell ignored us both and carried on. "Finally, we'll use a neural interface to ensure proper alignment of the spinal column and optimize nerve conduction. The procedure is delicate, but with modern advancements in neurogenic medicine, particularly the work with the plasma fields by Doctor Beverly Crusher, your recovery time will be significantly reduced. Once we've finished, you'll require a few weeks of physical therapy to regain full strength and mobility." He paused and smiled, "I'm pleased to say that the prognosis is excellent."

I sighed and thought about it for a moment. "How long will the procedure take?"

"Captain," Bosett began, his countertenor voice calm but deliberate, "the procedure itself will take approximately four hours, assuming there are no complications. The most time-intensive part will be mapping your nerve pathways and ensuring the regeneration aligns perfectly with your existing neural structure."

He gestured again toward the holo-display of my spine. "The osteogenic scaffold installation and vertebrae reconstruction will take just under an hour. The plasma field stimulation is relatively quick, but precise nerve regeneration requires incremental adjustments during the process to avoid long-term misalignment. That's what makes this procedure delicate."

I winced at the thought of lying on a biobed for four hours while they tinkered with my spine. Great. "Four hours of fun. Anything else I need to know?" I deflected my fear with my typical sarcasm.

Bosett's dark eyes flashed with what I swore was amusement. "You'll be unconscious for the duration of the procedure, Captain. I assure you; it will be a lot less fun for me."

Damn. I had an investigation to get to, this was taking away time from that. I didn't like that a whole lot. I tried to reason with myself, but my mind wasn't allowing me to assimilate it.

T'Varis interjected, her calm voice cutting through the moment. "Doctor, what is the recovery time?"

Oh boy. I wasn't sure I really wanted an answer for that question, but Bosett went right on ahead anyway.

He turned to T'Varis. "With 24th-century medical advancements, we can expect initial healing within forty-eight hours, barring complications. Full nerve regeneration and spinal stabilization will take approximately two weeks."

Bosett turned back to me, his eyes soft once more. "You'll need to avoid strenuous activity, but physical therapy will begin within three days to ensure proper alignment and prevent atrophy."

I nodded, but I really was a bit nervous about this. I swallowed hard and glanced at T'Varis for a moment, who looked on patiently.

"T'Varis," I began, taking a deep breath and forcing the sharp pain in my spine to go away, "you'll be in charge, at least until I'm well enough to resume command."

T'Varis nodded slowly and responded, "yes sir," her hazel eyes locking with mine for a moment, and I could tell they were a bit troubled.

I turned my attention back to Bosett for a moment. "Krell, how long until I'll be able to resume command?" I needed to know. I had an investigation to begin. The quicker we could get this over—even as scared as I was—the quicker I could begin.

Krell thought for a moment before responding in a calm manner, "I'd say, about a week from today, you should be ready to resume command." He offset this with a warning glance at both T'Varis and I.

His voice became a little sterner as he looked me in the eye, "that means light duty, Jackson, not 'resuming everything you did before you were injured. If you do that, you could really damage the damage I'm trying to repair." He said it pointedly enough but with enough humor that I knew he was serious but didn't want to risk overstepping his bounds.

Before I could say anything, T'Varis stepped closer to both of us, the fire ignited in her eyes, and I knew I was a goner. "Don't worry, Doctor," T'Varis began, her voice cold as Ganymede on a winter's night, "I'll be personally responsible that the captain won't overdo it."

Well, I was flanked, and I knew it. I lifted my hand in mock surrender, giving a wry grin. They meant well, and I loved them for it. "Fine. I promise to try not to work too hard until I'm completely recovered. But just so we're clear, I have an investigation to begin, and I don't wish to be stuck in Sickbay longer than necessary."

Both T'Varis and Bosett just stared at me. I stared back, a battle of the wills. I could lay like this all day; after all, my spine was broken, not like I could get up and walk away. The thought actually made me begin to giggle a little. Before I knew it, Bosett's eyes were twinkling and he was fighting back laughter of his own, and T'Varis was just watching both of us as though we'd suddenly sprouted wings.

I wiped tears out of my face as I calmed down, still chuckling. "Sorry," I started. "I promise, both of you." I smiled, looked up—really looked at both of my officers. I was so proud of them. Both had stepped up and taken care of me when I needed it most. "I, uh," I felt awkward as I began. "I'm sorry to both of you. I set a bad example for the crew by not bringing my ass down to Sickbay when you said, Krell." I looked at him as I said it. "Thank you for saving my life, and Nina's, too."

I turned to T'Varis next, whose eyes widened imperceptibly. I rarely had an opportunity to apologize to T'Varis; not because I was never wrong, but because she'd never let me admit I was. "T'Varis," I started, my eyes radiating my appreciation, "you stepped up on the bridge and proved to me exactly why you are the best first officer in Starfleet. Thank you, as well, for knocking some sense into me," I chuckled, turning to Bosett, "both of you."

I could feel that this made both of them feel infinitely better, and to be honest, it made me feel better, too. I was wrong and I knew it. But I'd learned long ago that ninety percent of command is making mistakes and learning from them. This one just seemed a bit harder for me to learn this go around.

Bosett spoke first. "Captain, you aren't just my commanding officer, you're also someone I care about. Command is difficult, both T'Varis and I know this. You sometimes just need to remember to listen to us more," he said with a genuine smile of admiration.

T'Varis jumped in quickly, her voice dry, but eyes sparkling. "Don't think for one moment that this lets you off the hook." Her eyes softened as Bosett began preparing himself for the surgery. Her delicate, green-tinged hand rested on my shoulder for a moment as she said simply, "recover well, sir," and exited.

As Bosett and a couple of nurses paced around me, taking vials of blood, plasma samples, and generally asking if I was comfortable, I knew that no matter what happened, I would be okay because I trusted Doctor Bosett. He was an exceptional physician and a man I truly admired. I wasn't worried about the procedure so much as I was about the recovery.

Before I had time to really think about that, Bosett injected the contents of a hypospray in my carotid artery, the cool hiss instantly making me drowsy, and Bosett's smiling face telling me to relax was the last thing I saw before darkness came to claim me once more.

Darkness swallowed me whole, heavy and suffocating, pressing down like the weight of a bulkhead. The quiet hum of the ship was gone, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to echo with nothingness. I stood alone in the middle of the Mariposa's bridge—or what was left of it. It was a twisted, grotesque version of reality. Consoles sparked violently, casting flashes of light over the charred remains of the crew. Blood smeared the walls in jagged streaks, and a cold, acrid wind howled through the shattered viewscreen, where endless black space loomed.

"Captain."

The voice slithered through the shadows, cold and sharp, cutting into me like a blade. I spun around, my heart pounding out of my chest, and there stood Bell—or what was left of him. His face was barely recognizable, a warped, melted visage of flesh and bone. His uniform hung in shreds, blackened and fused to his scorched skin. Blood dripped from his mouth, and his eyes burned with an unnatural, accusing light.

"Will," I whispered, my voice trembling. I tried to take a step back, but my feet were rooted to the spot.

"You left me," Bell spat, his words venomous and distorted, his voice echoing with a metallic ring. He staggered toward me, his twisted limbs dragging unnaturally, making me tremble with fear. "You let this happen. You let me die."

I stammered, "I-I didn't," my voice rose in panic. "I couldn't…"

"You could have saved us!" Bell roared, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap. "You were too late, Jackson. Always too late. Always failing." His hands shot out, skeletal and charred, grabbing me by the collar. I let out a terrified whimper, even as tears streamed down my face. The stench of burned flesh filled my nostrils, making me gag, as Bell dragged me closer to his ruined face until it was inches away.

"You'll kill them, too," Bell hissed, his voice now like the hiss of a dying fire. "All of them. Everyone who trusts you. Everyone who follows you." His molten, glowing eyes bore into my soul. "How many more will you let burn before you figure it out?"

The bridge dissolved in flames, roaring all around us, licking at my skin in vicious intensity. I struggled against Bell's grip, but it was ironclad, unrelenting. The heat seared my flesh, and the screams of the Mariposa's crew echoed through the inferno.

"How many more, Jackson?" Bell's voice twisted and distorted as his face melted even further in the raging inferno, his skull grinning through the carnage. "How many more will pay the price for your failures?"

The observation lounge aboard the Mariposa was quiet, save for the soft hum of the warp engines beneath the deck plates. Stars streaked along beyond the wide viewport, distant and indifferent. The galaxy moved, as it always did. But aboard the ship, something felt… paused. Waiting.

T'Varis stood near the viewport, hands clasped neatly behind her back, posture rigid, almost statuesque. The reflection of the stars painted faint streaks of silver across her Romulan-red hair. Her eyes—sharper than usual—were focused outward, but her mind was far from the stars.

The doors hissed open behind her.

Lieutenant Commander Colette Rocking entered with her usual confident stride, but there was a tension in her shoulders today. The Elaysian-Human hybrid had let her hair shift to a soft violet—concern. It wasn't the usual vibrant, sharp hue she displayed during briefings.

"Figured I'd find you here," Rocking said, dropping into a chair without ceremony. "You always end up staring at the stars when you're thinking too hard."

T'Varis did not turn immediately. "The stars are constant. Logical. Their trajectories can be predicted."

"But people can't." The simple statement startled T'Varis out of her reverie.

T'Varis finally glanced back, arching a single brow. "Indeed."

Rocking sighed and stretched her legs out, crossing her boots on the edge of the table. She noticed T'Varis's disapproving glance but didn't move, a small smile rebellious smile stretching her lips wide. "You're worried about him."

A pause. T'Varis turned fully, stepping toward the table with a measured grace. "Captain Valore is recovering in Sickbay. By all medical accounts, his condition is stable."

Rocking tilted her head, watching T'Varis carefully. "But you're not convinced."

T'Varis sat across from her, hands still folded in her lap. She stared at Rocking for a long moment before speaking. "Physically, he is well. But Valore is not… predictable. His decisions have always been driven by an underlying instinct—effective, yes, but dangerous when unchecked."

Rocking frowned, shifting forward. "You're talking about Zeta Alpha."

T'Varis inclined her head slightly. "The loss of Bell. Four of our own crew members. The captain places the burden of those deaths entirely upon himself. I have observed this pattern of self-recrimination before. It is… concerning."

Rocking tapped her fingers against the table. "He apologized, didn't he? To you. To Bosett. He knows he crossed a line."

"Does he?" T'Varis's voice was quiet. "Apologies do not always indicate understanding. Sometimes, they are meant to soothe others. I believe Jackson Valore believes he is fine. I am… less certain."

Rocking stared at the Vulcan-Romulan for a moment, her hair shifting to a deeper blue—worry now. "You think he's still too close to the edge."

T'Varis hesitated. For anyone else, it would have been imperceptible. For Rocking, it was everything. The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid rarely showed uncertainty. "I am not the captain," T'Varis said, her tone softer than usual. "But when he was in Sickbay, unconscious… for a moment, the responsibility of command rested with me. The Mariposa requires a steady hand. Jackson Valore's hands, at present, are… unsteady." Her sharp green eyes flicked down to her boots, her normally stoic attitude subdued, even for her.

Rocking leaned back, studying her. "You're thinking about what would happen if he didn't wake up."

"I did not say that." The indignation in T'Varis's voice was almost funny. Almost.

"No, but you thought it." Rocking's hair deepened again, almost indigo now. "You don't want the chair."

T'Varis's gaze sharpened. "I did not say that either."

Rocking grinned, but there was no humor in it. "C'mon, T'Varis. You're a damn good first officer, and you'd be a damn good captain. But you don't want it. Not this chair. Not like this."

Silence settled between them. The stars kept moving.

T'Varis looked back to the viewport. "Jackson Valore inspires loyalty. But loyalty to a captain who risks self-destruction can endanger the crew. If he allows his obsession with Bell's death to dominate his judgment, I must consider the well-being of Mariposa above all else."

Rocking's violet hair flickered toward pink for a moment—hesitation. "You think he'll push that far?"

T'Varis was quiet for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I do not know. That is what concerns me."

Rocking got up, pacing in front of the viewport. "You didn't see his face when he woke up in Sickbay. That wasn't the captain I'm used to. He looked… haunted. Like he'd been running from something and realized he couldn't outrun it."

T'Varis followed her with her gaze. "He is running from failure. From guilt. These are powerful motivators—but also dangerous ones. They drive people to reckless actions."

Rocking turned sharply. "And we're supposed to do what? Watch? Let him spiral because we're too worried about overstepping?" Her hair shifted colors three times, a wild kaleidoscope of colors, before settling on a burnt orange color—resignation.

T'Varis stood slowly, hands at her sides. "No. We must be prepared. Valore does not yet realize how close he stands to the edge. When he does, he may not be capable of pulling back."

Rocking's gaze hardened. "Then we pull him back for him."

T'Varis gave the faintest nod. "Indeed."

Rocking crossed her arms. "He's going to hate us for it."

T'Varis arched a brow. "Hate is irrelevant. Survival is not."

They stood in silence again, watching the stars together. The Mariposa hummed steadily beneath their feet, a promise of movement, of momentum. But both women knew the real battle was not in the stars or with Starfleet. It was with their captain. And when the time came, they would be ready.

I awoke with a violent start, gasping for air. The sharp beeps and shrill chirps of monitors brings me back to Sickbay. I blinked slowly, adjusting my eyes to the sterile lights, noticing Bosett's calm, steady face smiling down at me, grounding me. But the ghost of Bell's words—and his accusing, burning gaze—clung to me like a second skin.

"Captain," Bosett began as he adjusted a few small buttons on my biobed monitors, "you've come out quite nicely, sir. The surgery was a success, and it only took four hours and twenty-five minutes."

I swallowed the visceral fear from that disturbing dream I'd had and forced myself to be in the here and now, but it took an effort.

I grinned softly, but still a bit groggy, thankful to be out of surgery. I was in a medicated haze to be sure, but as I looked around Sickbay, just to orient myself, I could have sworn I saw… No, it couldn't be, Bell was dead. I was seeing things because of that godawful dream I just had.

As I suppressed a shiver, I brought my eyes back to Bosett's calm but worn face. "Thank you, Krell," I smiled. "I'm really feeling a bit better already, but I don't know if that's from the procedure, or the painmeds," I joked, trying to smile softly.

Bosett just smirked and chuckled, as he injected something into my bloodstream, instantly clearing up my fuzzy brain. He tapped the console next to the biobed, and nodded, and turned to address me. "Well, you'll need to remain as still as you can for the next couple of days. If you're tired of laying down, I'm sorry," he said, with a rueful smile.

I furrowed my brow, "you mean I have to remain in this position for two days?" Well. Come on now, how was I going to get any work done?

Bosett nodded, smirking, "if you'd like to walk again, then yes."

"Okay, you win, no moving." I had a way around that. My mind was getting sharper. Plus, I wanted to find out if Rocking had gotten any leads on those quantum fluctuations, and I needed to check with Ananarin about damage reports, and I needed to know if T'Varis had found any leads so far toward the destruction of the Northwind. I had work to do.

Bosett smiled, fully aware of the thoughts rolling around my head. "Don't worry sir, T'Varis is an extremely capable first officer, I'm sure she has everything under control." He softened the words with a gentle smile, no doubt trying to get me to relax some, but I wasn't having that.

"Krell," I began, "I appreciate everything. But I have an investigation to lead. We have to find out what happened to Northwind. I can still be on light duty and do some work here." I wasn't about to let a vertebrae stop me from getting to the bottom of this mystery.

Bosett just gave me a hard look before leaning in closer, his eyes gazing into mine. "Captain, I understand that you may feel that you have something to prove, but you don't. Not to any of us." He paused and sighed as he considered his next words. I had no doubt they would cut to the heart of the matter, and I appreciated officers that knew when to toe the line. "I won't order you not to work while you're here, but if I find, in any way, that it becomes detrimental to your recovery, or is prolonging it in some way, I will order you to stop."

His threat caught me off guard, even as I knew he was right. That was a compromise and one I was more than happy to accept. I narrowed my eyes playfully, "you wouldn't…"

Most likely sensing my acquiescence, he narrowed his back. "Feel free to test that out," as he chuckled.

"Don't worry, I promise to go on light duty, sir," I said, smirking to hide a pang of discomfort as I made myself comfortable on the biobed that I'd most likely be in for the next few weeks. But I didn't care. Now, the investigation could begin.

After Bosett left, I called out, "Jackson to Colette," happy to finally get something done other than laying here like a dead fish.

Her perky voice came over the comm, "Captain, it's lovely to hear your voice."

I smiled even though she couldn't see it. "Colette, have you made any progress on tracing those quantum fluctuations you saw in Chen-Minatta's data?" I was genuinely curious about this. It was an interesting mystery.

Rocking's voice came back steady over the comm, "actually, yes sir, I have, and I think you'll find it as interesting as you'll find it scary."

Well, that sounded ominous. I briefly felt a shiver of fear try to creep its way up my spine—a testament already that I could feel anything. "Colette, would you mind coming down to Sickbay and give me a briefing on this," I asked, as calmly as I could.

She didn't even hesitate before responding, "I'm on the way, sir, Rocking out."

With the channel closed, I had little to do but wait. Thankfully, I didn't have to do that very long, as seconds later, the doors hissed open and Rocking strode in, her cerulean uniform top as crisp as she was with her radiant, shimmering fuchsia hair. I grinned. "Love the hair, Rocking," I said with a smirk, my eyes twinkling.

She smiled, dazzling me with her white teeth. The vibrant colors of her uniform and hair against her dark skin really was a gorgeous look. "Thank you, sir. I hope you're ready for this," she said eagerly, grabbing a chair to join me next to the biobed.

I nodded, she had no idea exactly how ready I was. "Waiting with anticipation, Colette."

She handed me a PADD, and as I tapped through the data, following along, she explained. "The quantum fluctuations we saw in Chen-Minatta's data is much more significant than we realized. Each of these fluctuations appear in systems we know to contain the greatest amount of dark matter, according to Chen-Minatta's data."

I interjected, "the greatest amount? How can we measure that?" I was genuinely curious.

She nodded, as though that was the most normal question in the world. "Chen-Minatta dedicated decades of her research to analyzing and interpreting the gravitational forces at play in the Alpha Quadrant to determine which locations would have the most concentration of these forces—it made sense to her that the more gravitational forces at play, then there must naturally be a higher level of dark matter present as well."

I nodded, following along so far. "Right, because that's the only way to 'see' dark matter."

Rocking smiled, clearly happy I was understanding. "Exactly, and after Chen-Minatta developed her sensor protocol to be able to detect dark matter, she confirmed that hypothesis, in every location."

My eyebrows shot up, impressed. "Every location?" That alone would have gained her enough prestige to last her a lifetime.

Rocking nodded, just as impressed as I was. "Correct. But let's return our focus to the quantum fluctuations," she said with a grin. "Here's where the fun begins."

She pointed out the data that showed her explanation as she spoke. "When we compare these readings with our own, more current ones, these readings don't match. The quantum fluctuations indicate that something has changed in the systems containing them."

I struggled to understand, and I guess it must have been evident on my face, because Rocking chuckled slightly and nodded. "Think of these quantum fluctuations as 'breadcrumbs' that are left after someone changes or alters the topography of space in a star system."

I immediately caught on as an icy horror struck my chest. "Wait, how do you 'change or alter the topography of space?'" The idea of that wasn't anything I could wrap my head around, it was too gargantuan, too massive to grasp.

Rocking's eyes became grim. "I don't know sir, but the data says that the star systems themselves aren't the same any longer. Whether dark matter truly has a play in that or not, I'm unclear, though the two are somehow related, I'm almost certain," she said, trailing off.

I thought quickly, trying to decide what to do with this information. "Colette, how many of these 'breadcrumbs' have you found," I asked curiously.

She grinned and pointed at the PADD. "Last page. I only saw the two from Chen-Minatta's data, and…" Her voice trailed off as my eyes caught it, and the blood drained from my face.

My voice came out as a low whisper, my hands trembling as I read the last star system on the list, the third place Rocking had found: it was the Zeta Alpha star system, the very system we were in. "I'd say you've uncovered something here, Colette," my voice nearly cracking under the pressure I now felt in my heart.

I paused as I pored over the other two names on the list: Maxi Alpha, a system about 2 days at slipstream from here, and Geraltus, a system 6 days at slipstream. Something clicked in my brain, and I remembered reading something from the ChronoNet, the network that all Starfleet captains used to keep up with one another in real time—in fact, we were required to report in on the damned thing when we took a mission and completed a mission, that way it was logged into the system.

A thought was brewing in my mind now, and I grinned as I realized it. "Colette, you know who else is in the Maxi Alpha system?"

Rocking shook her head. "No, sir, who," she asked curiously.

"An old friend of mine, Captain Ezri Dax, of the USS Aventine." I hadn't seen Dax in years, not since that incident on Trill a few years back when I uncovered a secret plot by the Damascans to overthrow the Trill government. Either way, it would not only be good to see her again, but maybe she could help me shed some light on this issue, since she had been ordered to investigate the same thing.

Rocking sat there quietly, nodding, although her eyes were clear as she waited for me to decide.

I called out to the air again, "Valore to T'Varis."

Her crisp Vulcan-Romulan alto voice came over the comm instantly, "Captain, good to hear your voice, how can I help you?"

I smiled despite the gravity of the situation. "T'Varis, good to hear your voice, too. How are the repairs to Mariposa coming," I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. I knew we'd lost some good people, and my ship had taken a hard hit.

Her voice was somber as she reported, "The total crew casualties are four. The shields, weapons, and warp drive have all been restored, and repairs have begun on decks twelve through fifteen, where the asteroid's main impact occurred. We have managed to seal any hull breaches. The slipstream drive is a different matter, however. Both Nina and Marcus are reluctant to power the drive up until we are clear of the Zeta Alpha system. Unfortunately, we won't be clear of the dark matter's damage on subspace until we can clear the system; a problem, since the impulse manifolds are blown."

Well, that threw a wrench in the plans. I exchanged a look with Rocking, whose eyes mirrored the anticipation in my own. She wanted to get to the bottom of this, too. I asked, "how long until we can repair the impulse manifolds?"

T'Varis paused for a moment, and I assumed she was checking some data before she responded, "Nina assures me she's working the problem now, but that we should have impulse engines within ten hours."

I nodded slowly, lulling that over as I looked over at Rocking. Trying to stay still while my mind wanted me to get up and pace the floor was making my back hurt, again with that sharp, biting pain, making me gasp out loud and shift uncomfortably for a moment.

Perceptive as ever, T'Varis's concerned voice came over the comm even as Rocking got up to come to my side. "Jackson, are you all right?"

I grimaced as I let Rocking help me lie back until the pain went down to a more tolerable level. "Fine, T'Varis, never better," I managed, my trademark sarcasm coming through the cracks just a little, making Rocking smirk.

Not missing a beat, T'Varis shot back, "good, because I'd hate to have to come down there to remind you of what 'light duty' means."

I swallowed my smile so fast Rocking snickered. "Okay, fine. When repairs are completed, and we are clear of this system, would you please set course for the Maxi Alpha system," I asked nicely, but knowing she'd get that I got her not-so-subtle warning.

"Very good, sir, I'll keep you updated," she said by way of saying goodbye, and both Rocking and I chuckled softly.

"She's not wrong, Jackson," Rocking said softly, looking at me with her bright eyes compassionately for a moment. "You have crew that care about you and will help you through this—lean on us." Her smile offset the gentle reprimand making me feel a bit guilty, but I pushed through it, knowing that I had a mission here—to get to the bottom of Bell's death.

"Thanks, Colette," I said sincerely, my lips curling up in a smile. "I think I'm gonna rest for a bit, but please, keep me updated on things as well," I said, my brown eyes wide with sudden fear of being left out of the loop. I couldn't afford that.

She smiled as she straightened up and headed to the door, "rest assured I will, sir, sweet dreams." The doors sighed open and shut, leaving me alone with my disorganized thoughts.

Chapter Five: Once Dead, Always Cold

The next couple of days passed without much happening, although I had to admit I truly thought Bosett got a kick out of torturing me through the aggressive physical therapy routine he had me on.

The man was brutal—waking me up at 0800 every morning on the dot, feeding me breakfast—okay that part wasn't so bad. Plus, I had more mobility back, I could sit up on my own and flex my toes now. Yesterday, we started the harder part of the therapy, walking.

What first began as me re-learning how to stand, turned into a slow but steady torture session. Kyle was present that morning, and despite my reserved feelings toward him, I felt relatively happy, in an odd sort of way, that he was with me. I felt as though we had learned how to let go of something and move past whatever it was that had kept a chasm between us. It was nice, but I wasn't really quite trusting of it yet.

Bosett explained as he attached some sort of device to my temples, and my spine, right at the L3 vertebrae. "These are neural synaptic relays, they are going to electrically enhance your motor pathways, amplifying the signal to your L3 vertebrae.""

He made some small adjustments to the one on my spine, making me wince slightly as I felt the interface bond with my skin, no doubt the nanites were linking themselves with my spinal cord, facilitating the connection.

I shifted uncomfortably, and Bosett smiled gently, his calm face peaceful and his voice soothing. "Relax, Jackson." He went up to press the ones on either side of my face. Before he pressed the switch to activate them, he warned me, "brace yourself, this may be slightly painful."

He was not exaggerating. As the neural interface bonded with my temples, it felt, for a split second of time, like either side of my face were being coated with molten lava. The pain was so intense that it was over as quickly as it had started, and I could feel my legs, all of them again.

I grunted, even as Bosett looked at me kindly, and Kyle stood behind me, his hands gripping the edge of the biobed. Was he…restraining from steadying me? I took a deep breath and managed, "I'm okay, just took me by surprise, that's all."

Bosett nodded, and motioned for Kyle to come stand on the other side of me so they could both help me to stand. As they did, Bosett went on to explain, "The muscles are strong, because they aren't atrophied, but because of the damage to the spine, you're going to have to learn how to stand."

Even as he said the words I knew there was more to it. "What's the catch, Krell," I asked, dryly, with a touch of sarcasm.

Bosett's mouth twitched, and he shrugged. "I'm not telling," he said, "because you'll just refuse."

Kyle interjected, "Just be quiet, Jackson, and do what Krell says," he said without any heat. I could see the twinkle in his eye as he refused to stare at me, trying to stave off a laugh. I huffed dramatically and said, "fine, two against one. Don't think I'll forget this, gentlemen."

Both men chuckled and helped me slide to the edge of the biobed, and to my feet. It was the first time I had stood in 5 days. I stood for exactly four seconds before the pain began to increase exponentially. "Oh, oh my god…" I trailed off, and my face immediately went pale.

Bosett and Kyle quickly hoisted me up onto the biobed, with Bosett quickly injecting me with something. "Five cc's midodrine," as he shot it into my neck via the hypospray.

I instantly felt relief from the pain, and my body sagged back against the bed as I caught my breath. Both men gave each other relieved glances, and Kyle smiled at me.

"You okay Jackson," Kyle asked quietly. He seemed genuinely concerned and that was sweet.

I nodded slowly, some feeling of normalcy returning to my body. "Yes, thank you. I just—the pain, it all got too much, too quick," I said, shaking my head in frustration.

Bosett injected something else into my bloodstream. "I gave you 10 cc's triamcinolone, it's an intercostal nerve blocker. It will prevent you from feeling the pain, though it won't prevent the pain from occurring," he explained.

I nodded gratefully. "Thanks, that feels better, whatever it is," I said, chuckling.

Both men gave me a moment before I nodded that I was ready to try again, and this time, I was able to stand on my feet for lover two minutes, before I could feel my back getting tired. Neither of them let go of me, we just stood there, and let my body get a sense of its own weight again. We alternated standing and sitting for rest, and each time I stood, it was for longer periods of time.

I was beginning to feel physically tired, and a bit nauseous, but I was so close to being able to support my own weight, that I didn't want to give up. Bosett, as always, the observant doctor, made me sit down and made me drink some orange juice and eat a banana and an apple. I felt so much better after that.

Kyle smirked at me as I finished the apple. "It's good to see you starting to feel like yourself again." He said it so sincerely that I believed it. Then again, Kyle hardly had any reason to lie or skew his feelings. He'd never operated that way, and I knew he wouldn't have started now.

I grinned back at him, allowing myself to enjoy the moment instead of wallowing in the past. "I'm feeling closer to myself again, I like it." Most of all, I liked the feeling of being in control of my own body again.

Kyle frowned for a moment and leaned in, his normally bright green eyes turning serious. "Seriously though, Jackson, don't push yourself too hard." He said the words sincerely enough, but I wondered where it was coming from.

I paused, making sure Bosett was out of earshot before whispering, "are you asking out of professional concern or some other motivation, Kyle?" I almost wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.

Kyle's eyes remained locked on mine, and he didn't answer right away. Finally, he pursed his lips and spoke softly, "I'm asking because you're my commanding officer and I'm concerned that you're not considering your own welfare as the priority over the investigation.

Suddenly, the rotting stench of flesh assaulted my nose, nearly gagging me. I shook my head. "No," I began, looking at Kyle. "I'm not going to let this prevent me from getting to the truth, Kyle. There's too much at stake here, too many parts that don't add up. I owe it to Bell to find out what is going on." I shoved back the tears that wanted to come out and kept going. "I refuse to hide in Sickbay for any longer than necessary while the person or people responsible for this fiasco is running around unchecked."

I pushed my plate away, I wasn't hungry anymore, and I physically felt better, and frankly, I was tired of having this conversation. The pleasure I'd felt earlier by Kyle's proximity was just as quickly replaced with a slight annoyance, and I felt myself sliding back into those all too familiar feelings.

Kyle nodded slowly, as though sensing my internal block, and just gave me a soft half-smile, and said, "you're the captain, but you don't always have to be the hero, Jackson, sometimes you just have to be yourself." He punctuated that with a soft pat of my shoulder before leaving the side of my biobed and heading to Bosett's office, presumably to let him know I was done and feeling better.

I lay there for a few moments, trying to collect my wildly chaotic thoughts. I was thoroughly concerned about this mission, I needed some clarity, and I needed to figure out what the hell was going on. I was also confused about Kyle's attitude, was there something going on with him? As much as I wanted to think about my relationship with Kyle—or didn't on some level—this wasn't the time or place to do so.

Bosett and Kyle walked back into the room, and both men helped me off the biobed, and we began to work on my motor reflexes, and by the end of the day, though exhausted, I could walk from one side of the room to the other.

As I lay on the biobed trying to remain still so that the burning sensation in my lower back would go away, Bosett smiled at me before giving me some painmeds. "You did well today, sir. Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous. You're already walking on day one of regenerative therapy." I could tell he was proud of both me and the procedure.

I gave Bosett a tired smile, "thanks, Krell. I wouldn't be where I am without you; literally." I shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable.

Bosett smiled and nodded, quietly moving his large frame to leave, "sleep well, sir."

The pain medication didn't take long to kick in and even as I struggled to stay awake long enough to formulate my next steps in this equation, T'Varis's voice came over the comm.

"Apologies for disturbing you, captain, but I thought you'd want to know that the slipstream drive is now operational, and we will be heading to the Maxi Alpha system in a moment," her voice, calm and crisp, combined with the knowledge that we were finally making progress, made me smile.

"Thanks, T'Varis," I said slowly, my voice thick with drowsiness, which T'Varis heard. "Good work."

Her voice sounded further away as she said, "my pleasure, sir. Sleep well," and closed the channel.

Darkness quickly swallowed me, taking hold of my senses and plunging me into a deep sleep.

Darkness enveloped me, thick and suffocating. I couldn't see my hands in front of me, couldn't even tell if my legs were beneath me. The air reeked of rotting flesh, the stench so strong it seared the back of my throat. I gagged, instinctively raising a hand to my mouth, but my arms felt weighted down, sluggish, like something unseen was dragging me deeper into the floor.

"Jackson," a voice whispered, faint and hollow. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I froze, my breath catching in my chest. It was Bell's voice—soft, disembodied, but unmistakable.

I turned toward the sound, even though every instinct screamed at me not to. There he was, standing amidst the twisted wreckage of the Northwind. His eyes glowed faintly, catching some dim, nonexistent light, and his uniform hung from him in tatters, torn and soaked with blood. My stomach churned at the sight of the jagged tear running across his chest, a gaping wound that shouldn't have allowed him to stand, let alone speak.

He raised a hand, pointing directly at me. His face twisted, an agonizing mixture of sorrow and accusation. His lips parted, but the sound that escaped was cracked, like dry earth breaking apart.

"You weren't there," he said, each word heavier than the last. "You should have saved us."

"No," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "I tried. I—" My voice broke, the words catching in my throat. "I'm trying now, Bell. I'm trying."

The ship groaned around us, the sound stretching and bending like metal warped under intense pressure. I flinched as the walls of the wreckage began to ripple, shifting and melting into liquid. Bell's face, once so familiar, melted into darkness, leaving nothing but a smear of shadow where he'd stood.

Suddenly, I was back on the Mariposa's bridge—but it wasn't right. The consoles flickered erratically, lighting up in bursts of static that illuminated my crew's faces. Only… they weren't my crew. Their faces were distorted, as though they'd been stretched and pulled by invisible hands, their mouths frozen open in silent screams.

"Captain, we can't stop it!" T'Varis's voice rang out, sharp and urgent. I spun toward her station, but the chair was empty. When I turned back, her voice seemed to echo from nowhere, the words disembodied like Bell's.

In her place, standing at the center of the bridge, was the asteroid. Dark matter pulsed within it, glowing faintly with a sickly, shifting light. It wasn't just a rock—it was alive. Its surface writhed as though something inside it were trying to escape. It began inching closer, filling the bridge with a suffocating, pulsing hum that I could feel in my bones.

The Mariposa trembled violently as the asteroid fractured, shards of it shooting like daggers through the hull. I stumbled as the deck buckled beneath me, desperately reaching for the nearest console, but my legs refused to cooperate. They felt like lead, heavy and useless. I clawed at the controls, but my fingers passed right through them like smoke.

The asteroid loomed larger, its surface glowing and shifting, and the hum grew deafening. My ears throbbed, my head spinning with the vibrations. It was going to swallow us whole. I opened my mouth to scream—to warn someone—anyone—but no sound came out. I could only watch as the black hole in the asteroid's center grew larger, devouring the Mariposa piece by piece.

The ship was gone. My ship. My crew. Gone.

I fell forward into the void, the hum receding into silence. For a long moment, there was nothing but emptiness. I drifted, weightless, my chest heaving as though I'd just run a marathon.

Then I saw her. She stood in the distance, her silhouette sharp against the black. A Starfleet uniform clung to her frame, the familiar glint of a captain's insignia catching a faint, otherworldly light. I recognized her at once—Captain Ezri Dax. Her face was illuminated, but her expression was unreadable, almost serene.

Her lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear. I strained forward, wanting myself to get closer, desperate to understand what she was trying to say. Her expression shifted—was it concern? A warning? Before I could reach her, the darkness swallowed us both.

Menter hesitated outside the door to R'Gore's quarters, fingers flexing at his sides. He could still hear T'Varis's voice in his head—calm, measured, logical. You did well, Ensign. The Captain's injury was not preventable. You performed admirably. And he'd believed her; at least, part of him had. But another part, the part that was still running on the adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours, the part that had watched Jackson Valore collapse in a broken heap on the bridge, didn't feel settled.

T'Varis's words were logical. They made sense, but they hadn't landed. He needed something else. His thumb hovered over the door chime. He could turn back. He should turn back. He wasn't even sure why he was here, why he'd walked across the ship to find him of all people.

Maybe because R'Gore was the last person who would try to fix him. He didn't want fixing, he wasn't broken. He just needed…something. Before he could second-guess it, he pressed the chime.

A long pause. Then—"Enter."

The doors slid open, revealing R'Gore standing just inside his quarters. He was out of uniform, wearing something dark and loose, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the lean muscle of his forearms. His sharp Romulan features were impassive, unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, intelligent eyes—narrowed slightly as he took Menter in. "Ensign." A statement. Cool, acknowledging. Not unfriendly, but not warm, either.

Menter swallowed. "Uh. Hey." Why did he feel nervous?

R'Gore said nothing, but his sharp gold-green eyes shone with something he couldn't quite place. R'Gore just stepped aside, a silent invitation.

Menter took it as the doors shut behind him with a soft hiss. R'Gore's quarters were… precise. Not in an antiseptic way, but everything in the room was exactly where it belonged. A few artifacts sat on the shelves—Romulan sculptures, an old leather-bound book, a single glowing star-map etched into the glass wall. It wasn't sterile. It was controlled. It felt, in some quiet way, intentional. It was the exact opposite of how Menter felt right now.

"You are unsettled," R'Gore observed, crossing to the seating area. He moved with the same exacting grace he always did, dropping into the chair like every motion was measured down to the molecule. "Sit."

Menter did and slouched forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together as he exhaled heavily. "Yeah. I guess that's obvious." He smirked, but it was devoid of any real emotion.

R'Gore, ever perceptive, said simply, "You have been speaking with T'Varis."

Menter huffed a short laugh. "Wow. That obvious?" He felt exposed, raw, like everybody could see through him, except himself. And that hurt, slightly.

R'Gore's lips twitched slightly. Not quite a smirk. But almost. "You are carrying an excess of logic for someone so outwardly emotional." His body betrayed nothing except for a slight relaxing of his muscular chest, normally proudly puffed out, deflated a little, relaxing.

Menter let out a low groan and leaned his head back against the couch. "Yeah. That's the problem, isn't it? I keep telling myself I did fine. I keep hearing it. And I know it's true, but… my body isn't buying it." He sighed. "It's like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop." He looked miserable and looked at R'Gore almost helplessly.

R'Gore studied him for a long moment. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the glass carafe on the table and poured two drinks. The liquid was a deep amber, thick and slightly viscous. He handed one to Menter.

Menter took it hesitantly. "This Romulan whiskey?" He swirled the dark liquid around, watching absently as the starlight flickered and danced in its amber waves.

R'Gore arched an eyebrow. "Tea."

Menter blinked, glancing at the tea. "Huh. Looks strong." He sniffed it cautiously, much to R'Gore's amusement.

"It is," R'Gore said simply and took a healthy sip of his tea, but his eyes never left Menter's.

Menter took a cautious sip. It was strong. Sharp, almost electric on his tongue, but warming, too. Grounding. He exhaled and settled a little deeper into his seat.

R'Gore watched him for a long moment before speaking again. "You seek certainty." His voice was firm but not without some tenderness that Menter found endearing.

Menter exhaled a short laugh, his sandy blonde hair flopping over his forehead. "Good luck finding that in Starfleet."

R'Gore didn't smile, but there was a slight amusement in his gaze. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers clasped around his own glass, a mirror of Menter's own posture.

"It will never come from words," R'Gore said quietly "You already know what is true. You already know you did well. And yet, you do not feel it. Because what you require is not confirmation." His eyes flickered, sharp and steady. "You require something to hold onto."

His eyes pierced Menter's soul as he swallowed, but the words landed. They sat there for a long moment. No sound but the faint hum of the ship, the quiet clink of glass as Menter slowly set his drink aside. Then, with a kind of deliberate inevitability, Menter shifted closer. Not too much, but it was enough. He was surprised that he didn't feel awkward, and more so, that R'Gore didn't flinch away from him.

R'Gore let him, surprising himself with the comfort he felt by Menter's proximity. Rihannsu, he actually cared for the young man.

Menter exhaled. "So, what, you gonna let me sit here and wallow in my masculine insecurity?" He tried to crack the joke, but it didn't seem to land the way he'd intended. With soft hazel eyes, Menter glanced at R;Gore.

R'Gore's expression remained impassive. "I suspect you will do it regardless." His fingers twitched around his glass of tea, a slight betrayal of his normally stoic Romulan attitude.

Menter laughed, but he didn't move away. His brows furrowed slightly as he pondered why he felt so…safe here. He didn't feel alone, sitting here with R'Gore. Somehow, just being in the man's presence was enough to calm his fraying nerves.

R'Gore let a long silence stretch between them before he spoke again. "I will say this once, Ensign." His voice was quieter now. Still firm, but low and steady. "You will never be what Jackson Valore is. Nor should you be." His eyes met Menter's in a moment of connection, making Menter stiffen slightly. He raised a hand slightly to stave off Menter's unspoken comment.

R'Gore continued. "You are not here to become him. You are here to become you." His golden-green eyes were still locked onto Menter's, the intensity of them cutting through the haze in Menter's head. "You are steady, competent, and capable." He paused before continuing, "And you will not break."

The words hit something deep in Menter's chest, something he hadn't even realized he was holding onto. Why did it take this Romulan man to break through his fourth wall so easily? He let out a breath. Closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, R'Gore was still watching him.

A slow, unspoken tension hung in the air. Not in a way that demanded something. Just in a way that acknowledged something. Menter chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Damn, R'Gore. I didn't peg you for the motivational speech type."

R'Gore's voice came back quickly, almost annoyed that Menter dared suggest otherwise. "I am not."

Menter shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. He exhaled, then—on impulse—reached out, clamping a hand on R'Gore's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

R'Gore did not move away. In fact, for a brief, startling moment, his expression softened. Not in any obvious way. Just in the way he let it happen. It surprised R'Gore, but he chose to go with it rather than deny it.

The moment stretched—just long enough to mean something. Both men stared at each other for a long, hard moment, the unacknowledged words cascading over both of them like a balm to their spirits.

Then, finally, Menter let his hand drop and leaned back with a heavy sigh. "Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders. "I think I'm done wallowing."

R'Gore snickered softly and gave a slow, approving nod. "Good."

Menter smirked. "Mind if I hang out a little longer, though?" He really didn't want to be alone yet and it felt nice being seen by R'Gore. He felt seen, finally seen.

R'Gore took a slow sip of his tea, watching him over the rim of the glass. Then, finally, he set it down. "I expect you will." R'Gore's mouth twitched slightly as Menter's cheeks turned bright pink for a short moment.

But Menter grinned and for the first time all day, he felt steady.

I shouldn't be here. Not because I don't deserve to eat, I'm pretty sure I earned the right to a meal after everything, but because I know what this looks like. I know what people see when they watch me cut into my replicated steak and lift it to my mouth like I didn't just spend a week flat on my back in sickbay, my spine screaming every time I so much as breathed.

My crew sees a captain who refuses to be weak, a man who fights his own body the way he fights his enemies. What they don't see is the way my hands still shake when I reach for my glass.

I set it down quickly, jaw tight, and shoved another bite into my mouth. If I can just eat, if I can just do normal things, then maybe I can convince my body that it's fine. That I'm fine. That my recovery timeline isn't being rewritten by sheer force of will.

"That's quite a performance." Oh crap. Kyle. His voice slid over me like warm velvet, the kind you want to sink into but know will suffocate you in the best and worst ways if you let it.

I didn't look up. "You'll have to be more specific. I put on a lot of performances." I acted as though his presence didn't bother me, but inside, I was trembling. With need, with desire, with…all the things I didn't want to feel right now.

Kyle let out the faintest chuckle—one of those knowing ones that made my stomach tighten. "The one where you're pretending you're ready to be out of bed, eating solid food, and engaging in polite conversation instead of listening to your body and, I don't know, resting." His voice was teasing, but his green eyes—oh those eyes—they pierced me right to my core.

Now I looked up, because I had no choice. Kyle stood there, arms crossed, head tilted, that same infuriating mix of exasperation and amusement dancing behind his dark eyes. It's a look that used to precede him yanking me into a kiss or a lecture—depending on how much I'd pissed him off that day. For a second, just a second, my brain stuttered on the memory of both.

Then I forced my focus back to the present. No need in dwelling in past memories that were to good to be true anymore. "I am resting," I argued, gesturing vaguely at my tray like was proof. "Eating dinner, sitting, not throwing myself into a plasma fire or, I don't know, challenging an admiral to a duel." I snorted softly as I spoke the last words.

Kyle hummed, sliding into the seat across from me. "The night is young."

A joke. I see. But it was one that landed too close to home. "Look, I know you're used to worrying about me—"

"Am I?" he interrupted smoothly, and there was something sharp in the way he said it. Something that made my stomach clench.

Come on, dammit, I didn't have time for these feelings. I set my fork down and narrowed my eyes. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" His voice was casual, yet there was something intoxicating about the timbre of his voice.

"That thing where you act like I'm the villain in whatever narrative you've been writing in your head," I said finally, admitting my fear.

Kyle leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't have to write a narrative, Jackson. I was there." His voice was softer now, which is way worse. Because it meant he was not just here to call me out on my reckless recovery pace.

I braced myself for the lecture. I'd rather have the kiss. Right? "And where was that?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

Kyle let the silence stretch between us, like he was waiting for me to answer my own question. When I didn't, he leaned back and exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You really don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet, but there was a noticeable edge to it—like he wasn't sure if he should be frustrated with me or just tired. "How many times did I watch you do this? Push yourself too hard, throw yourself into something without thinking, and then pretend like you weren't hurting? How many times did I try to be the one who pulled you back from the edge before you crashed?"

I swallowed. My throat felt tight. I couldn't even answer him before he kept right on going. Oh, my heart!

"More times than I can count," he answered for me.

This is bad, this is very bad. He was doing that thing where he remembers us. Where he pulled out things that were supposed to be buried in the wreckage of what we used to be and threw them back onto the table, still raw and beating.

I scraped my fork against my plate. "And yet, here I am. Still in one piece." Lies. All lies. I wasn't in one damn piece; right now, I was in several.

Kyle's expression flickered—something unreadable, something close to hurt, but then it was gone. "Physically, maybe."

A direct hit. I hated how he could so easily disarm me, then attacked me so callously. I exhaled sharply through my nose, staring down at my food like I could will it into saving me from this conversation. "You don't have to do this," I muttered. "You don't have to—"

"Don't have to what, Jackson?" His voice was suddenly sharp. "Don't have to care? Don't have to worry that you're still repeating the same damn patterns?"

I could feel it, the shift, the undercurrent of something old and dangerous running between us. It's the thing that existed before we fell apart, the thing that held us together even when everything else was crumbling. It was still here. I hate that it's still here.

Kyle leaned in again, his voice was lower now, steadier. "You scared me," he said, and this time it wasn't an accusation, just the truth. "Back on the bridge, when I thought—" He stopped himself, shook his head, and swallowed.

He didn't have to finish. I knew what he was going to say. When he thought I wasn't coming back. I sat back, dragging a hand through my hair. I didn't know what to say to that. Because what could I say? That I'm sorry? That I didn't mean to? That I did mean to, in some way, because I've never known how to turn down a fight? Especially with the one man who made my blood hot in all the right and wring ways simultaneously?

The silence stretched, thick with things I didn't want to name.

Kyle exhaled and leaned back, like he'd decided something. His mouth quirked up at the corner, but there was something sad about it. "You know," he said, "for a guy who doesn't believe in fate, you sure seem determined to test it."

I opened my mouth to argue, to deflect, to do something. But Kyle was already standing, shaking his head like he was done with me. And maybe he was. Maybe he was just tired. Of me, of us. Or it could be my shit attitude lately.

He pushed away from the table, but paused, glancing back at me. There was something unreadable in his expression—something that made my breath catch.

Then he just said, "Take care of yourself, Jackson," and walked away.

I watched him go, my heart pounding for reasons I didn't want to unpack. Reasons I could not afford to unpack. Could I? Then, I picked up my fork, shoved another bite of food into my mouth, and pretended none of this ever happened.

The transporter room gleamed with the polish of a newly commissioned vessel. I stood just behind the transporter pad, flanked by T'Varis and Rocking. I adjusted my uniform and took a deep breath, knowing Ezri Dax isn't just another captain—she's a legend—one with whom I share a history.

The transporter hummed to life, and the shimmering blue light resolved into the form of Captain Ezri Dax. She stepped off the pad with effortless confidence, her short pixie-like stature belying her commanding presence. Dressed in the cranberry and black of her of her captain's uniform, she carried both an air of curiosity and determination, and her eyes sparkled as they took in the Mariposa's transporter room.

"Ezri," I said, stepping forward with a genuine smile on my face, extending my hand. "Welcome aboard the Mariposa."

Dax grasped my hand, returning the smile. "Jackson, it's good to see you again." She paused and looked around approvingly. "And I've got to admit, I've been looking forward to getting a closer look at this ship. The Mariposa's specs are already the envy of half the fleet," she said with a smirk.

I grinned, my pride evident. "I'd be happy to give you a tour once we've gone over what brought me here."

Dax's eyes became sharper as she regarded me. "That's right," she began slowly, "what did bring you all the way to the Maxi Alpha system, Jackson?" Her laser-focused green eyes held mine for a second before she smiled. "I see, well, I suppose we'd better not waste any time then."

It was enough to break me from my thoughts and gain control of the situation. "Right, follow me, Ezri." I began walking out of the transporter room, heading to the ready room as T'Varis and Rocking followed behind Dax and myself.

I spoke as we walked, "what mission brought you here, Ezri?" I was genuinely curious if her mission parameters were the same as mine.

Her eyes flicked up to mine as she responded slowly, "we were supposed to be investigating a subspace anomaly. The mission details were notoriously vague."

I nodded. That was in keeping with my own experience so far. "The same for me, Ezri," I mentioned as the turbolift doors slid open and we all walked in. I called out for the bridge, and the lift quickly ascended.

Rocking was next to break the silence. "Did you find out what the 'subspace anomaly' was, Captain Dax?"

Dax regarded her thoughtfully. "No," she began. "My chief science officer, Mirren, thought something else was at play, but she couldn't figure out what."

The lift doors parted, opening onto the bridge, a bustling center of activity as the crew worked to finish the relatively minor repairs left from the massive damage the dark matter asteroid had caused. Rocking and T'Varis took their respective places on the bridge as Dax and I walked into my ready room.

As we sat down on the small couch that ran along the bulkhead under a nice long window, I handed her a cup of Oolong/Knisnaya tea, an Earth-Trill blend Dax had introduced me to when we first met, years ago. I favored it to this day, and Dax smiled in appreciation as I handed it to her.

"Oh, you remembered, how sweet," she smiled beatifically, and we both sipped the tea, enjoying the calm before the storm, so to speak. Dax broke that reverie, even as I pondered what I wanted to say. How was I supposed to articulate my growing suspicions in the chain of command?

"Let's cut to the chase, Jackson," Dax began, her sharp eyes focused on mine. I swallowed my tea and bit back a surge of pain in my lower back and shifted in my seat to alleviate the discomfort. "I was ordered to the Maxi Alpha system a few days ago to investigate a 'subspace anomaly.'" She paused as her brow furrowed and her eyes took on a faraway look as she recounted, "Within two hours of entering the system, the Aventine was ambushed by what I can only describe as a rogue dark matter asteroid." While her tone was calm, there was a sharp edge to her words. "Our shields barely held. We lost ten good people."

I mirrored her look of anger and sympathy, and I nodded, recounting my own entrance into the Zeta Alpha system, and how closely it mirrored my own. After I was finished, she gave me a strong, deep look of empathy, and I felt a kindred spirit in her.

"We've got to stick together," she began, smiling wistfully, "captains like us? We have to find that fine line of duty and sacrifice."

The words resonated within me—duty and sacrifice. Wasn't that what Bell was asking of me, too? Wasn't that what I owed him, an answer to this mess?

I spoke up, leaning forward as I clasped my hands, "Admiral Dalloway?"

Her eyes narrowed as she nodded slowly, "how did you know?" She let out a breath and said, "I had my suspicions, but nothing concrete. Tell me what you've found."

The request, though framed more as a command, still unlocked something in me, a desire to share this burden with someone who would and could understand. I smiled grimly as I told her what we'd found. "Rocking identified quantum fluctuations in multiple systems, including Maxi Alpha. At first, we thought they were anomalies, but they were not. They're 'breadcrumbs'—distortions left behind wherever subspace has been destabilized by dark matter." My voice grew slightly in pitch as I went on, enthused I was finally able to talk out some of the pieces.

Ezri leaned back on the sofa, her expression grim, "and Maxi Alpha is one of those systems?"

I nodded. "It gets worse. Every place we've found these disruptions, we've discovered evidence of catastrophic events: collapsing corridors, destroyed planets, destabilized stars." My voice, though passionate, becomes weighted. "And now, I'm concerned that Admiral Dalloway might be involved." My hand slammed down on the armrest of the sofa, making Ezri flinch slightly, but I continued, "Ezri, he's not just covering this up—he's orchestrating it."

Ezri's eyes narrowed and her fingers drummed the edge of her mug. "That tracks with what I've seen. The asteroid that hit the Aventine—it wasn't natural. Its trajectory, composition, even its interaction with our shields—it felt engineered."

When I heard the words come out of Dax's mouth, I felt as though some of the weight I had been carrying around lifted off me. It wasn't removed, by any means, but to know that I wasn't alone in this, made me feel better.

She sighed and leaned forward imperceptibly, her voice speaking not just from Ezri, but from Dax, the symbiont that had lived for centuries, gaining wisdom and knowledge through lifetimes of experience. "Be careful that you don't pry the wrong way, Jackson. Prying is okay in the right circumstances, but you must also learn delicacy."

The words, while true, still make me feel impatient. We were here talking ethics while Bell's death was going unpunished. "Yes, Ezri, but that isn't the problem here, is it," I argued. I sighed and leaned in earnestly. "Ezri, I realize the wisdom in what you're saying, but it's equally true that Dalloway, or whoever it is, thinks they can keep playing chess with the galaxy. It's time I show them they're not the only ones who can play chess." I spoke the words, feeling convicted.

I let the words hang in the air for a moment even as I replayed the scene in my head. I didn't believe I was wrong. I don't care whose heels I have to bruise to find the person responsible for this and bring them to justice.

Ezri finally broke the silence, her voice soft, but pointed. "You're holding something back, Jackson. I've known you long enough to see when the cracks are beginning to show."

I turned to face her, my face composed but my eyes betrayed the storm beneath. "I'm fine, Ezri. This mission is…complicated, you know how it is."

Ezri raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my deflection. "I do. And I also know when someone is trying to shoulder too much alone." She gestured lightly toward the viewport, "the Mariposa is impressive, Jackson, but even the best ship in the fleet can't carry the weight of the galaxy on its own."

I exhaled sharply, setting my mug down on the table with a small clatter, my hands trembling, "it's not just this mission. It's everything. The quantum fluctuations, the destruction the dark matter has left in its wake, and now Maxi Alpha." I let out a frustrated sigh, my hands running through my short brown hair before I settled back in my seat before my back began hurting even more. "We're chasing ghosts, Ezri, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something crucial."

Ezri leaned forward, holding her hands together in her lap, considering her words, which came out calm but firm. "Jackson, you're not just chasing ghosts—you're chasing control. You've seen what these fluctuations signify, and it terrifies you. You're afraid of being too late again, like with the Northwind." Her tone softened, "but fear can cloud judgement and turn focus into obsession."

The quiet severity of her words made me physically flinch, my composure slipping for just a moment. "You think I'm obsessed," I asked incredulously.

Ezri didn't answer immediately, letting the question hang in the air. Finally, she said compassionately, "I think you're a captain who cares deeply about his crew, his mission, and the loves at stake. But I also think you're human. And humans—Trills too, for that matter—aren't built to bear every burden alone."

I rubbed a hand across my face, my exhaustion evident. "I owe it to Bell, Ezri, to find out. If I don't figure this out, more systems could collapse. More lives lost. And I'm supposed to trust an Admiral who gives me just enough information to keep me in the dark," I shot out, frustrated and tense at the lack of solution.

Ezri's expression darkened slightly at the mention of Dalloway. "Dalloway is…enigmatic at best. I've had doubts about him since the Aventine was attacked. You're right to not be fully trusting him. But I also know that Starfleet captains aren't meant to work in isolation. You have a crew, Jackson. Brilliant, capable officers who trust you and whom you trust. Lean on them."

I nodded, trying to absorb her words. She was right, though, to remind me to lean on my crew. They were invested in this, too, and it reminded me of my place as their captain, making me feel slightly ashamed of myself.

I prided myself on believing that every member of my crew contributes to the success of every mission. I accomplish this by allowing relatively inexperienced crew members to be assigned to away teams where their personal expertise is needed. Not just on away teams but bigger projects as well, which fosters a sense of collaboration among my crew—and reinforces the fact that everyone contributes to the whole. I very much view my role as more of a mentor, fostering more self-efficacy than normal on Federation starships.

Ezri leaned back, her gaze piercing. "I know you, Jackson, you put on this façade—calm, confident, unshakeable. It's what Starfleet expects of you, right?" She leaned forward as though to underscore her words as she continued. "I've carried eight lifetimes' worth of memories. I've seen what happens when captains push too hard, when people ignore the cracks until it was too late—Joran, Curzon, Jadzia—they learned the hard way, and I've had to live with their mistakes."

My voice dropped to a near whisper, "and what happens?"

Ezri's expression softened, the trained counselor in her taking over. "They break, or worse, they break their crew. The decisions we make as captains—they weigh on us, sometimes for the rest of our lives. But those decisions are never just ours to bear." Her voice took on an even softer, delicate edge. "Trust your people, Jackson, trust yourself, and don't let this mission consume you."

I reflected on that for a moment, wondering if I had already crossed this line with my crew. I could say I might have, especially with T'Varis and Bosett when I refused to go to Sickbay for treatment, but I wasn't about to pin that nicety onto Kyle just yet.

I sighed, my shoulders sagging slightly. "You make it sound so easy, Ezri," I chuckled.

Dax smiled faintly, "it's not. If it were, I wouldn't be here reminding you of it. But you've already done the hard part, that's seeing the problem. Now you just have to take the next step." She leaned back in the seat, smiling faintly still.

I allowed myself to relax, imperceptibly, and gave Dax my trademark smirk, "you always know how to cut right through the noise."

Ezri shrugged, a glimmer of humor in her eyes. "Benefits of being joined to Dax. But for what it's worth, I'm saying this as someone who cares about you—not just as a captain or counselor, but as a friend," she said sincerely.

"Thank you, Ezri," I said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "It was good to see you. I'm glad the Aventine isn't too badly damaged."

Dax nodded, her eyes somber once more as we began to head back to the transporter room, again joined by T'Varis as the three of us entered the turbolift.

I called out the destination and T'Varis turned to Dax, her eyes sharp. "I trust Captain Valore and you had a good visit," she asked nonchalantly. I knew T'Varis better than that—she was fishing.

Before I could interject, Dax spoke up, speaking to T'Varis. "It's never easy, T'Varis, being the one to remind the captain when he should slow down, but if anyone can do it, I have no doubt you can remind him of the bigger picture."

T'Varis's eyes never left Dax's as she nodded, her dry voice sounding loud in the lift, "oh, Captain Valore knows I won't hesitate to remind him of what 'light duty' means," she said, turning her sharp gaze to look at mine pointedly. "Will I sir," she asked, perfectly innocently—I knew a trap when I saw one.

I side-eyed Dax as she worked to smother a smile, and I turned to T'Varis with a big smile as the doors hissed open to the transporter room. "No, you won't T'Varis, you've made it very clear the consequences for not following doctor's orders—or XO's orders," I said, grinning as I spoke the words to both T'Varis and Dax.

Dax stepped up onto the transporter pad and gave me a bright smile. "Take care of yourself Jackson, and remember to give yourself some breathing room," she winked. As she turned her attention to T'Varis, I noticed that T'Varis' lips were curled up slightly in a smile.

"Take good care of him too, T'Varis," she said carefully, even as I nodded for R'Gore to energize the transporter. Dax's eyes met mine briefly before the transporter effect began to begin.

"Live long and prosper, Captain Dax," T'Varis said as the blue shimmering lights of the transporter cascaded over one of the most beautiful souls in the galaxy that I'd had the fortune of meeting.

T'Varis turned to me as soon as Dax's image disappeared, her green eyes calm despite the seriousness of the situation. "Rocking and R'Gore may have found a way to detect the quantum fluctuations before they appear on sensors."

Chapter Six: The Stars Have Died

Well finally, a breakthrough, hopefully it would be one we so desperately needed. "Wonderful," I began, "have them meet us in the conference room in fifteen minutes," as I began exiting the transporter room to the lift.

The doors opened and we both strode in, and I called out, "bridge," and the lift quietly ascended. T'Varis pondered me for a moment. "It's good to see you up and about again sir, the crew and I were beginning to get a little worried," she said lightly.

I smiled and faced her. "It feels nice to be able to walk again, albeit slowly. It had been about two weeks, and my recovery was nearly complete. Not only had I beaten the good doctor's recovery estimates by two weeks—he'd originally predicted four—but I had enhanced mobility and better motor control and had finally been dismissed from Sickbay with a clean bill of health.

The lift doors hissed open, and we strode across the bridge, eerily quiet as most of the stations were either on automatic or manned by secondary crew. I waved at Lieutenant Pierak, the young Tamarian at the OPS station, handling OPS and navigation concurrently, who nodded at me, smiling benignly.

We crossed the room and into the conference room, where the senior staff waited in the briefing room, my footsteps muffled by the soft carpet. The long, polished conference table gleamed under the overhead lights, and the holographic display at the far end flickered to life, waiting for the presentation. I sat at the head of the table, my expression unreadable, though a faint tension rippled in my jawline, and I settled into my seat quickly.

Commander T'Varis took her usual seat to my right, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Lieutenant R'Gore and Commander Rocking were standing near the holographic display, conferring in low tones. The contrast between the two couldn't have been sharper—R'Gore, the tall, thin Romulan, with his sleek jet-black hair and his delicate pointed ears, and Rocking, the energetic Elaysian-human scientist, who seemed completely at ease, tapping commands into the holographic console.

Counselor Valore leaned back in his chair, his green eyes sharp but relaxed, while Doctor Bosett, his Betazoid frame towering over the others, sat quietly at the far end, observing with his usual calm demeanor. Commander Mel'Th'eeve, the gorgeous blonde Bajoran engineer, adjusted the cuffs of her uniform with meticulous care. Ensign Menter, barely out of the Academy, looked wide-eyed as he took his seat, his PADD ready for notes.

I broke the silence. "All right, let's get started. Commander Rocking, Lieutenant R'Gore, I understand you have a joint presentation for us. Let's hear it."

Rocking stepped forward, her metallic blue hair reflecting the light of the holographic display. "Thank you, Captain." She gestured to R'Gore. "Lieutenant R'Gore and I have been collaborating on a method to detect the quantum fluctuations that signal dark matter manipulation. Theoretically," she added with a small smile, glancing at R'Gore, "it's a combination of science and engineering."

R'Gore's lips flicked upward as he stepped up beside Rocking. His voice was deep and smooth. "The idea hinges on two key components: plasma interactions and subspace dynamics. Plasma fields react in measurable ways when exposed to quantum fluctuations caused by dark matter distortions. If we combine a controlled plasma field with precise subspace scans, we might be able to predict where these fluctuations will appear—before they destabilize."

Rocking nodded and tapped the holographic console, pulling up a rotating model of a star system. Blue and green plasma fields shimmered around its orbit, overlaid with faint ripples of quantum distortions. "As you can see here," she said, gesturing to the model, "these ripples—caused by quantum fluctuations—are invisible to most standard scans. But when we introduce a highly energized plasma field, the fluctuations create disturbances within the plasma, which can then be tracked using a calibrated sensor array."

T'Varis raised a hand, her expression calm. "What level of accuracy are we speaking of, Commander?"

R'Gore's eyes narrowed sharply, a gesture of focus. "That depends on the calibration of the plasma field and the precision of the subspace scans. With the adjustments we've been testing, we believe we can pinpoint a fluctuation's location within a 0.02 light-year margin of error. We'd have to then input this into the astrometric lab's systems to integrate into our sensors."

"That's not bad," Mel'Th'eeve commented, her nose crinkling even more than it already was with interest. "But the real question is: how stable is this plasma field when exposed to dark matter? Plasma and dark matter interactions aren't exactly... predictable, as we found out." No doubt she was referring to our unsavory welcome into the Zeta Alpha system.

Rocking inclined her head, her eyes somber. "True. There's some risk involved. If the plasma field destabilizes, it could create a feedback loop that damages the sensor array—or worse, causes a minor subspace rupture."

"Minor?" Bosett rumbled, his deep voice carrying across the table. "Let's hope your definition of 'minor' doesn't include another injury list."

Rocking gave a small, sheepish shrug. "It's a calculated risk, Doctor."

I leaned forward, my hands clasped on the table. "What's the margin for error on that 'calculation,' Rocking? Let's not turn this ship into a test bed for theoretical science unless we're sure it's worth it."

R'Gore chimed in quickly, his eyes betraying the fire his voice lacked. "Captain, we've run simulations. The risks are manageable, and the potential reward is significant. If we can predict these fluctuations, we'll have a strategic advantage. We won't just be reacting to events—we'll be anticipating them, because it's based on finding the highest levels of dark matter present—we're already uniquely equipped to do so."

"That's the key," Rocking added. "If we'd had this technology in Zeta Alpha or Maxi Alpha, we could have anticipated the fluctuations and minimized damage—or avoided it entirely."

T'Varis raised an eyebrow. "You're confident this method will yield results?"

"Yes, Commander," R'Gore replied firmly. "It's not perfect, but it's our best chance to stay ahead of these dark matter disruptions."

Counselor Kyle leaned forward, his tone curious but steady. "And how will this affect the crew, Rocking? Will this require major adjustments to our daily operations?"

"Minimal disruption," Rocking replied. "Commander Mel'Th'eeve's team can handle the sensor array modifications, and the plasma field generation can be monitored from the science lab."

Mel'Th'eeve tilted her head, her eyes sharpening thoughtfully. "I'll need to allocate some resources, but it's doable. As long as we don't try to push the system beyond its limits, we should be fine."

I sat back, my expression unreadable as I weighed the information. I wanted answers, which seemed like a good way to get them. Besides, this was as close as I'd gotten so far to finding an answer for Bell's death. "How soon can you have this operational?"

R'Gore glanced at Rocking, then replied, "Twelve hours, Captain. Maybe less if Commander Mel'Th'eeve's team prioritizes the sensor calibration."

"Good," I said, my voice firm. "Because we're going to need every edge we can get if we're going to beat…whatever this is."

Rocking interjected and pulled up a data display on the holo-screen. "We've already detected two nearby systems that have enough dark matter concentrations present to pose a threat to the system." She pointed them out as she spoke, "Alpha Onias and Decimus Minor."

I nodded and studied the map as I thought about my decision. The Decimus Minor system was closest, and contained concentrations of up to eighty-four percent, while the Alpha Onias system was further away but contained concentrations of up to ninety-two percent. I sighed, trying to figure out which was the better option. The Alpha Onias system was further, with higher concentrations of dark matter—but what if we arrived too late? Decimus Minor was closer, but its lower readings made it less of a priority. My gut said Onias. Bell would've chosen Onias.

Finally, I spoke to Menter. "Marcus, set course for the Alpha Onias system, maximum warp. It's close enough that I don't think a slipstream jump is required."

Menter nodded and tapped out the instructions on his PADD.

T'Varis spoke, her tone measured. "Captain, if I may—this approach carries significant risk, both to the ship and the crew. While I agree that the potential rewards are worth pursuing, we must remain vigilant and cautious."

I nodded, meeting her gaze. "Understood, Commander. We'll proceed carefully, but I'm not sitting idly by while we have a definite plan of action." I turned my attention back to my science and operations officers. "Rocking, R'Gore—get it done. I want updates every two hours."

"Aye, sir," R'Gore said, head bowing slightly with determination. Rocking simply nodded, her usual calm confidence evident.

I rose from my seat, signaling the end of the meeting. "Everyone else, prepare for departure. We'll rendezvous with the affected system in six hours. Let's make sure we're ready."

As the staff began to file out, Rocking and R'Gore lingered near the holographic display, already discussing adjustments. T'Varis remained by my side, her sharp gaze fixed on me.

"You're pushing hard, Jackson," she said quietly, the concern clear on her normally stoic Vulcan-Romulan face.

"I know," I replied, my voice low but resolute. "But this could save lives. And if we don't act now, we may not get another chance."

T'Varis didn't respond immediately, but her expression softened slightly. "Then we'll make it work."

I nodded, grateful for her steady support, even as the weight of the mission bore down on me, Bell's words, echoing in my ears, "you'll fail them, too…"

Unable to listen to any more of that, I got up and headed back to my ready room, to wait out the next six hours and think about whether I was going to be able to solve my friend's death—no, not death, I was now convinced it was a murder. The doors hissed behind me as I took the back route to my ready room, circling behind the bridge, it was a narrow corridor that linked my ready room with the conference room.

The doors slid open, and I walked into my ready room and flopped down in the chair behind my desk, cradling my head in my hands. In the quiet room, with the stars sliding past me, I asked myself where had it all gone wrong? Why did I still feel as though things were slipping past me far too quickly?

The piercing wail of the red alert sirens shattered the stillness, yanking me from my thoughts. My heart raced as T'Varis's voice came over the comm: "Captain Valore to the bridge. Red alert."

I bolted onto the bridge, collapsing in my seat, even as my back screamed at me to take it easy. I forced the discomfort away with a small grimace and said, "report," even as I pulled up the side display mounted into my armrest.

T'Varis's voice was grim, and the entire bridge was tense as she replied, "we've received a planetary distress call from Kalendra IV, the only habitable planet in the Alpha Onias system, they're reporting that their star has begun to show signs of rapid destabilization." She was quiet for a moment as I absorbed the news.

My voice came out as a whisper, "How many people are on that planet?" My breath caught in my throat as I awaited T'Varis's answer.

"Over 60 million," she said, her normally impassive demeanor cracking under the immense weight of so many innocent lives.

Menter's hands, which had been flying over the controls froze momentarily, his young eyes wide, cheeks flushed as R'Gore's head dropped, grabbing a hold of Menter's arm for support. I heard a collective intake of breath from the rest of the crew and in a firm voice I responded, "We'll do everything we can."

My jaw tightened, and my eyes narrowed, and I jumped into action, snapping out the orders. "Menter, get us out of warp and plot a slipstream jump that cuts the distance we need." His hands flew over the console, sweat beading on his forehead as he began making the complex calculations in his head, adjusting the navigation controls as he went. "Slipstream coordinates locked in captain. I can place us exiting directly at the edge of the system," he added, his voice tight.

"Excellent, engage." The ship hummed to life, the familiar ring of the quantum slipstream vortex being created and with a burst of golden-green light, we were cruising through quantum space at an impossible speed that still felt as though we were crawling.

I turned to Ananarin. "Merth, I need you to contact the government or multiple governments—whatever, of Kalendra IV. Tell them we are on the way. To do what, I'm not certain, but we will come up with some damn thing or another." I didn't even wait for his reply as I whirled my head to Rocking.

"Colette, that's where you come in." My eyes were determined as I gave her the order, "find something, anything that can help these people. If we can't stop it, can we evacuate anyone?"

I turned to R'Gore next. "Delek, I could use some Romulan ingenuity right about now. Collaborate with Colette and find a solution or some way of counteracting this."

He nodded and went over and joined Rocking at her station, their heads bent together as they began to discuss their options. As they collaborated, I heard Rocking say, "we'll try to stabilize the plasma field before we get there," her voice steady but her hands moved quickly across her console. R'Gore's jaw tightened. "If the dark matter destabilizes too quickly, the feedback could overload the array." They exchanged a tense look and got to work.

Satisfied, I leaned back, content for now to see what would happen—not like there was too much to do other than get there and do what we could. I felt a sense of relief, as though finally something could be done. I sent a silent message to Bell, I won't fail you, Will…"

The hum of the Mariposa's systems seemed louder than usual, or perhaps that was just Nina's nerves. The bridge was a flurry of activity as the ship raced through the slipstream corridor, every crew member focused on their tasks.

Nina Mel'Th'eeve sat quietly at her station, her fingers brushing the controls, but her mind felt strangely disconnected, as though it were being pulled elsewhere. A faint ring began in her ears, soft at first, then rising in intensity. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it.

"Nina?" T'Varis's voice cut through the haze, calm but probing. Nina looked up to see the XO standing at her post, watching her.

"I'm fine," Nina replied quickly, though her voice wavered. "Just… a little lightheaded."

T'Varis raised an eyebrow, but before she could respond, the world around Nina began to shift. The hum of the bridge faded, replaced by an eerie silence. The lights dimmed, and the familiar lines of the bridge seemed to blur and stretch.

Nina blinked, and when her vision cleared, she was still on the bridge—but it wasn't quite the same. The consoles glowed with an otherworldly light, the viewscreen displayed a swirling golden vortex instead of the slipstream corridor, and her crewmates…

Her crewmates weren't themselves.

Captain Jackson stood in the center of the bridge, but his face was serene, devoid of its usual tension. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her, as if they could see every thought she'd ever had.

"Nina," he said, his voice echoing unnaturally, layered with a deeper timbre that wasn't his own.

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

To his right, T'Varis stepped forward, her Vulcan-Romulan features oddly softened. "You are here," she said simply, her voice calm but filled with an enigmatic weight.

"I… I don't understand," Nina managed to whisper.

Rocking appeared next, moving with an uncharacteristic grace. Her metallic blue hair shimmered as she tilted her head. "Understanding is irrelevant," she said, her voice overlapping with a deeper, distant echo. "What matters is action."

"What action?" Nina asked, her voice trembling. "What do I need to do?"

The Prophets—her crewmates, yet not—moved as one, forming a semicircle around her. The golden light from the vortex bathed the bridge in shifting patterns, casting long, surreal shadows.

"The path is not yet clear," said Bosett, his towering frame imposing yet strangely comforting. "But it will be."

"The circle expands," said a copy of herself, her hands gesturing to the swirling vortex on the viewscreen. "But the line remains."

Nina's breath hitched as she tried to make sense of their words. "What circle? What line? Please, I need more than riddles!"

Kyle stepped forward, his green eyes glowing faintly. "Sacrifice creates the path," he said gently, though his words carried a deep sadness. "And the path creates survival."

On the viewscreen, the golden vortex began to shift, revealing flashes of images: a massive plasma field, pulsing with energy, expanding outward, as if pushing against an invisible force. Then, a star, its surface boiling, collapsing inward to a white-hot core that seemed to devour everything around it. Next, a dark matter asteroid fragmenting into countless shards, each glowing with a sinister dark light. Finally, Nina herself, standing at a console, her hand hovering over a control panel. She saw her own face—determined, her lips moving, although she couldn't understand what she was saying.

"The moment will come," said Jackson, his voice both familiar and alien. "You will know what must be done."

"But what if I get it wrong?" Nina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

T'Varis tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "There is no wrong. There is only the path."

The images on the viewscreen began to blur and fade, the golden vortex collapsing inward. The Prophets—their forms still wearing the faces of her crewmates—began to retreat, their voices growing distant.

"Remember," said R'Gore, his deep voice resonating like a drumbeat. "The circle expands. The line remains."

"And sacrifice…" Kyle's voice echoed one last time, fading into the golden light, "…creates the path."

The vortex imploded, and the bridge snapped back into focus.

Nina gasped, her chest heaving as if she'd been holding her breath. The familiar sounds of the Mariposa's systems filled her ears again, and the crew were back to their usual selves. No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual.

T'Varis glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Nina, are you all right?"

She blinked rapidly, her heart pounding. "I… I think so," she said, her voice shaky. "Just… something strange."

T'Varis studied her for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Report to Sickbay if necessary. We'll need everyone at full capacity for the rescue."

Nina nodded absently, her mind racing. She glanced at the viewscreen, where the swirling slipstream corridor stretched endlessly ahead. The images from the vision lingered in her mind—the plasma field, the collapsing star, her own face at the console.

She didn't know what it all meant yet, but one thing was certain: when the moment came, she couldn't hesitate.

The soft glow of Vulcan lanterns illuminated T'Varis's quarters in calming shades of amber. The room was sparsely decorated—efficient, logical. A meditation mat lay neatly in the corner. A single vase of red plak blossoms sat atop a low table. The hum of the Mariposa's warp engines pulsed faintly in the background. Yet despite the serenity of the space, the air was heavy. Tense.

The door chimed. T'Varis stood from her seated meditation pose with characteristic precision. "Enter."

The doors slid open with a hiss.

Lieutenant Merth Ananarin stepped through, ducking slightly, as his tall, muscular Takaran frame barely cleared the doorway. His grayish-blue skin seemed duller than usual under the ambient lighting, his yellow eyes lacking their typical sharp gleam. The silver ridges along his neck flexed—a sign of stress among his kind.

"Lieutenant Ananarin," T'Varis greeted him with a nod. "I did not expect a visit at this hour."

"Commander," Merth rumbled, his deep voice carrying a weight it rarely bore. "Apologies for disturbing you. But… I needed to speak with you."

T'Varis gestured toward a pair of chairs beside the low table. "Please. Sit."

Ananarin hesitated, glancing around the room before lowering himself into the chair with a slow, deliberate motion. His hands, large and calloused, rested uneasily on his knees.

T'Varis observed him carefully. Merth Ananarin was not a man prone to displays of uncertainty. As Mariposa's chief of security, he had faced down hostile boarding parties, led away missions into unstable territories, and remained composed through every danger Starfleet had thrown their way. Yet now, the tension in his shoulders, the constant shifting of his gaze—these were signs she did not take lightly.

She cut straight to the chase, in typical Vulcan-Romulan fashion. "You are concerned about Captain Valore," she said without preamble.

Merth exhaled slowly, the ridges on his neck pulsing. "He's... different, Commander. We all see it. But you—" His yellow eyes locked onto hers, sharp and pleading. "—you must see it more than anyone."

T'Varis folded her hands neatly in her lap, her face impassive. "Explain."

Ananarin leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Since Zeta Alpha, he hasn't been the same. The injury, Bell's death—those things would change anyone, yes. But this is... something deeper. He doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He's pushing—harder than he ever has. The orders he's given lately, the risks he's willing to take... it's reckless, Commander. Too reckless."

T'Varis remained silent, impassive, listening.

Merth continued, his voice tightening. "We're headed to Alpha Onias. You know what that system represents. The Kalendrans are counting on us. But if Captain Valore keeps barreling forward like this—" He paused, lowering his gaze. "—I fear we'll lose more than just our peace of mind."

T'Varis regarded him for a long moment. The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid rarely let emotion slip into her features, but tonight, her sharp hazel green eyes softened—just slightly.

"You have a family," she said, her tone even. "Fourteen hatchlings. A wife and co-husband awaiting your return. Your concern comes not only from duty but from the burden of survival. I understand this."

Ananarin's eyes flickered. He looked down at his hands. "I swore to Starfleet I would protect this crew. I swore to my family I would return home. I cannot do either if our captain loses himself."

T'Varis rose slowly and stepped toward the viewport. The stars streaked past in endless ribbons of light.

"Jackson Valore is... unique," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "He inspires loyalty because he leads from instinct and passion. His capacity for risk-taking has saved this crew countless times. But I acknowledge—" She turned her head, glancing back at Ananarin. "—this pattern has shifted. His risk-taking no longer feels strategic. It feels... reactionary."

Ananarin's jaw tightened. "Then we agree. He's not fit for command right now."

T'Varis pivoted, her posture impossibly straight. Her expression, for the first time, hardened. "No. I did not say that."

Ananarin blinked. "Commander—"

"Jackson Valore is the captain of this vessel," T'Varis said, her voice sharp, final. "As long as he holds that rank, his decisions stand. We will follow his orders."

Ananarin stood, his towering frame looming with frustration. "Even if those orders get us all killed?!"

T'Varis did not flinch. "Starfleet grants captains autonomy to lead as they see fit. Valore has earned that autonomy a hundred times over. The burden of command is his to carry, not ours to relieve him of."

The room fell into tense silence. Ananarin took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're saying we do nothing?"

"No." T'Varis's gaze softened by the faintest degree. "I am saying we watch. We advise. We support. But we do not remove him from that chair unless there is no other option. The captain must recognize the brink for himself."

Ananarin lowered his gaze, struggling to compose himself. "But what if he doesn't?"

T'Varis paused. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost reluctant. "Then I will do what is required. But not before."

Ananarin sank back into the chair, exhaling shakily. The ridges on his neck flattened in resignation. "I don't want that responsibility."

"Nor do I," T'Varis said, stepping beside him. "But if the time comes, we will carry it. Together."

Ananarin glanced up at her, gratitude flickering in his golden eyes. "He doesn't make it easy, does he?"

T'Varis allowed the corner of her mouth—just barely—to lift. "Captain Valore never does." They sat in quiet understanding for a moment.

Finally, Ananarin stood. "Thank you, Commander. I... needed this conversation."

T'Varis inclined her head. "As did I."

As Ananarin turned toward the door, T'Varis spoke one last time, her voice soft but firm. "Prepare yourself, Lieutenant. The Alpha Onias system may test us all—more than we are ready for."

Ananarin paused at the threshold. "And the captain?"

T'Varis turned back to the stars. "The captain will face his reckoning soon enough. The question is... will he survive it?"

The doors hissed shut behind Merth Ananarin. The stars beyond the viewport continued their endless motion. Unyielding. Unstoppable. Mariposa sped on—toward Alpha Onias, toward danger, and toward the moment when loyalty, command, and survival would collide. T'Varis just hoped she was ready to make the hard calls, if pressed.

Chapter Seven: Darkness Closes

By the time we reached the Alpha Onias system, we were as ready as we'd ever be. I glanced at Menter, his young face calm as he keyed in the program to disperse the slipstream corridor.

"Preparing to disperse slipstream," he said smoothly. "All signs optimal."

I nodded. "Disperse slipstream."

With a grin and a steady hand, Menter dropped the Mariposa cleanly out of slipstream into normal space. The transition was flawless, but nothing about this felt "normal."

"Sensors show the system's main sequence star is destabilizing, sir," R'Gore reported from his console, his tone clipped but calm.

"Put it onscreen, Delek," I said quietly. As the image replaced the swirling void of space on the viewscreen, I almost wished I hadn't asked.

The system's star loomed ahead, a violent, angry sphere of energy in complete turmoil. Ropes of coronal mass ejections arced outward, clawing through space. The star itself fluctuated wildly, swelling and shrinking like a living thing gasping for air. Its colors shifted with every breath—red to orange to white, a brilliant and terrifying display. The boiling surface churned with raw, uncontrolled power.

"By the Prophets," Nina whispered, her voice trembling.

"Hvaedroalh ehri ehdhihss, ueiik'h'unhr ehri ehdhihss vortavor," R'Gore said softly, reverent awe clear in his tone.

T'Varis inclined her head. "Well said, R'Gore."

I smirked, trying to break the tension. "Uh, for those of us who don't speak Romulan?"

R'Gore's lips curled into a faint smile, his focus still on his readings. "It means, 'of all the wonders in all the cosmos.' A reflection of awe."

"That's beautiful," Rocking added, her voice quieter than usual.

It was. But I knew it wouldn't last.

A sensor beep shattered the moment. "Captain," R'Gore said, his voice deeper now, edged with tension. "Receiving a distress signal—small ship, bearing 349 mark 287."

"Onscreen," I ordered, snapping to action. I turned to T'Varis, whose gaze locked with mine—steady, empathetic, and laced with resolve. She felt it, too. This wasn't going to be a simple rescue.

Static filled the screen at first, belching in brief, chaotic bursts. Then the image flickered into focus: humanoid figures with elongated, bulbous heads and almond-shaped eyes stared back at us. The bridge behind them was dim and chaotic, lights flickering erratically as alarms wailed.

"Greetings," I began, keeping my voice even but urgent. "I'm Captain Jackson Valore of the USS Mariposa. Can we be of assistance?"

One figure leaned forward, their voice shaking but audible. Feminine. "Captain, thank you for answering our distress call. I am Amalya Natchvet, First Minister of Kalendra IV, aboard the diplomatic ship Courrier." Her voice cracked, and a silver tear slid down her mottled green face, startling against her violet eyelids. "We are what's left of the Kalendrans. There are only 400 of us, plus our ruling council. It… it was all we could save."

Her words hit the bridge like a stormfront. No one spoke, but the weight of disbelief and anger was palpable. How could this have happened so fast—and who would do this?

I exchanged a grim look with T'Varis, then turned to Rocking, who was scanning her console intently. Across the room, Nina traced the map of the system on her display, her fingers trembling slightly as several planets blinked red.

"Captain," Nina's voice broke the silence, urgent and shaky. "A large piece of dark matter… it's breaking up." Her hands flew across the console as Rocking confirmed the data.

"The asteroid that was on course for the Courrier has splintered into fragments," Rocking said, her voice flat with tension. "None of the pieces are on a collision course—but this isn't natural."

I turned back to the First Minister. "First Minister, how is your ship holding up?"

She glanced around as the Courrier shuddered violently, its failing systems underscoring her exhaustion. Her thin, three-fingered hands rose in a gesture of frustration. "As you can see… not well," she said, her voice breaking. She exhaled deeply, her eyes closing briefly. "I apologize, Captain. It's not every day you lose your planet."

The bridge fell silent, the gravity of her words settling over us like a suffocating weight. I felt it in every fiber of my being—the heartbreak, the helplessness—but I couldn't let it stop me.

"Nina," I said, turning toward her console. "Progress on the plasma field?"

Before she could respond, a sharp cry escaped her. All eyes turned toward her, including the First Minister's, her expression shifting to concern.

"Nina," I asked, my tone firmer now. "What's wrong?"

She blinked, her earring swaying as she straightened. "Earlier… I had a vision. The Prophets. They said, 'the circle expands, but the line remains." Her voice steadied as she looked at T'Varis. "I think I finally understand what it means."

Before I could speak, R'Gore's calm, resonant voice cut through. "The circle must be the plasma field. The line—the path their ship must take."

The First Minister's gaze snapped to me; her hope rekindled. "You… you can save us?"

R'Gore nodded, his tone reassuring. "Yes. But you must trust us."

R'Gore's words hung in the air, heavy with both promise and risk. I could see it in the First Minister's eyes—hope was a fragile, flickering thing, but it was enough. For now.

I turned to Nina, who was already moving. She crossed the bridge, her hands flying over R'Gore's console before pivoting to Rocking's. "We can extend the plasma field, but the damage to subspace from the dark matter is… catastrophic," she said, her voice steady despite the gravity of her words. "The star's collapse is accelerating."

"How much time?" I asked.

"Minutes," Rocking replied, her metallic blue hair catching the flickering light of her display. "We need to act now."

R'Gore straightened, his voice calm but resolute. "Captain, I recommend focusing the plasma field through the deflector dish. It will create a tunnel wide enough for the Courrier to navigate, shielding them from the dark matter."

"And the risks?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"If the beam destabilizes," Nina said, meeting my gaze, "the tunnel could collapse—and the backlash could destabilize the system, not to mention the Mariposa's. But it's the only way."

I nodded, turning back to the viewscreen. The First Minister was watching, her alien features drawn with exhaustion, but there was something else there, too: trust.

"We'll guide you through, Minister Natchvet," I said firmly. "Adjust your shield frequency to 107.9 to prevent interference from the plasma field."

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Kalendrans, you heard the Captain. Make the necessary adjustments," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. She turned back to me, her large, dark eyes gleaming. "Captain Valore, we are ready."

I glanced at T'Varis, whose calm presence steadied me as much as it did the crew. "R'Gore, engage the deflector dish. Menter, prepare to adjust course to maintain stability in the tunnel. Nina, monitor the field for any fluctuations." b

"Aye, sir," came the chorus of responses.

The bridge hummed with controlled chaos as the crew worked. On the viewscreen, the deflector dish activated, releasing a brilliant orange beam of plasma that lanced through space toward the Courrier. The beam widened as it reached the smaller ship, forming a glowing tunnel that cut through the swirling darkness of the destabilized subspace.

"Tunnel established," R'Gore reported. "Their shields are holding."

"First Minister," I said, my voice steady. "Begin your approach. Stay aligned with the beam."

She nodded, issuing orders to her crew. The Courrier began its slow, cautious movement into the plasma tunnel. The viewscreen split, showing the Kalendran ship inching forward on one side and the boiling, collapsing star on the other. Its violent oscillations grew more intense, throwing off massive bursts of energy that lit the surrounding space like an inferno.

"Steady as she goes," I said, as much to myself as to the crew.

"Captain, the plasma field is destabilizing," Nina warned, her fingers flying over the controls. "Compensating… but I'm not sure how long I can hold it."

"Menter, adjust our position," I ordered. "Keep us steady."

The young helmsman nodded, his jaw tight with focus. "Aye, sir."

The Courrier pressed deeper into the tunnel, its movements slow and deliberate. I could feel the tension on the bridge like a living thing, coiled and ready to snap.

"Come on," I muttered under my breath.

"Captain," Rocking said suddenly, her tone urgent. "The star is entering terminal collapse."

On the screen, the star seemed to implode, its light folding inward before exploding outward in a blinding burst. The ship shuddered violently as the shockwave rippled through space.

"Plasma field is holding," Nina reported, though her voice was strained. "But barely."

"First Minister," I said, gripping the edge of my chair. "You're almost there. Just a little farther."

The Courrier cleared the tunnel just as the star collapsed into a searing, superheated core. The plasma field flickered violently before dissolving entirely, leaving us exposed to the raw chaos of the destabilized system.

"They're clear," R'Gore said, his voice steady despite the sweat on his brow. "The Courrier is out of the danger zone."

"Get us out of here, Menter," I ordered. "Full impulse."

The Mariposa roared to life, streaking away from the collapsing system with the Courrier following close behind. The bridge was silent except for the hum of the engines, the weight of what we'd just witnessed pressing down on all of us.

When we finally dropped to a safe distance, the tension on the bridge eased—but only slightly. I turned to the First Minister, whose image remained on the viewscreen. She looked at me with a mixture of relief and sorrow.

"Captain," she said softly, her voice heavy with emotion. "You saved us. For that, I will be forever grateful. I am wondering though, did you happen to rescue anyone from our outpost on the third moon orbiting our planet?" Her wide eyes peered at mine through the crisp viewscreen. "We received a distress call from Lt. Ayala, but have not heard anything since."

I furrowed my brow, sorry to give the response, "I'm sorry, First Minister, my the time we arrived, yours was the only distress signal we received."

Her eyes went suddenly down, and another large silver tear rolled down her cheek, but she firmly looked up, the anger evident in her eyes. "Captain, I cannot help but wonder… why was this allowed to happen? Why us?"

Her question lingered in the air, cutting through the fragile calm. I had no answer for her—not yet. But I intended to find out.

"You're safe now, Minister Natchvet," I said finally, my voice quiet but firm. "And I'll make sure you stay that way."

She nodded, offering a faint, weary smile. "Thank you, Captain."

As her image faded from the viewscreen, I turned to T'Varis. Her sharp, analytical eyes met mine, and I knew she was thinking the same thing as I was.

"This wasn't natural," I said, my voice low. "And whoever's responsible isn't done."

Her only response was a slight head incline, but it was enough.

"R'Gore," I said, standing. "You have the bridge. T'Varis, with me. We need answers." And I knew exactly where to start.

The doors to my ready room barely had time to part before I was rushing through them, T'Varis hot on my heels. I slid into the seat behind my desk, pulling up my portable comm unit as T'Varis took the opposite seat.

Her voice, though guarded, was still firm. "You think Admiral Dalloway had something to do with this," she asked, though she framed it less as a question than a statement of fact.

I met her crisp Vulcan-Romulan eyes and nodded, and I could feel the tension behind my eyes. I was tired of this game, tired of fighting battles I couldn't win—I needed a battle I could win, and I thought I might have one.

"Yes," I said, my voice strong despite my trepidation. "I am not certain whether he had an active part, but I'm certain he knows something that he hasn't told us, T'Varis." I let out a sigh, the frustration evident in my voice as I explained.

"It doesn't make sense, T'Varis," I started, my voice growing as I got more and more animated. "Admiral Dalloway sends several ships to investigate different systems that all have 'mysterious subspace anomalies.' Each time, the ship has been attacked and either survived, or destroyed, and in each case, all the star systems lie in ruins." I went on, emboldened. "Lo and behold, what do we find, but strange quantum fluctuations that have appeared post-cataclysm, in each of the affected systems, that each of our respective ships were assigned to."

I let the words hang in the air for a moment as T'Varis mulled them over. "But sir," she said slowly, her crimson tresses falling down her green-tinged pointed ear, "what would be the point of that?"

I shook my head. That was the part I couldn't figure out yet. "I don't know, but I do know that specifically within those systems before they'd been destroyed, there were reports that Starfleet wasn't providing enough aid to their planets." I paused and my brow furrowed. "Come to think of it, Starfleet has seemed stretched thin a bit, but we're recovering from the Borg Invasion, even as far back as the Dominion War."

T'Varis nodded. "It does seem as though Starfleet never fully recovered from that war, but neither did Romulus, sir," she pointed out. The Dominion War had taken a large toll on the major political players in much of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. The Typhon Pact had been a thorn in the Federation's side for years, but Romulus's withdrawal and alliance with us a decade ago changed the game.

I continued, "Either way T'Varis, we need answers that only the good Admiral can provide." I pulled the channel up on my comm unit as I spoke. "I wanted you in here to hear and because you know I don't like making decisions without your input."

I smiled as I said it, and T'Varis's head inclined slightly. She waited a moment before adding, "thank you sir, but I am still concerned about your seeming…exuberance…lately. I'm concerned that your emotions about Bell's death are beginning to be prioritized above your own well-being." She didn't let up. "If that's true, then you also are running the risk of that spreading to your crew."

She took a deep breath, but I held up a hand to stave off more. "T'Varis," I began and chuckled at her raised eyebrow at my defensive tone and redirected my approach. I spoke more softly, "you're right, I am letting my emotions cloud my judgement because Bell was a good friend of mine. But it isn't all about him, or me, either. It's about a system that's supposed to be about protecting those people, which isn't living up to that standard." I paused, trying to staunch the rising emotions. My hands gripped the edge of the desk like a vice. Why did I feel so very angry?

I went on, letting some of my emotion color the words. "Am I upset? You're damn right. Am I a little on edge? Sure, a lot more is at stake than just our lives." My voice rose as I spoke, whether from anger or righteous indignation, I wasn't sure. "Someone orchestrated this, for a reason, T'Varis, and I'm going to find out what was so worth it to them to sacrifice Bell, his crew, the Kalendran's and countless other lives to pay for it."

The heat and anger in my voice didn't surprise me, but the fact that I sincerely believed in the rightness of my words did. I had to ponder that for a moment as T'Varis thought hard about what I'd said. I couldn't go into this blazing—she was right about that, but I also couldn't let this slide—someone had to pay for this. I could feel my breathing increasing slightly and color flooding my cheeks.

Finally, T'Varis spoke softly, but with a lot of empathy, "It's not your motives I question, Jackson, it's your ability to see beyond your own anger."

She wasn't wrong, I just wasn't ready to hear it yet. I slammed my fist down on the desk, slightly harder than I'd intended, making T'Varis flinch slightly. "Damn it, T'Varis, this isn't about my motives, this is about someone else's motives." I felt like I was losing control of myself, and I knew it. "I can't help but push back on something that I know is wrong, I just can't."

T'Varis nodded, her eyes sharp as she regarded me. "Even if that comes at the expense of your crew, sir?"

Her pointed question threw me off guard and I took a deep breath, steadying myself before replying, "of course not, I would never put the lives of my crew ahead of my own." I felt like all the air in the room was being eliminated, slowly asphyxiating me.

She nodded, "of course not, sir. But you'd pardon the direction my thoughts would go when considering your single-mindedness to provide justice for Bell's death." Her words hit me like a stack of bricks against my forehead.

I paused, both to give her words the consideration they were due, and to calm my beating heart. "I can understand why you think that," I said finally. "But I also think you need to have a little more faith in my judgement, T'Varis."

T'Varis just pursed her lips and nodded, the concern still clear in her eyes, but she regarded me with a mix of caution and trust, which I supposed wasn't the worst that could happen. "Aye sir, just make sure that you recognize that your anger, while justified, is also what's going to be your undoing, Jackson."

I sat quietly for a moment, my eyes carefully anywhere but on T'Varis's. "I appreciate your concern, T'Varis, I really do." I sighed and ran a hand through my short brown hair. "We need answers, T'Varis, either way." I concluded, finally relegating this conversation to never-going-to-be-finished, I pressed the button to hail Admiral Dalloway's office.

T'Varis sat back expectantly, and we shared a tense look of nervous anticipation as we waited for him to answer.

"Captain Valore," he said finally, his face appearing on my comm screen. "How goes the Zeta Alpha mission," he asked enigmatically. He had trimmed his white beard recently, and the shorter look gave him a younger, fresher look.

"I'm not in Zeta Alpha sir, I finished that mission a while ago." I swallowed hard for a moment. I'd filed those mission logs days ago, had he not seen them? That seemed odd to me, but whatever, he was a busy man.

His piercing gaze sharpened as he looked at me via the comm. "Something on your mind, Captain," he asked finally. "I assume you didn't just call to chit-chat."

"No sir, I did not," I began. I took a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely, sir," I asked, but with my heart pounding so loudly, I was afraid my ribs would crack.

Admiral Dalloway's eyes widened, just for a moment, but he nodded, "Sure, Captain, what's on your mind," he asked.

"Admiral, I've just left the Kalendran system, where Kalendra IV was destroyed—literally destroyed. The entire system is in shambles after dark matter was deliberately manipulated to destabilize the main sequence star." As I spoke, the Admiral's eyes betrayed nothing.

I kept going, "I also spoke with Captain Dax, whose mission profile seems a lot like mine, and then there's Captain Bell," I sputtered, my indignation rising. "Why in the hell would you send an Oberth-class vessel to do a mission like that," I demanded hotly.

The Admiral's eyes narrowed, and his tone became sharp, "you'd better watch that tone, Captain, unless you'd like to be charged with insubordination." He paused and looked away for a moment, his gaze softening imperceptibly for a split second. "Orders don't just come from one desk, Valore. It's not your place to question the chain of command," he said sternly. As much as I understood the hot water I was carefully pouring over my head, I couldn't stop now.

"I apologize, sir," I said, low but sharp, "but you'll have to excuse my…attitude. I've just watched an entire race—over 60 million souls—lose the only home they've ever known." Across the desk, T'Varis's sharp intake of breath barely registered as my heart thundered in my chest.

I did not let up, "My crew and I literally raced against a collapsing star to ultimately save only 400 people out of a stunning race that will probably die out because of somebody's foolish games, playing with dark matter," I spat out, truly upset. I had to take a breath and calm myself, and T'Varis nodded at me reassuringly from where the Admiral couldn't see, her hands raised in a soothing motion. I thanked her with my eyes.

The Admiral's words were short and rather clipped. "I understand your frustration, Captain Valore, and I assure you," he spoke darkly, "I'll get to the bottom of whomever did this—this won't go unpunished," he said firmly. He raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice I wasn't done. "Something else, Captain," he asked, icily.

I huffed for a moment, "and what about the Northwind, sir, what about Bell and his crew? They deserve better than 'looking into it,' sir." I knew I was treading dangerous ground, but I had sworn Bell that I would bring him to justice—I was this close to doing so.

"Like I said, Captain," the Admiral said, his words enunciated and sharp, "I will find out what is going on. The Federation doesn't tolerate this type of behavior. Now, stand down, before I have your first officer relieve you of command." Although his words were genuine, I felt as though I couldn't tell if he was sincere or not, his poker face was that good—did the man ever show emotion?

I nodded, accepting the apology for what it was—half-assed. "Thank you, sir, I'm sorry sir, I let my emotions get the better of me. I appreciate your understanding," I said slowly but gracefully. "I sighed, "I guess I need to learn how to deal with things a bit better, but it's hard to feel so…powerless, sir," I finally said, opening up a bit to him.

Admiral Dalloway's face softened, just slightly and he responded, "understandable, Valore, but don't forget—you're the captain. You dictate the tone of your ship—don't let fear or indecision paralyze you, you're a better man than that."

I was surprised by his words, Dalloway and I hadn't really ever seen eye-to-eye, but I also hadn't had a lot of chances to work closely with him. I wasn't convinced he wasn't blameless, but I wasn't sure that he had as much to do with this as I'd originally thought. I smiled slightly and nodded, "thank you sir, I'll remember that."

He nodded briskly and terminated the link as he said, "carry on."

I sat back with a huff, looking at T'Varis. "Well, that didn't answer any damn thing." I laughed, perturbed. "I have more questions than before now."

T'Varis nodded slowly, "I agree, the conversation was most illogical. The Admiral was quite…cyclical," she said, pointedly.

That was an understatement of epic proportions. "You've got that right, T'Varis, and I will get to the bottom of this, one way or another," I resolved.

T'Varis smiled tightly and stood to leave. "For what it's worth, Jackson, I do trust you, I'm simply concerned that your anger may be clouding your judgment. I'd be a terrible first officer if I didn't mention it to you."

I smiled at T'Varis as she moved to leave, "well, that's why I value your input—you never lie to me."

T'Varis grinned suddenly, making her face light up. "And I never will, sir," as she exited.

Chapter Eight: Unraveling

It had been a stressful day, and the Counselor was ready for a cup of herbal tea, his favorite habit after working a long shift. Counselor Kyle Valore was checking over his schedule for the following week, ensuring that all his appointments were on track, when the door chime to his office sounded. He raised his head and called out, "Come on in," as the doors parted to reveal Doctor Bosett and T'Varis.

As they strode in, Kyle leaned back in his chair, the cerulean of his uniform top a startling contrast to the vibrant, sparkling green of his eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit," he asked, his baritone voice calm but playful.

Bosett grinned, his large Betazoid frame leaning casually against the wall as T'Varis sat in the chair opposite the desk. "I think T'Varis should tell you," he said lightly.

Kyle's head swiveled toward T'Varis, but the smile struggled to remain. "Great, so what's going on, I get the feeling this is more than a social call," he said seriously, the first spark of concern beginning to show.

T'Varis nodded, her left eyebrow shooting up, "very astute, Counselor. You are correct. We are concerned about Captain Valore. As of late, his judgement seems clouded by insecurity and anger."

Bosett jumped in, "and, not to overstep your territory, but I can sense that Jackson is barely holding back a deep well of anger and regret. He's actively feeding into his guilt over not arriving at Zeta Alpha sooner. He's afraid it's a repeat of his previous inaction as captain during a similar mission on the Crazy Horse."

Kyle leaned forward, his expression a blank slate, for the moment. "I agree, but I don't think that's all of it. I think he's also hell-bent on bringing the fiasco of the Northwind to justice," he said, as T'Varis nodded.

"Agreed," her alto voice came out, her crisp eyes sharp as she continued, "his decisions are becoming erratic and increasingly illogical," she said, the concern clear on her face as she continued. "His guilt over Captain Bell's death is beginning to border in the obsessive."

Bosett leaned forward, his large, handsome face playing tricks with the light in the room and said, "we aren't suggesting relieving him of command—yet," he said firmly, easing some of the concern etched on Kyle's face.

"Good," Kyle began, "because I don't think there's enough evidence to do that yet. He hasn't put anyone in danger yet, other than himself, even in a peripheral sense, and that's not bad leadership, that's bad self-worth." His dangling feet, which were crossed at the knees, were twitching, the only body movement betraying Kyle's growing emotions.

Bosett pressed forward, sensing Kyle's emotions. "I get it, Kyle," Bosett began, his voice rich and soft. "You and Jackson have history, but ask yourself objectively, as a counselor to a captain, is Jackson behaving normally?"

Bosett's quiet question forced Kyle to set aside his personal history with Jackson and only examine what he knew of him as a captain. Bosett hoped Kyle would be able to do that.

The question hung in the air as both T'Varis and Bosett looked at Kyle, patiently waiting for him to think through the matter. Kyle pondered it for a bit, before speaking slowly. "I admit, Jackson has been behaving more reckless than he normally does."

The reluctant confirmation was all T'Varis needed to chuckle lightly, while Bosett beamed. "Good," Bosett began softly, "that's good, Kyle, because neither of us are suggesting anything other than that we keep an eye on him, a close one."

Kyle looked grim, but slowly nodded. T'Varis spoke gently. "All of us in this room care deeply for Jackson," she began, "and this only comes from a place of both concern and respect for Jackson."

As Kyle listened, he sensed the truth behind T'Varis and Bosett's words. And the truth was, something was up with the captain, and it was alarming enough to keep an eye on. He finally conceded, "You're right," he said. "We do need to keep an eye on Jackson's behavior. Let's log everything we do into our official logs so that there's a record of this conversation. I don't want Jackson to accuse us of making things up."

T'Varis nodded, her graceful form lean, but taut with tension, "Prudent," she said as she rose to stand beside Bosett. "Thank you, Counselor, for your assistance," she said crisply but warmly.

Kyle brought a finger up to his forehead in a mock salute and said dryly, "glad to be of service, ma'am."

Bosett chuckled, and both he and T'Varis left, leaving Kyle feeling even more stressed and anxious to conclude his day so that he could have that nice hot cup of tea that promised to await him after his duty shift.

The room was darkened and cool, but my body felt warm and jerky. I had been in my quarters for an hour already and was no closer to sleep than when I'd finally resigned myself to the necessity of rest.

I was furiously thinking as I lay on the chic but comfortable bed in my quarters. They had always been a sanctuary for me, a shelter from the storm of command, but tonight, it felt as though the walls were closing in around me. Truthfully, I wasn't feeling sleep coming easily to me. I was perturbed by the disturbing thoughts and the constant pressure to perform. To find out who had orchestrated this hell on the galaxy.

I tossed and turned for a little longer before jumping up and pacing the room, furiously. Why had this been allowed to happen? Who was behind this? What in the galaxy was all of this intended to do?

I had made several small laps around the room before I saw the small red light blinking on my comm terminal, indicating a private message. Curious, I pressed the button to play the recorded message.

The voice that rang out was distorted, likely due to the cryptic nature of the message. As I listened, my blood ran cold.

"An infection unchecked leads to systemic failure. You might consider whether your current course treats the symptoms or the disease.
There are times when sacrificing a knight forces a checkmate. There are times when it only exposes the queen.
Et tu, Brute? Julius Caesar never saw the knife coming—not from him.
A body can survive many things, Captain. But sometimes, the real damage is done long before the symptoms show.
I went through considerable effort to send this. That alone should tell you how dangerous this is. Step carefully—this isn't just a hornet's nest; it's the whole damn hive."

I sat on the small sofa, stunned. I replayed the message twice before my mind began to scream at me. Who had sent this? What did all this mean? Symptoms, disease? Chess? Julius Caesar? I was more confused than ever, but one thing was certain: there was definitely more going on than I'd thought.

I stood up again and began pacing slowly, thinking about the pieces of the puzzle I did know. One, entire star systems were being destroyed by the use of dark matter. Two, the quantum fluctuations we'd uncovered were linked to something not naturally occurring. Third, with this cryptic message, I now knew that this was as big as I'd suspected.

I huffed in frustration, running a hand over my stubbled face. What should I do? The more I thought about it, the more I decided I needed to get to Earth. My gut told me that confronting Dalloway in person would yield better results.

I nodded to myself and called out, "Valore to bridge," over the comm.

R'Gore's bass voice came back clearly, "R'Gore here, yes sir?"

"Set course for Earth, Delek, engage slipstream drive as soon as you can please," I ordered tersely.

As though he'd heard the tension in my voice, he responded, "Aye, setting course now."

"Thanks, Delek," I said and closed the channel. Moments later, I heard the tell-tale sound of the slipstream corridor forming and then the vibrant green-gold shimmer of the quantum corridor streaked by.

Satisfied, I headed out the door of my quarters. Now that I had an actionable plan, I needed something to help me sleep. I called out for Sickbay once the doors to the turbolift slid open and then shut behind me. Seconds later, the doors parted to deposit me squarely outside of Sickbay and I strode into Bosett's office, where he was sitting in front of his computer, making notes.

"Captain," he said congenially, his tenor Betazoid voice soothing as his large, dark eyes turned toward me. "What can I do for you?" His alert eyes roamed over me, and I saw a spark of disapproval that was quickly snuffed out. "You look like a man who has been punched in the soul, Jackson," he said quietly.

Though the words were said softly and gently, they still stung, immediately putting me on the defensive. "I just need a mild sedative, Bosett, not a therapy session." I found his tone slightly irritating, but I attributed that to my lack of sleep and brushed it off.

Bosett grabbed a tricorder and began to scan me, even as his tone took a monotonous sound. "What you need is an actual therapist. Perhaps a Vulcan mind-meld. Or a blunt instrument to the skull."

I signed dramatically and shrugged, my voice gruff. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, I've got issues, Krell. I need to sleep, not a damn lecture on my mental state." I refused eye contact with him, directing my gaze downward instead.

His only response was an eyebrow raise and a tightening of his lips as he scanned me with his tricorder. "Hmm, sleep deprivation, stress-induced paranoia, escalating irritability—classic signs of chronic psychological strain." His head tilted to the left. "Would you like to talk about it," he asked gently.

I let out a humorless laugh as I tiled my neck to one side while Bosett loaded a hypospray. "Oh, absolutely not."

Bosett shook his head, his voice a mix of softness and sadness, "of course not, that would be too logical." He paused a moment before looking at me seriously, forcing me to look at him. "You have two choices, Jackson. You can actually let me start helping you, or I can start listing the ten different ways you're slowly self-destructing—starting with the fact that you're barely eating, barely sleeping, and actively ignoring your own well-being."

The words, while all true, still rankled me despite the sincere concern I felt coming from Bosett. I smirked and rubbed my right temple. "I really hate when you get like this, Krell," I said with a slight edge that could have been humor or anger, I wasn't sure.

His eyes twinkled for a second before he pointedly responded, "Like what? Correct?"

I nodded, grumbling, "yes." I sighed and tried to relax as Bosett's eyes radiated something akin to triumph.

"I'll take that as permission to continue." He pressed the hypospray to my neck, and the cool rush of the medication began to spread through my body. He gave me another concerned look before continuing gently. "you're pushing yourself too hard, Jackson, even for you."

I sighed as the drug began to course through my body and I stood up, facing Bosett. "I don't have a choice, Krell." I studiously avoided his gaze. The truth was, I did have a choice, but it wasn't the right choice.

Bosett's voice came back, probably a bit sharper than he'd intended. "That's not true, Jackson, and you know that. There are always choices. You aren't alone here." His eyes were firm, but they looked at me with true compassion and sincerity.

I knew he was right, I really did. But I also knew what was at stake here and I did not believe, for one moment, that I had any other course of action before me. "Not this time, Krell," I said quietly.

Bosett exhaled slowly, a grim look of resignation covering his face. He slowly shook his head, his voice becoming low and quiet. "You're going to get yourself killed, Jackson."

I grinned tiredly, as I headed toward the door to return to my quarters. "Not today, I think." The doors parted as I went through them and I heard Bosett mutter something in Betazoid as the doors slid shut. He was probably calling a stubborn idiot, which I realized I was being somewhat foolish. But nobody understood the stakes here. Nobody understood the weight I was carrying.

For all their desire to help, it was also a futile effort—I had to bear this alone, and alone I shall. Bell deserved that. First Minister Natchvet deserved that. We all deserved that. I threw myself on the bed as soon as I entered my quarters, and sleep claimed me, but it wasn't a good sleep.

The morning after, I woke up feeling as though I'd been dragged backward through a warp core. My body felt heavy, my limbs slow to cooperate as I pulled myself out of bed. The sedative Bosett had given me had worked, technically—I had slept, but it wasn't restful. It was the kind of sleep that left you feeling more exhausted, like my brain had been wading through dark, sludgy water all night. Still, there was work to do.

I pulled on my uniform mechanically, adjusting my commbadge, smoothing out the fabric. My mind was already somewhere else, ten steps ahead—Earth. Dalloway. The truth. Finally, the truth! I was fastening my jacket when the doors to my quarters burst open.

"You self-righteous, reckless son of a bitch!" Kyle's voice was sharp, raw, and furious, and it slammed into me like a torpedo. I barely had time to register his presence before he was right there, chest heaving, eyes burning with an anger I hadn't seen in years.

"What the hell, Kyle?!" I snapped back, instinctively stepping back a pace. "Did you override the lock to my quarters?!"

He ignored me. Completely. His voice had a dangerous, dark edge to it as he spoke furiously. "You set course for Earth," he bit out, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "Without consulting anyone? You made that decision alone, Jackson! After everything—after everyone has been begging you to slow down, to think before you tear yourself apart over this—you went ahead and did it anyway?!"

I exhaled sharply, turning away, my hands clenching into fists. How dare he? "I don't need to consult anyone, Kyle, I'm the captain—"

"Bullshit!"

The words hit like a physical slap, and I froze. My heart was beating so frantically that I thought it was going to pound its way out of my chest. I tried to take a breath to speak, but Kyle cut me off.

He took another step forward, crowding me, and forcing me to look at him. "This is not about command, and you damn well know it. This is about you running yourself into the ground, again. About you refusing to see or acknowledge what's right in front of you, Jackson," he said fiercely.

I scoffed, shaking my head, trying to dismiss the words, but in them, I heard the ring of truth. But it wasn't a truth I wanted to listen to. "You're overreacting. We need answers, Kyle. I need—"

Kyle shoved a finger into my chest, hard, making me grunt in surprise. "No. You don't need answers, Jackson, you need to be right. You need to be the hero. You need to be—"

I stepped back, scowling. I was so not having this, but I also felt that I deserved to listen to him bitch me out. "I don't need to be anything, Kyle. I just—"

Kyle cut me off again, "Just what?!" Kyle practically shouted, his voice cracking with restrained emotion, "You think this is what Bell would've wanted?! You think running yourself into the ground is going to bring him back?"

That hit me like a punch in the gut, and I nearly reached out for Kyle, but in the very last second, I stopped myself. I didn't deserve his comfort, and I sure as hell didn't want his pity.

My body tensed even more and my jaw cracked painfully as it tightened, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. "You don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Kyle laughed, but it was sharp and humorless. "Oh, I don't?" He shook his head, stepping even closer, so close I could feel the heat of his frustration, his pain. "You forget who you're talking to, Jackson Valore," he spat out. "I know you, and I know exactly what you're doing. And it's not about Bell. Hell, it's not even about Section 31!"

I felt my pulse spiking. I was so done with this bullshit. "Then what is it about, oh wise Counselor?" I sneered, deflecting, but Kyle, to his credit, didn't rise to the bait.

He simply looked at me, deeply, piercingly. Then, with a soft voice—too soft, too dangerous—he said, "It's about you not being able to live with yourself." His eyes met mine in a moment of painful clarity and I found I could not look in his eyes any longer. I felt wretched, as though my very soul was being torn from my body, inch by inch. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt dry and scratchy.

Kyle pressed forward, chest to chest now, and I felt myself backed up against the edge of my desk before I even knew I'd moved. "You're not chasing the truth, Jackson," he murmured, his voice thick with something I didn't want to name. "You're running from it."

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay even. "Kyle, stop—"

"Make me!" The words hung between us like a live wire; heavy, electric. His eyes were searching, pleading, even through his anger. I could see him praying behind his blue eyes.

I felt my fingers twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to shove him away. I wanted to end this conversation before it broke something within me. I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing myself to smirk, but I knew it wasn't my normal smirk. It was something twisted, unrecognizable. "So, what, you're going to wrestle me to the ground until I see the light?"

Kyle didn't laugh. He just shook his head and stepped back, looking at me like I was some kind of damned tragedy. "No," he said. "I know I can't stop you."

Somehow, that—that made it worse. I felt as though the deck plating had suddenly reversed the gravity—I felt disconnected, emotionally violated. Where did he get off talking to me like this? I stood shell-shocked for a moment as I processed his words and the emotional sincerity behind them.

Kyle continued, his voice barely a whisper. "I just needed to look you in the eye, so that when all this comes crashing down around you, you remember exactly who tried to stop you."

A hollow silence stretched out before us, filling the plains of my quarters with an almost horror-like ambiance as I struggled to keep myself from losing it altogether.

And, as quickly as Kyle arrived, he turned and strode toward the door. Before he left, he paused. One last time, without even sparing me a glance—probably a good thing, as I was nearly in tears—he said, "I lost you once, Jackson. Don't make me lose you again."

Without another word, the doors whooshed shut behind him. For the first time in weeks, I felt something crack in my chest. For a few moments, I let the tears roll freely. I knew he was right, but I also knew there was but one path before me. I just wished Kyle could see that.

I took a deep breath, composed myself, and washed my face before leaving my quarters, absolutely certain I had just driven a wedge between my ex-husband and me.

Kyle Valore wasn't prone to drinking—not really. He liked a glass of wine now and then, maybe something stronger if the mood struck. But tonight, his mood had struck hard.

The low hum of the Mariposa's systems thrummed gently through his quarters, a steady reminder of the ship's pulse—Jackson's ship. But the man himself? He felt more out of reach than ever.

Kyle slouched on his sofa, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. The sharp scent of Saurian brandy filled the room. Not his usual drink, but tonight wasn't usual. The glass felt too heavy, or maybe his thoughts did.

"I lost you once, Jackson. Don't make me lose you again." The words hung in his head, rolling around until they practically screamed at him.

He grimaced, throwing back the rest of the drink in one gulp. It burned, but not enough. The words he'd thrown at Jackson still echoed in his mind, but what else could he have said? Jackson was spiraling, obsessed, and Kyle… Kyle was terrified.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. The door chime sounded. He considered ignoring it—whoever it was, he wasn't in the mood. But something told him he shouldn't. Giving in, he sighed almost dramatically. "Come in," he called hoarsely.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and there stood T'Varis—her posture, as always, impeccable. But there was something softer about her expression, something… knowing. Her left eyebrow shot up at the look on Kyle's face. "You've been drinking."

Kyle snorted, leaning back against the couch with a wry grin. "And you've been practicing your observational skills. Congrats. You're still undefeated."

T'Varis stepped inside, nodding at Kyle as the doors sliding shut behind her. "Sarcasm. An emotional reaction often employed to mask pain." She stared at Kyle, her bright green eyes boring into his very soul.

Kyle scoffed but didn't deny it. He lifted the bottle of Saurian brandy in her direction. "Care for a drink? I'd love to see what a Vulcan-Romulan hybrid is like after a few glasses."

T'Varis raised an eyebrow. "Alcohol would impair my cognitive functions. I find that… unnecessary."

Kyle smirked, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. Instead, it felt unnatural, morose, and completely fake. "Yeah, well, sometimes 'unnecessary' is exactly what you need."

T'Varis walked over, standing across from him with her hands clasped behind her back. She regarded him for a moment—silent, thoughtful. "You're worried about him," she said simply.

Kyle laughed, bitter and sharp. "Of course I am. He's Jackson. Reckless, stubborn, brilliant—" He broke off, looking away. "And determined to destroy himself if it means proving he's right." Kyle said the words easily enough, but they still felt painful. Saying them out loud meant it was real, and that was a truth Kyle wasn't sure he was ready to face just yet.

The silence descended upon the two, basking the room in an almost dismal light.

T'Varis moved to the chair across from him, sitting with her usual grace. "Captain Valore is indeed... complex. His actions stem from guilt. That much is clear."

Kyle rolled his eyes, glaring at T'Varis. "You're telling me what I already know."

"Perhaps." T'Varis inclined her head. "But you are not listening. Not to him. And not to yourself."

Kyle blinked, clenching his hand around the glass of brandy. "What's that supposed to mean?"

T'Varis met his gaze, her tone steady but softer now. "Your anger is not only concern for your captain. It is personal. You speak of losing him, yet you do not clarify—when did you lose him?"

The question hit harder than Kyle expected. She'd asked casually enough, but Kyle still couldn't bring himself to fully admit it. "I…" He trailed off, fingers tightening around his empty glass. "It doesn't matter."

T'Varis sighed, "It matters," she said, "because it still drives you. Your fear is not that Captain Valore will fail. Your fear is that, when he does… you won't be able to bring him back this time."

Kyle swallowed hard. He didn't respond. Couldn't. He closed his eyes for a moment, just to quell the panic and anger that threatened to tear the bulkheads off the ship.

Perhaps sensing the storm within him, T'Varis continued, her voice lowering, almost gentle. "You believe you should have fought harder for him before. You believe you failed him."

Kyle flinched, and looked at her, his eyes burning with pain. "You think I let him go," Kyle said quietly. "But you weren't there, T'Varis. He chose the Crazy Horse. He chose command over—" He stopped. Over us. The unspoken words hung heavily between them.

"And yet," T'Varis said slowly, "you remain."

Kyle's head shot up.

T'Varis continued pointedly. "You could have transferred. Requested another post. But you did not."

"Because I knew he'd need someone who'd call him on his bullshit," Kyle snapped, though the fire in his voice had faded. "Someone who—"

"Someone who loves him," T'Varis finished.

The room fell utterly silent. Kyle closed his eyes. His fingers trembled slightly around the glass. For a moment, he considered crushing it so completely that the glass shattered—much like his heart in this moment. After a long moment, he whispered, "Loved. Past tense."

T'Varis regarded him coolly. "Is it?" The question lingered. Heavy. Inescapable.

Kyle stood abruptly, pacing the room. "It doesn't matter. He's hell-bent on self-destruction, and I—I can't stop him." His eyes searched T'Varis's, searching for an answer to this mess.

"You underestimate your influence," T'Varis said calmly. "Captain Valore listens to you, more than he admits. But he is caught in a spiral. A dangerous one."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." The words came out more harshly than he intended, but T'Varis didn't flinch.

T'Varis stood as well, facing him squarely. Her tone softened, just a fraction. "Then do not let him spiral alone."

Kyle stared at her, breathing hard, his hand tightening on the glass so hard he thought it might shatter in his hand and forced himself to loosen his grip.

T'Varis gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. "You lost him once. But perhaps you are the only one who can bring him back this time."

Kyle let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "And what if he doesn't want to come back?"

T'Varis stepped toward the door, glancing back with the faintest trace of a smile—so small it might have been imagined. "Then chase him until he does." And with that, she left, the doors sliding shut behind her.

Kyle stood there, alone, the echo of her words lingering. Chase him until he does. He looked down at the bottle of Saurian brandy, considered it, and then pushed it aside.

He had work to do. And Jackson Valore wasn't going to lose himself without a fight, not if he could help it.

The doors to my quarters hissed shut behind me with a finality that felt like an accusation. I needed air. The walls had started to close in, or maybe it was my own mind squeezing tighter. My skin itched with the weight of the uniform I'd pulled on—Starfleet's proud colors—but all I felt was exhaustion clinging to my bones. The echo of Kyle's voice still rattled around my head: "You're not chasing the truth, Jackson. You're running from it."

I exhaled sharply, forcing my shoulders back. My feet moved before I even decided where I was going. Not the bridge. Not Sickbay. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could breathe.

Mariposa's arboretum was one of the largest on any starship of its class. A ridiculous luxury, some might say—but not to me. The Federation could keep its holodecks; give me this.

As the doors parted, the familiar scent of green life washed over me—soil, leaves, blooming orchids. Real air, alive with the faintest dampness of controlled humidity. The ship hummed distantly behind me, but here… here was quiet. I allowed myself a brief, genuine smile as I smelled the delicate scents of so many flowers.

The towering banalra trees from Bajor lined the far wall, their silver leaves shivering softly under the artificial breeze. Clusters of Betazoid roses—black, fragrant, complex—grew in neat rows, their scent sharp and bittersweet. I'd spent hours here before. Days, sometimes. But today, even this place couldn't stop the turmoil in my chest.

I wandered deeper in, fingers brushing over the delicate pollen fronds of a Tellarite fern. My mind spun with thoughts I didn't want to confront.

Dalloway. The smugness in his voice, the half-answers, the lies.

Kalendra IV. Sixty million lives lost, snuffed out like stars too dim to matter anymore.

Bell. You'll fail them too… I suppressed an involuntary shudder.

Kyle. His eyes. Burning, pleading, his words sharper than any Klingon D'KTagh. "I just needed to look you in the eye, so that when all this comes crashing down around you, you remember exactly who tried to stop you." The words hit me with the force of a small warp core. My throat tightened. I dragged my hand over my face.

Get it together, Jackson.

"Thought I might find you here." The voice came from somewhere behind a cluster of Crystallis blooms, their glass-like petals catching the soft white lighting. I knew that voice. I turned—and there she was.

Commander Nina Mel'Th'eeve. Her blonde hair was tucked perfectly behind her ears. Her Bajoran earring glinted faintly in the artificial sun. She stood with her usual unflappable poise, a PADD tucked under one arm—but her eyes were softer than usual. Warmer.

"Commander," I greeted, voice rough. I tried to smile, but I found myself just staring blankly into empty space instead.

She stepped forward, glancing at the Bajoran lilies near us. "Beautiful, aren't they?" Her fingers brushed a bloom with delicate care. "They bloom in cycles of grief and healing. The monks say it's a reminder—pain comes, but so does growth."

I didn't respond. I didn't trust my voice to. I felt an unmistakable wave of guilt and regret wash over me, even as I struggled to compose myself.

Mel'Th'eeve turned her gaze fully on me then, sharp and assessing. "But you didn't come here for healing today, did you, Captain?"

I huffed out a humorless laugh, folding my arms, defensively. "No. I came here because the walls of my quarters were closing in. Thought maybe the plants wouldn't judge me for being a mess."

Mel'Th'eeve gave a small, knowing smile. "Plants never judge. People do. Especially those who care."

I tensed. She knew. Of course she knew. Leave it to her to see right through me. Did everyone on this ship know me better than I knew myself?

Her voice was gentle and quiet as she spoke. "Let me guess," she continued, voice dropping, "you're running again."

I whirled on her at that. "Running? I'm not running. I'm trying to figure out why millions are dead, why a star collapsed, and why Starfleet Command is lying about it. I'm not running—I'm fighting." I felt my hand tighten into fists. But even as I said it, the words felt hollow.

Mel'Th'eeve didn't flinch. She just crossed her arms, watching me with that same patient expression. "And yet," she said softly, "you look like a man being chased."

I froze. You're running from it. Kyle's words again. "I—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, glancing away. "I can't stop, Nina. If I stop—if I stand still—I have to think about it. All of it." I gestured wildly to the space around us, as though the entire damn galaxy might appear if I reached far enough.

Hoarsely, I continued, "Bell. Kalendra. The Northwind. Dalloway. Sixty million lives just gone. And for what? A game of chess I don't know the rules to? If I stop—if I let myself think too long—" I trailed off. My breath was shaky. I hated that. I felt like I was in a freefall, with no end in sight, just falling, falling…

Mel'Th'eeve stepped closer. "Then stop running."

Her almond-shaped hazel eyes bored into my very soul, and I felt at once irritated and relieved. I looked at her sharply. "It's not that simple."

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she wasn't my chief engineer—she was Nina, the woman who'd survived more loss than most, who carried her own burdens in silent dignity. "Do you think you're the first captain to feel the weight of all those lives, Jackson? You think you're the first person to feel that guilt?"

Her voice grew quieter. "We all feel it. But most of us don't have the luxury of running headfirst into danger to forget it." She gently caressed the petals of the delicate Chrystallis blooms, almost reverently.

I swallowed hard. The hum of the arboretum filled the silence between us. I felt like I should speak, but I had no idea how to respond to her accusations.

"And Kyle?" she pressed. "What about him?"

I stiffened. "Don't." My voice came out as barely a whisper, but the pain, raw, unshed, burned in my eyes as I looked at her, trying to stop the tide of emotions washing over me. I didn't have time for this, dammit.

She let out a short laugh, almost a bark, "Oh, no. We're going there, Captain." Her eyes gleamed, challenging. "Because you didn't just run from your quarters. You ran from him."

I glared at the Crystallis blooms, refusing to meet her eyes. I lost you once, Jackson. Don't make me lose you again. The words dug deep. The pain of them was almost physical, and nearly took my breath away.

"You know," Mel'Th'eeve murmured, stepping beside me, "plants grow best when they have strong roots."

I gave her a side-eye. "Is this going to be one of your 'Bajoran wisdom' speeches?"

She smiled. "Maybe. But hear me out: strong roots. You had them. You still do. A ship, a crew, a man who loves you more than you probably deserve."

That last bit hit like a phaser to the chest. Loved. Past tense. I was pretty sure I'd wrecked that during our last encounter. I closed my eyes briefly to steady my frantically beating heart.

"Roots," she continued, "don't just keep you grounded. They're what pull you back when the winds get too strong."

I let out a shaky breath, finally meeting her gaze. "And if those roots aren't there anymore?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

Mel'Th'eeve's expression softened. "Then maybe it's time to stop running long enough to find out."

I stared at her. The arboretum fell silent again. Only the quiet hum of the Mariposa's life support systems and the distant shimmer of Bajoran lilies surrounded us. I closed my eyes for a moment, as Kyle's voice echoed again: "Don't make me lose you again, Jackson."

Finally, I turned to Nina with a half-smile, one that almost felt real. "You give good advice for an engineer."

She grinned, stepping back. "We fix what's broken, Captain. Not always with a plasma torch."

As I turned to leave, the soft petals of a Crystallis bloom brushed my sleeve. It shimmered. Delicate. Resilient. Just like roots. And maybe, just maybe—It wasn't too late to find mine again. I sighed and left the arboretum, Mel'Th'eeve's words had left me with much to think about, but it was time for me to get back to this mission—to find out what the hell was really going on.

As I walked out the doors, I heard the voice again, distant, echoing, "You'll fail them, too…"

Chapter Nine: The King's Game

Dr. Julian Bashir didn't belong here. The office was cold and impersonal. A place where things happened. The kind of place that changed people—or swallowed them whole. He felt his gorge rise as he thought about the wanton destruction of an entire race. This was bold, even for Section 31.

It was well-lit but sterile, a monolithic building that didn't officially exist in the subterranean heart of San Francisco. The large, curved windows offered a picturesque view of Earth's skyline, as if that somehow offset the suffocating stillness inside.

Across from him, seated at a desk of obsidian teal, was the man he had come to see. The man sat at the desk, unperturbed, carelessly humming as he thumbed through reports and datascreens alike.

Bashir folded his arms across his chest. "Kalendra IV is gone." His voice was steady, but there was iron underneath. "Over sixty million people, reduced to atoms in seconds. That's not a natural event. We both know that." He sat, waiting, for the man to say anything, to give any reaction,

The man opposite him didn't even look up from his PADD. He tilted his head slightly, a casual disinterest that wasn't casual at all. "I assume this is going somewhere, Doctor?"

Bashir took a breath. He knew how this game worked. Don't overplay your hand. Don't let him see too much. He reminded himself that these were the types of people you had to play political games with, and one misstep could be certain death, though you'd never know when it was coming. "I want to know how deep this goes," Bashir said, his voice sharper now. "And I want to know who gave the order."

A slow exhale. The PADD was finally set down. Hands steepled together in thought. And then—the smile. Ah, there it was, Bashir thought disgustedly.

The slight, knowing curl of the lips, the ever-so-smug amusement that never quite reached the eyes. "Order? That's an interesting choice of words." Though the words were framed timidly enough, there was no mistaking the steel in the man's voice. It at once both alarmed and chilled Bashir.

Bashir tensed. "It was an execution. A Federation colony was destroyed. Only 400 remain, sir. You're really going to sit there and pretend there's nothing to discuss?" He almost reached out to slap some sense into the man, but that would end his career faster than he could say Kukalaka.

The man chuckled and shook his head softly. "Doctor, really. Must we be so dramatic?" The man's dismissive tone rankled Bashir to his core, and he could not stop the outburst.

Bashir slammed his hands on the desk. The sound barely echoed before the silence swallowed it. "Dramatic?" His voice was low now, dangerous. "I know Starfleet. I know its flaws, its compromises. But this—this is something else. I spoke to survivors from the outer rim of that system. I saw the sensor data. The dark matter anomaly was deliberate. This was engineered. You engineered it."

He wasn't expecting an outright confession. But what he got was worse. The man opposite him didn't blink. Didn't flinch. He simply leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and—God help him—he looked bored.

"Let's say you're right." The words were slow, deliberate. "Let's say Kalendra IV wasn't an accident. What, exactly, do you think you're going to do about it?"

Bashir felt a chill crawl up his spine. It wasn't the words. It was the tone. Not a threat, not a warning, but a statement of fact. He realized there was nothing he could do. Not through Starfleet, and certainly not through official channels.

He had walked into this room thinking he was there to demand answers. Instead, he realized—he had been invited. The chessboard had already been set. The pieces had already been moved. He was not the one playing the game. He was the one being played. Bashir straightened. He wouldn't let this man see his fear.

"You're a monster," he said quietly, almost dramatically. He felt sick to his stomach, sick to his very core.

The man gave a slow, lazy shrug. "Monster? No. I simply understand the rules."

"The rules," Bashir repeated bitterly. He very nearly died on the spot. This wasn't a game! These people had died because of this man's game.

"Yes," came the smooth reply. "You see, Doctor, wars aren't fought with fleets anymore. Not the real ones. The real wars? They're fought in whispers. In shadows. You don't win by conquering. You win by making sure your enemy never existed in the first place." The words were said with such casual certainty that Bashir felt a fresh wave of nausea rise in his gut.

His hands curled into fists. He had known this was bigger than what Starfleet would admit. But this? This was something else entirely. Bashir inhaled sharply. He needed to get out of here; more importantly—he needed to warn Jackson.

The man at the desk tilted his head slightly, studying him with a look that wasn't unkind. In fact, it was almost—pitying. He nearly spat at the man as he looked at him in pure, unadulterated anger.

"It's exhausting, isn't it," he asked smugly, disturbingly, as he leaned back in his chair casually.

Bashir frowned. "What?"

The reply was soft, too soft. "Carrying the weight of a conscience."

The words landed like a knife to the ribs. Bashir took a step back. His breath felt shallow. There was nothing else to say. He turned and walked toward the exit without another word or look backward.

That night, Bashir sat alone in his quarters. The bottle of Kanar on his desk remained untouched. The single lamp in the corner cast long shadows against the wall. He'd picked up the bottle to drink from it time and again, but just couldn't bring himself to drink away his anger and pain. He'd done quite enough of that lately. Isn't that what had driven Sarina from his arms?

He stared at the blank screen in front of him. How do you warn someone about something that has no name? How do you fight something that isn't there? He flexed his fingers once, twice, and then he began recording. The words seemed to pour out of him as though it were a dam breaking.

"An infection unchecked leads to systemic failure. You might consider whether your current course treats the symptoms or the disease. There are times when sacrificing a knight forces a checkmate. There are times when it only exposes the queen. Et tu, Brute? Julius Caesar never saw the knife coming—not from him. A body can survive many things, Captain. But sometimes, the real damage is done long before the symptoms show. I went through considerable effort to send this. That alone should tell you how dangerous this is. Step carefully—this isn't just a hornet's nest; it's the whole damn hive."

The screen flickered. The encryption algorithms scrambled the message. Bashir sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly. It was done. Now all he could do was wait. And pray Jackson Valore would listen before it was too late.

He smiled as he picked up the bottle of Kanar and drained a quarter of the bottle. Checkmate, he thought.

The doors to the observation lounge hissed shut behind me, and I immediately felt cornered. It wasn't just the presence of my counselor, my first officer, and my chief medical officer—it was the way they were standing. Positioned, like a tribunal, like a staged intervention.

I folded my arms across my chest, forcing an easy smirk onto my face. "Oh good. All my favorite people. If this is about our next shore leave rotation, I promise you, I'm open to bribes."

No one laughed. Instead, T'Varis—ever composed, ever infuriatingly unreadable—simply clasped her hands behind her back and regarded me with those piercing, analytical eyes.

Kyle was seated at the head of the conference table, arms folded, the concern on his face barely masking something deeper—something more resigned.

And Bosett? He wasn't leaning against the bulkhead like he usually did when we talked. He wasn't settling into his usual casual swagger, arms crossed with an amused glint in his dark Betazoid eyes. No, Bosett was standing straight. Shoulders squared, and there was nothing casual about his expression. That was the first warning sign.

"Captain," T'Varis began crisply. "Please, sit."

I didn't move. Instead, I cocked my head at them and let silence settle between us. I'd played enough high-stakes poker in my life to know when the table was tilted. Finally, I exhaled through my nose and took the chair nearest to me, stretching my legs out like I didn't have a care in the world. "All right. This is the part where you tell me I'm working too hard, I need to take a break, I need to relax, let other people handle things, yadda yadda yadda." I made a twirling gesture with my hand. "I can save us all time by letting you know—point blank—that I have no intention of doing any of that. So, if that's all, I'll…"

"Jackson." Kyle's voice was quiet. Not gentle, just quiet.

I stopped. I felt my walls coming up, fast, and I evened my breath as I attempted to calm myself down.

Kyle leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. "We're not here to debate your stress levels. We're here because you're actively putting yourself at risk. And, by extension, you're putting us at risk."

I blinked. "Oh? That's news to me." Where the hell did he get off?

T'Varis gave me an unimpressed look. "Then allow us to enlighten you." She activated the holodisplay in the center of the table.

A series of incidents scrolled by in rapid succession. My erratic sleep cycles. My repeated dismissals of security protocols. My increasingly reckless decisions. I barely glanced at them. Instead, I locked eyes with her. "This is a hell of a way to tell me I've been pulling overtime, Commander." The words came out far snarkier than I'd intended, but there they were anyway.

Bosett—who had been silent until now—let out a sharp, humorless breath. "For the love of the Four Deities, Jackson, cut the bullshit."

I blinked. I'm sorry, what? Did he just…. Tell me to shut up? I'm the captain. I'm the one making the calls. I worked hard for that. Who the hell did these people think they were to come in here, attacking me like this?

Bosett was still standing, still towering over me from across the table. But his voice was low, sharp, and clipped in a way I had never heard before. "Do you think I don't see it? Do you think we don't all see it?" His dark eyes flashed as he jabbed a finger at me. "You barely eat. You barely sleep. You make decisions as if you're the only one who can hold the weight of the galaxy on your back, but you're flying this ship into hell with no oxygen mask, and you don't care."

I opened my mouth to deflect, to move the conversation away from… whatever this was. I was not going to sit here and take this, not from them, not from anyone.

Bosett wasn't having it, and his head was shaking emphatically. "No. No clever comebacks. No more deflections." His voice was rising now, but it wasn't anger. It was frustration. "You're spiraling, and I don't think you even see it. I see it. We all see it. And the worst part? You are so damn stubborn that you'd rather crash and burn than admit we're right."

The room was dead silent. I let the words hang in the air between us. Then I huffed a laugh and shook my head. "Right. Because I'm clearly so far gone that you've all decided it's time to relieve me of command." I flicked my eyes to T'Varis. "That's what this is, isn't it? A well-dressed mutiny?"

Kyle flinched. "Jackson, no one is relieving you of command—"

"Bullshit," I snapped before I could stop it, making T'Varis flinch. I stood abruptly, shoving the chair back with more force than I meant to. "You sure? Because it sure as hell feels like you're building a case." Oh, I was angry now. I was not just angry but pissed. I felt cornered and defensive. How dare they?!

T'Varis didn't react. "We are not discussing a transfer of command. We are discussing your ability to function at peak capacity without compromising your judgment."

"That's a nice way of saying 'we think you're unfit,' T'Varis," I said bitterly. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the short stubble of my beard.

Kyle sighed. "Jackson—"

I turned on him. "You, too? You think I can't handle this? After all we've been through, after all you've seen from me?"

Kyle stood, slowly. He was shorter than me, but right now, he looked like he was standing on a goddamn mountain. "Don't you dare put this on me," he said, voice tight. "This isn't about your command. This is about the fact that we're all watching you slowly self-destruct, and no matter how many times we reach out a hand, you refuse to take it."

I clenched my jaw. "I don't need—"

Bosett slammed his hands on the table as he shouted, "Yes, you do." His voice rang through the room.

I froze. Bosett had never talked to me this way before, He had never yelled at me like a kindergartener. I was so shocked it actually made me pause. Did I deserve what they were saying? Was I going too far? Was I really putting my crew in danger? So far, I'd striven to only put myself in danger, and only when absolutely necessary.

Bosett straightened, dark eyes locked onto mine. His voice dropped back into a low, even rumble. "You are not invincible. You are not untouchable. And you sure as hell are not alone." He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his dark curls. "But if you keep acting like this, Jackson, you're going to get yourself killed."

Silence, thick and heavy, filled the room, stifling me, choking me. I couldn't look at them, couldn't breathe, couldn't let myself feel it. So, I did what I did best, I outmaneuvered. I leaned back against the table and spread my arms. "All right." My voice was light. Easy. Almost bored. "So, let's say, hypothetically, that I take all this under advisement. Then what? Do I get to keep my ship? My chair?" I tilted my head. "Or do I get a one-way shuttle back to Earth?" They wanted to play? I could match that.

Kyle winced. T'Varis pressed her lips into a thin line. And Bosett?

Bosett just sighed. "You never stop playing, do you?" he murmured sadly.

I smiled. "That's why I win." Damn right, I don't stop playing.

Bosett just shook his head. He looked tired. But what made me feel really guilty was the look of disappointment etched on his handsome face.

T'Varis finally spoke. "We have said what we needed to say, Captain. It is your choice what to do with that information."

Kyle hesitated, then looked me in the eyes. "I just hope you make the right one."

That was the closest thing to an I'm worried about you I was going to get. I exhaled. "Noted." I turned toward the door and no one stopped me. But as I stepped into the corridor, my heart was beating a little too fast. And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if—just maybe—they were right. But if they were… What the hell did that mean for me?

As I headed back to my quarters for the evening, I pushed those thoughts away, Bell needed me. Kalendra IV needed me. I owed it to them to find the truth, even if it destroyed me. Because if it destroyed me, I was damn sure taking them down with me. The doors hissed shut behind me and I leaned against the wall, head in my hands for a few minutes, until I stepped into the sonic shower. I was done waiting for answers. I didn't care what my crew had to say about it. I was right—I knew I was.

You could have saved me… The words echoed in my head like a drumbeat as I finished my shower and tried sleeping. It would not come.

Chapter Ten: The Stars Do Not Lie (But People Do)

I sat on my chair as the familiar blue curve of Earth loomed in the viewscreen. But I didn't care. Not this time. This time I was going to get answers if it were the last thing I did.

Mariposa cut through space on final approach to Earth, her slipstream drive winding down with a low thrum that rattled in my bones. Home. Home. A place of safety, of diplomacy, of peace. Not today.

My fists clenched behind my back. The bridge hummed with routine reports—docking clearances, orbital paths—but I barely heard them. My mind burned. Dalloway. That bastard. I knew he was hiding something. My gut screamed it with every breath. He knew what had happened at Kalendra. He knew why Bell died. And I was done waiting for permission, done waiting for Starfleet's bureaucracy to play nice. If I had to tear down the walls of Starfleet Headquarters brick by brick, I would.

"Captain?" R'Gore's deep Romulan voice pulled me back. I looked toward him without turning my head fully. His sharp gaze flickered over me—assessing. "Slipstream drive disengaged, sir. Earth orbit achieved. We've been cleared for docking at Starbase One."

I nodded, curt. "Understood. I'll be transporting directly to Starfleet Command. Keep the ship on standby."

R'Gore hesitated. "Sir, should I—"

"—No." The word snapped out more sharply than I intended. I exhaled, softening my tone—barely. "This is something I have to do alone." I lowered my eyes, fully aware of everyone's shocked looks. I didn't care. This had to end, and I was going to make damned sure it did. I turned on my heel without another word. The turbolift doors closed behind me, sealing the uneasy glances of my crew outside.

The transporter room felt too small. The room buzzed with energy, but my mind was louder. Focus. I stepped onto the pad. The ensign at the console gave me a cautious glance—he'd heard the rumors, no doubt. I could see it in his eyes. Captain Valore's lost it. Captain Valore's obsessed.

Maybe I had. Maybe I was. But I was right, I knew I was right. I had to be right. My voice came out, but it didn't even sound like my own anymore. I knew I was slipping into dangerous territory, but somebody had to.

"Energize." The last thing I saw before the shimmer took me was my own reflection in the transporter room glass, and I looked damn near unrecognizable.

The hum of the transporter faded. I stood in the main hall of Starfleet Headquarters—iconic, historic, hallowed. The glass-paneled ceilings bathed the room in soft golden light. Officers in crisp uniforms passed with the calm assurance of those who believed in order. But all I could see was red. Dalloway. Where was he? I looked around, my eyes ignoring everyone as I searched for the direction I needed to go.

I strode forward, ignoring the polite nods, the startled glances. I wasn't here for pleasantries. Every step echoed louder than it should have.

The receptionist behind the wide curved desk looked up. Her smile faltered the moment she met my eyes. I saw the flicker of recognition, followed by something else, caution. "Captain Valore! We weren't expecting—"

"I'm here for Admiral Dalloway." My voice cut like a blade. "Now." I gave her my most severe captain look, hoping the subtle threat would work.

Her fingers danced across her console, but her smile didn't return. "I—I'm afraid Admiral Dalloway isn't available at the moment. Perhaps I can—"

I slammed my hands on the counter. The sound echoed like a shot. The room quieted. My breath hissed through clenched teeth. "Find him. I don't care where you have to look. Find him right now." I was so done playing nice with these people.

Her lips parted to respond—hesitant, nervous—when a new voice came from behind me. Calm. Controlled. Deep.

"Captain Valore."

I froze. That voice. Impossible. Slowly, I turned. And there he was. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard.

His posture, as always, was perfect—hands clasped behind his back, gaze sharp, assessing. The years had added lines to his face but not diminished his presence. The moment he entered the room, you knew who he was. I was at once cowed and awed.

He gave me a nod—almost warm. "Welcome to Earth, Captain. I've been following your career with great interest."

My breath caught. Picard. The Jean-Luc Picard. A legend. The legend.

But as he stepped closer—his gaze shifted. The warmth dimmed. His eyes narrowed just enough. He saw it. The mania. The tension in my stance. The obsession. The barely contained storm. I could no longer hide it, even if I'd tried. I had fire in my blood and the only way it would be relieved was to find someone to cut open.

"Captain," Picard said slowly, "perhaps you'd join me in my office?"

I took a step back, shaking my head. "No. I'm here for Dalloway." I could barely meet Picard's eyes.

Picard regarded me for a long, silent moment. The faintest trace of sadness flickered across his face. "Ah," he said quietly. "Yes. I thought as much."

I moved past him. "Excuse me, sir. But I don't have time—"

Picard stepped into my path. Firm. Unyielding. Like a bulkhead. "Make time."

The words weren't loud, but they stopped me cold. He had that voice. The kind that didn't need to shout. It was the voice of a man who had stood trial for humanity, faced the Borg, lost his crew, his family—everything—and still stood. I met his gaze. For a moment, I faltered. But the fire roared back. "Admiral," I began, my voice low and dangerous, "with all due respect, I have a mission—"

Picard stepped closer. Close enough for me to see the years in his eyes. The lives he'd saved—and lost. "A mission? Or an obsession?"

The words hit me harder than Kyle's ever did. I swallowed hard, trying to quell a tension that just wouldn't leave me alone. You'll fail them, too… I opened my mouth—denial ready—but nothing came out.

Picard watched me. Calm, patient. But there was steel beneath the surface. "I've seen that look before." His voice softened, almost distant. "I saw it when I looked in the mirror after the Borg took my crew. When I thought I could—should—risk everything for revenge. The truth, Captain, is that obsession rarely leads where you want it to."

I flinched. But I didn't back down. I couldn't, not now. Not when I was so close to finding the truth. "This isn't like that." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Sixty million people died. My friend died. And Dalloway—"

Picard cut me off with a sharp glance. "Sixty million people, yes. And you'll add how many more in pursuit of your truth?"

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms and drew a small amount of blood. "I have to know." The words came out nearly on their own, the words tripping over themselves to get out of my mouth.

Picard sighed. Slowly, deliberately, he turned and gestured toward a wide glass window overlooking San Francisco Bay. The Golden Gate Bridge stretched out beneath a clear blue sky. "Look at it."

I hesitated.

"Look." His voice was firm and unyielding, and I really had no choice but to do as he commanded, so I did. The city gleamed. Peaceful. Whole.

"When you stand at the edge," Picard said, voice low, "when you have to make the impossible choice—remember: sometimes the sacrifice isn't worth the gain."

My breath caught. Those words. I turned to him. "What are you saying?" I felt like the air in the room had suddenly evaporated, leaving me gasping for breath—that's how tight my chest felt.

Picard met my gaze—steady, unwavering. "Chess, Captain Valore. You must be cautious of who you play with. Sometimes… the sacrifice of a knight forces checkmate." His eyes hardened.

"But sometimes—" I started, but Picard cut me off abruptly.

"It only exposes the queen." The words were spoken softly, almost gently, but they carried weight, a truth, one that I didn't want right now. My mind shouted at me vehemently to stop and listen, but my heart refused to heed that advice. The room seemed to tilt. My stomach twisted. I stepped back. "No… No, I'm right. I know I'm right."

Picard didn't move. His expression was almost—sad. "I thought you might say that."

Silence stretched between us. I wanted to scream. To tear the room apart. To make Dalloway suffer as he'd made me—and everyone else suffer. But instead, I turned away. "I have to do this." I swallowed again, trying to meet Picard's gaze.

Picard gave me a small nod. "I know."

The words weren't judgmental. But they weren't approving either. They were just… inevitable.

As I reached the transporter pad—ready to return to the Mariposa—Picard spoke one last time.

"Be careful, Jackson Valore." His eyes met mine in an unspoken moment of reconciliation, of total understanding. He knew. He knew.

I paused, suddenly sure of what to do, but Picard wasn't done yet.

"Sometimes, when you finally see the truth…" His voice was quiet but still carried the weight of someone who had seen enough to last fourteen lifetimes. I turned, just enough to glance at him.

He continued, even more softly, "…you wish you hadn't."

The transporter beam took me before I could respond. And as the shimmer of light consumed me, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to answer at all. I allowed the light of the transporter to envelop me as I suddenly seized upon an idea. Expose the Queen, eh? I could do that. Finally, I had a concrete plan, and as the shimmer of the transporter faded away and left me on Mariposa's platform, I had a smile on my face for the first time in a while.

I had barely materialized on the transporter pad before my legs started moving. My heart pounded. My mind raced. My hands twitched at my sides, electric with the certainty of what needed to be done. I had my move. The board was set. The queen was in position.

I stormed through the corridors of the Mariposa, ignoring the nods of passing officers, the confused glances of junior crewmen who caught my expression—sharp, too sharp. A hunger burned behind my eyes. It wasn't anger anymore. No, this was clarity. I was so close.

The doors to Sickbay slid open before I even slowed my stride. "Bosett." My voice cut through the room like a blade.

Krell Bosett looked up from his console, his dark Betazoid eyes narrowing slightly, and immediately, I saw it—that flicker of concern. He wasn't used to seeing me like this. Nobody was used to seeing me like this. "Jackson," he greeted, calm but wary. "What can I do for you?"

I grinned. It felt too wide. Almost painful. "I need you to make me someone else."

Bosett blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"

"Medically. Surgically. Alter me. Give me a new face. New body structure. Female." I could feel the energy surging through me, my limbs unable to stay still. "I need to be unrecognizable to Section 31."

I was met with silence. It descended upon the room like a blanket designed to snuff out a fire. Inside, my emotions were rolling around like clothes in an ancient dryer, but outwardly, I kept my face neutral. I knew what I was asking for, I knew the risks—but I didn't care. This was the move. This was the Queen's gambit, and I was going to get Dalloway into a checkmate so powerful, he wouldn't be able to stand any longer.

Bosett just stared at me. His lips parted, but no words came out. Across Sickbay, a nurse who had been running inventory dropped a tricorder in sheer shock.

The door behind me slid open again. "Captain," Kyle's voice came—low, dangerous, and full of fury. "Tell me I didn't just hear what I think I did."

I turned, and—oh, that expression. I had seen Kyle angry before, but this? This was rage in its purest form. I nearly recoiled in shock, but my inner angels held my feet firmly on the deck.

T'Varis stood just behind him, her arms folded, her face unreadable—but her eyes? Sharp. Calculating. I knew that look, too. Oh, this was going to be fun.

I spread my hands wide, my voice dripping with excitement. "No, no, you definitely heard me right, Kyle. I want Bosett to surgically alter me. Full reconstructive work—face, voice, body morphology, everything." My grin widened. "I'm going to walk right into Section 31's headquarters, and I'm going to get my answers." I was nearly giddy with delight, relief, catharsis. I knew this was a huge play, but I knew there ws no other choice before me—not with so much on the line here. And really, I didn't care what they thought anymore. You'll fail them, too… I pushed the ugly thoughts away, suddenly cold as ice.

Kyle took two steps forward, jaw clenched. "Like hell you are."

Bosett pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jackson, I—" He exhaled hard. "Do you even realize what you're asking? This isn't just cosmetic surgery. We'd be altering bone structure, muscular composition, neural mapping—it's reversible, but this is—"

"A full-scale identity shift," I finished for him. "Yes. I know." It was surely a massive advantage, and would place me at the forefront of this madness. Right?

I turned fully toward Kyle and T'Varis now, delighted by the sheer horror painted across my ex-husband's face. For some reason, his look only spurred on my thoughts of this chess game I was playing. Poor Dalloway! He had no idea the hell that I was going to unleash upon him. Kyle's voice broke my disturbing thoughts.

"You—this—Jackson, do you even hear yourself?" Kyle's voice was tight, like he was physically holding himself back from grabbing me by the collar and shaking me.

"Yes! Yes!" I laughed. Actually laughed. I couldn't help it. "Kyle, don't you see? This is the move. This is the gambit. Picard all but told me!" I was stretching that just a little, but Picard had given me the idea for this.

T'Varis arched a brow. "I very much doubt Admiral Picard advised you to undergo extreme bodily reconstruction in pursuit of what is already an exceedingly dangerous investigation."

I waved her off. "Oh, details, details. The point is—he warned me about sacrificing the wrong piece. And the best part?" I leaned forward, my voice hushed, conspiratorial. "I'm not sacrificing the queen. I'm making her untouchable." My face spread into a maniacal, almost reckless smirk as I thought about how Dalloway wouodn't know what hit him.

Bosett finally slammed a PADD down on the nearest biobed. "Enough." His voice wasn't loud, but it commanded the room. "Jackson. Sit your ass down. Now."

I froze. Bosett never spoke to me like that. My eyes widened as I slowly sat.

He folded his arms. "Let's be clear about what you're asking me to do. You want me to deconstruct your identity. Not just disguise you. Not just tweak your features. You want to—what? Become someone else? Live as them?" His eyes searched mine, begging, pleading for me not to do this, but I couldn't stop now—not when I was so damned close!

"Just long enough to get what I need," I replied smoothly. I raised my hands in a placating gesture as I spoke.

"And then what?" Kyle cut in, voice sharp and raw. "You think you can just—snap your fingers and come back from this?" His arms were crossed in front of him, and the three of them stood in front of me like an immoveable wall. Whatever, walls were meant to be torn down, when necessary. At this point, I'd die before seeing Dalloway continue with this bullshit.

I stared at him. "Why not?"

Kyle laughed. A broken, bitter thing. "You think you're in control, Jackson. But you're not. You're spiraling. And now, you're throwing yourself into something—someone—else, because you don't know how to stop." He ran his hands through his short brown hair in frustration.

I opened my mouth to argue, but T'Varis cut in, voice crisp and clinical.

"This is no longer a matter of reckless behavior," she said. "This is self-annihilation disguised as strategy."

That was it. I snapped. "Oh, don't start with that Vulcan psychoanalysis bullshit, T'Varis!" I stood again, my body vibrating with energy. "This is the best shot we have!"

"And if you don't come back?" Kyle's voice cracked slightly. Just enough for me to hear it. Just enough to make my stomach twist. The raw pain and desperation in his voice made me pause for a moment. But it did not make me stop.

I swallowed. Then forced a smirk. "Then I guess I'll make a lovely corpse, won't I?"

Kyle actually looked away. He shook his head, exhaling sharply, like he couldn't even look at me. I heard the sheer manic in my voice, but I no longer cared. This wasn't about me, not anymore, it was about stopping Dalloway and preventing any more deaths.

Bosett clenched his jaw. "This is insanity, Jackson."

Damn right. "It's necessary," I corrected.

T'Varis studied me for a long moment. "You're determined." Her sharp eyes studiously studied my face as I pretended not to notice.

"Always am," I shot back.

"You won't listen to reason."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

She tilted her head, almost considering. Then, she turned to Bosett. "How long will the procedure take?"

Bosett's head snapped to her in shock. Kyle actually recoiled. The two mwn shared a tense look of utter disbelief.

"Don't humor him!" Kyle snapped at her.

But T'Varis—gods bless her—held my gaze, and I saw it. That tiny glint of approval.

Not for my madness. For my resolve.

Bosett exhaled hard, rubbing his temples. "...Twenty hours, minimum. And that's if I agree with this madness." He shook his head, not even wanting to say the words.

Kyle threw up his hands. "Unbelievable. You're all unbelievable." He stalked around the room, stomping so hard the nurse scurried from the room in terror.

I turned to him. Met his gaze fully. "Kyle. I need you to trust me." I needed that. But, did I trust myself? Of course I did. Right?

His breath hitched. And for the first time, he didn't yell. For the first time, I saw something else in his expression. Fear. Real, deep, bone-crushing fear. And that's what finally made me hesitate, just a little, and only for a second.

Then, I turned back to Bosett. My voice was steely as I ordered, "Prep the surgical suite,"

Bosett cursed under his breath. But after a moment—he nodded. Kyle growled—literally growled, and strode out of the room, his anger leaving small red marks in the air, the energy crackling around him, furious.

T'Varis just gave me that steady look, her eyes sharp but sympathetic as she slowly spoke. "Jackson, I hope you realize what you're about to sacrifice. There is no logic I pursuing this madness. You aren't chasing Dalloway any longer, but yourself. And there is no need for that."

I nodded, swallowing hard. "T'Varis, I need you to trust me, please." I met her eyes in a moment of brief clarity and saw the ever-so-slight tells that she was perturbed—eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed green, and a slight pursing of her lips.

Finally, she nodded and turned to Bosett. "Let me know when this is finished, Doctor." She turned crisply on her heel and left without another word.

And just like that—the queen's gambit had begun.

Chapter Eleven: The Queen Awakens

The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the comforting hum of the Mariposa's systems. Not the steady rhythm of Sickbay's monitors. Just... silence. Then, the second thing hit—weightlessness. I wasn't prepared for it. My body felt off, lighter in places, heavier in others. My limbs didn't respond quite how I expected them to. I shifted, and that's when I felt it—a subtle, undeniable wrongness.

My eyes snapped open. The harsh Sickbay lights bore down on me, a clinical glare that made me squint. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled my lungs. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, willing my thoughts to line up. But they wouldn't. They jittered, spun, twisted in ways I didn't recognize. Something was wrong. I calmed myself. No. Everything was right.

I sat up too fast. My balance shifted—my center of gravity had moved. My hair—longer now—brushed against my cheek. My heart pounded. I lifted my hands. Slimmer. Narrower. My skin—still pale, still familiar—but not quite. I tried to push myself into an upright position, but a voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Whoa—slow down, Jackson." Bosett's voice—low, calm, familiar—cut through my racing thoughts. I turned, and for the briefest moment, his expression faltered. Shock. Restraint. Then it vanished, replaced by professional composure. "Easy," he said, stepping forward. "You're still recovering from the anesthesia. Give yourself a minute."

A minute? I laughed, a manic-sounding one, even to my ears. Were they my ears, though? "I don't have a minute, Krell." The voice that left my mouth wasn't mine. It was higher, softer—but sharp, like a blade honed to a perfect edge. My breath hitched. The sound startled me. This is right. This is what you asked for.

I slid off the biobed. My feet hit the deck plates—lighter, sure-footed. The gown they'd put me in felt wrong—too loose in some places, too tight in others. I grabbed a mirror from the tray beside me before anyone could stop me. And there she was. Me. But not.

The face staring back was elegant—angular cheekbones, a sharp jawline softened by fuller lips. My hair—long, dark brown with a faint copper sheen—framed my face in waves. My eyes, though. The eyes were the same. Green, bright—but hungry. Starving. I touched my cheek. My fingers brushed skin that wasn't mine but was. I smiled. Too wide. Almost painful. "Oh," I whispered. "This will work."

Behind me, the room remained tense. I turned to see why it was so quiet, why nobody was congratulating me for my audacious plan. Kyle stood stiffly beside T'Varis, his arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. His cerulean uniform looked too sharp, too neat. But his eyes—oh, those eyes—were a storm.

T'Varis, beside him, looked as unreadable as ever. Her green-tinged skin was smooth, her crimson hair impeccable. But her hands were clasped behind her back—tight. Too tight for her usual Vulcan-Romulan poise.

Bosett leaned against the medical console, arms folded, watching me like a hawk. The tension in his broad shoulders spoke volumes.

I let the silence stretch, savoring their reactions. This was gold. If they couldn't even believe it, I was willing to bet my life that neither would Dalloway. "Well?" I spread my arms, my new voice lilting with mock cheer. "Aren't you going to tell me how stunning I look?"

Kyle didn't react. Didn't even blink.

Bosett sighed. "You're awake faster than I expected. How do you feel?"

I smiled, tentatively and faced Bosett. "Like I can finally get some damn answers." My grin stretched further. I felt giddy. Electrified. This was it. I was ready.

Bosett exchanged a look with T'Varis—a look I didn't miss. I quelled the momentary pause this gave me. Were they right? Was I losing myself in this? I thought about it for a moment and decided that it didn't matter—nothing mattered anymore. I had to do this. I had to make things right.

"Physically," he pressed. "Headaches? Numbness? Disorientation?"

I rolled my eyes. "I feel fine." Except I didn't. There was a buzzing under my skin—a constant hum that hadn't been there before. Adrenaline? Or something else? Anxiety, maybe. I pushed it aside. No time for hesitation.

T'Varis stepped forward, eyes sharp as plasma cutters. "You should rest. The surgical procedure was extensive. Your neural pathways were recalibrated. Hormonal balances adjusted. Your physiology has been fundamentally altered—temporarily—but it will take time to adjust."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes dismissively and waved her off. "Time? We don't have time. Dalloway's still out there, and I—"

"Jackson." Kyle's voice came out, soft and dangerous. I knew what that tone was, he'd used it on me before. But I chose to ignore it and instead, I turned to look at Kyle. For the first time since I woke, I really looked at him. His green eyes burned—not with anger this time. With something worse. Fear.

"What?" I asked. I kept my tone light, casual. But I could feel something fraying inside me. I could feel the edges of my psyche reacting to the changes in my body. I was hardly even recognizing my own thoughts anymore. Was this normal? Hell, was anything even normal about this shit?

"You don't even recognize yourself right now," he said quietly. "Look at you."

I did. I turned to the mirror again. The woman who looked back smiled. Her teeth gleamed. But the eyes—my eyes—were sharp. Too sharp. Was this still me? "Why should I recognize myself?" I whispered, not taking my eyes off the reflection. "The old me couldn't get answers. Couldn't stop Dalloway. Couldn't save Bell." You'll fail them, just like you failed me.

The last word slipped out before I could catch it, and I ignored Kyle's flinch. I turned back sharply. "But this me? She will. This is the Queen's Gambit. This is the final move. He won't see me coming."

"Jackson," Kyle started, but I cut him off, stepping closer—too close. My words came out almost hatefully. "You don't get it, Kyle. You never did." My voice dropped to a whisper. "This isn't about me anymore. It's about the truth. The truth Dalloway's hiding. The truth Starfleet is hiding."

Kyle's jaw tightened. "And what happens when the truth isn't what you want it to be?" The words made me think for a moment, and I stopped, stomach twisting into knots. "What?" I asked, softly, dangerously.

Kyle's gaze never wavered. "Picard said it, didn't he? Sometimes, when you finally see the truth… you wish you hadn't."

How dare he? Who did Kyle think he was? I took a deep breath as I thought furiously. But, the words hit harder than they should have, than I wanted them to and my breath caught. For a moment—just a moment—I wavered. No. No. This was right. This needed to be right. I forced a grin. "Guess we'll see, won't we?"

Bosett sighed behind me. "I'll clear you for duty. But this is reckless. Even for you." His normal Betazoid calm was gone, replaced with something I'd never seen from Bosett—resigned fear. I swallowed and forced myself to look at him like there was nothing wrong with the cosmos.

"Reckless?" I laughed again. Too high. Too sharp. "No. This is calculated. The perfect move. Dalloway won't know what hit him." I was absolutely sure of this. But the buzzing under my skin wouldn't stop. The anxiety, the fear. It made me think: What if Kyle was right? What if the truth wasn't what I wanted? I warred within myself for a long moment. No. You'll fail them, just like you always do. No. There was no room for doubt now. The queen was on the board. The gambit had begun.

And I would have my answers. Even if it destroyed me. I smiled as T'Varis and Kyle exchanged glances and left Sickbay, Bosett just stood there, resigned, upset. I felt bad over that, but honestly, I did not have time to deal with soothing their feelings, I had my own issues to deal with—starting with Dalloway.

The doors to my ready room hissed shut behind me with a finality that echoed far too loud in my ears. The room was as I left it—sleek, pristine, every detail meticulously arranged. Yet nothing about it felt familiar. The reflection in the glass of San Francisco Bay, still visible on the nearby screen, showed a woman with sharp green eyes and an unwavering smile. But inside? Inside was a storm.

I took a deep breath and tried to center myself. Focus. I had the advantage now. Dalloway wouldn't see me coming. The Queen was on the board. This was the final move. I was filled with a gleeful energy that nearly took my new body by complete surprise.

"Captain."

I turned. The voice belonged to Nina Mel'Th'eeve, standing just inside the doorway, posture as perfect as ever. Her Bajoran earring glinted faintly in the overhead light, her expression composed—too composed. Behind her, R'Gore entered, tall, imposing, his dark Romulan uniform sharp against his pale skin. His predatory gaze swept over me—calculating, impressed. The air in the room shifted.

"Commander. Lieutenant." I gestured for them to sit. "I assume you've both heard?"

R'Gore took his seat without hesitation, resting one arm on the table, his gaze fixed squarely on me. "Oh, we heard." His tone was low, smooth, almost admiring. "Captain… this move? Bold. Ruthless." His lips curved into something close to a smirk. "It's the most Romulan thing I've seen from a Starfleet officer in years."

I let myself grin. "I'll take that as a compliment." Finally, someone who sees things my way. About damn time.

But Nina didn't sit. She remained standing, arms folded, eyes narrowed—not in judgment, but in deep, unflinching concern. "It is bold," she said slowly, choosing her words with care. "But I'm not sure it's you."

The grin froze on my face. "Careful, Commander," I warned lightly. But there was no humor in my voice. I was treading on some very thin ice, but I didn't care, I literally could not stop now, even if I'd wanted—and I didn't. I couldn't. Why couldn't they understand this?

As though she'd read my mind, Nina tilted her head. "Oh, I'm being very careful. Someone has to be." She stepped forward, her voice lowering. "Jackson—who are you right now?"

I stood sharply. I let out a huff and tried not to sound as exasperated as I felt. "I'm exactly who I need to be."

R'Gore let out a soft, impressed hum. "Conviction. You wear it well, Captain." His eyes gleamed with something close to reverence—and something darker. "But even Romulans know there is a difference between deception and obliteration."

Et Tu, Brute? I rounded on him. "I'm not obliterating anything. I'm adapting. That's what captains do. We adjust. We survive." Even as I said the words, they rang hollow in my ears.

"Survive?" Nina finally moved, stepping close enough that I had to meet her eyes. "Is that what this is? Or are you running from something you're too afraid to face?"

"I'm not running," I snapped. "I'm moving forward. I'm finally doing what needs to be done!" Finally, things would be made right. You're not chasing shadows, you're running from them.

"No." Her voice was soft, but it struck me harder than any shout. "You're tearing yourself apart for a cause you won't even let yourself question. You think becoming someone else will make the truth easier to face?"

I blinked. Just once. But it was enough. Both Nina and R'Gore looked at me, almost sadly.

R'Gore leaned forward, his deep voice cutting the tension. "Captain… I respect this strategy. It's brilliant. But Romulans also know—too well—the cost of identity. You are walking into shadows so deep; some never walk back out."

My voice grew into a bright fever pitch. "That's the point!" I whirled back on him. "Dalloway lives in those shadows. Section 31 lives in those shadows. If I don't walk into them—if I don't risk everything—more people die." I hadn't realized my fists were clenched until I felt the sharp sting of nails in my palms; I was going to have to remember I had longer nails now.

Nina's voice softened. "And when you walk back out? Who's going to be there? Who will you be?"

I turned back to the window, staring at my reflection. The woman in the glass smiled back—calm, certain. But her eyes? Her eyes were starving. I tried to smile but couldn't force it. "Does it matter?" I whispered.

"It matters," Nina said, stepping beside me. Her voice trembled—just slightly. "Because you matter. Jackson Valore matters. Not just this… avatar you've made to chase ghosts."

R'Gore rose silently and approached, standing at my other side. His reflection loomed beside mine—strong, unyielding. "Captain," he said quietly, "the best agents in the Romulan Tal Shiar lose themselves not from death—but from forgetting who they are. They become the lies they tell. The masks they wear. I have seen it. And I see it now."

He paused, glancing at me with something I rarely saw from him: fear. Was he really afraid of me? "Be cautious, Captain. This is beyond Federation diplomacy. Beyond Starfleet orders. This—" he gestured to my reflection "—this is a war you wage with yourself."

For a moment, the room fell deathly quiet. The hum of the Mariposa seemed distant. I stared at the reflection, watching the woman mimic my movements. Watching her pretend to be me. "...I don't have a choice," I said at last, the words barely audible.

"You always have a choice," Nina said gently. "But you've convinced yourself you don't, because it's easier than facing what you've become."

I whirled on them both, my rage finally bubbling to the surface. "I can't stop!" I roared. "Bell is dead! Sixty million lives—gone! Dalloway knows why! And you want me to sit here? To do nothing?" My breath came ragged. The woman in the glass stared back with wide, furious eyes.

Nina, to her credit, didn't flinch. She stepped forward, inches from me now. "No one's saying you stop," she whispered. "But don't lose yourself chasing ghosts."

R'Gore gave a slow nod. "Even Romulans know… the truth you're seeking? It may not set you free."

I turned away, dragging my hand down my face. My fingers trembled against unfamiliar skin. Honestly, I heard the sincerity of their pleas, but they also fell on deaf ears that were no longer my own. "This is freedom," I whispered. "Dalloway doesn't know who he's dealing with now."

Neither of them spoke. But their silence said everything. I turned back, my expression hardening. "Prepare the Mariposa. I'm leaving for Earth at once."

Nina hesitated. "Jackson—"

My voice came out sharply, cutting through the air like a D'kTahg knife. "That's an order."

She froze, her almond eyes just looking at me with that penetrating motherly glare of disbelief. Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded. "As you wish… Captain."

R'Gore saluted with that faint Romulan smirk still tugging at his lips—but the concern in his eyes remained.

As they exited the ready room, I turned once more to the reflection in the glass. The Queen smiled back. And the board was set. Checkmate, Dalloway.

Chapter Twelve: In War, the Law Falls Silent

The Section 31 base loomed ahead—a black monolith buried deep within the heart of San Francisco's subterranean grid. No insignia. No guards. No welcoming party. Of course not. This place wasn't meant to be found. But I found it. Or rather, it had found me.

The transporter shimmer faded, leaving me standing before the cold obsidian doors. My reflection—a woman's face, sharp and determined—stared back. The Queen's move. The final piece on the board. Dalloway was here. I knew it. My heart thundered in my chest, adrenaline surging so hard I could almost taste it. You'll fail them, just like you failed me.

The doors hissed open, silent and smooth. No one stopped me. No security codes. No armed officers. They wanted me to walk in. Let them. Dalloway thought he had me figured out. Everyone else thought this gambit was reckless. It wasn't reckless if it worked.

I stormed through the shadowed corridor. Every footstep echoed louder than it should. Polished black walls reflected my new form back at me with every step—a woman on a warpath. I should have felt satisfaction. I should have felt powerful.

But all I felt was that familiar buzzing. The hum beneath my skin. The gnawing in my gut. The growing whisper: They're waiting for you. They've been waiting. I shoved the thought aside. No. I'm in control. I'm always in control. Wasn't I? I had full control of my faculties, and I was thinking straight. Right?

The corridor opened into a vast atrium—spartan, steel-gray, cold. Monitors lined the walls, showing nothing but static. A single elevator waited at the far end; doors open. I was so ready.

I took a step forward—"Captain Valore."

The voice hit me like a disruptor blast. Calm. Smooth. Disarmingly familiar. I froze. No. It couldn't be—I turned, and there he was.

Doctor Julian Bashir stood casually against the far wall, arms crossed, his genetically enhanced features as composed as ever. Not a wrinkle in his uniform. His dark eyes gleamed—not with surprise, but with understanding.

"You're... you?" My voice caught in my throat. How? How did he know who I was?! Wasn't I disguised?

Bashir gave a small, knowing smile. "I had him pegged the moment she walked in."

Oh, shit. I felt my stomach twist into knots as I tried to steady my breathing.

He straightened, stepping forward, hands clasped behind his back. His tone dropped, cold and sharp: "And so did they."

No. No. I recoiled slightly. "What?"

Bashir's gaze bore into me like a seismic drill. His words came out sharp but low. "You think this... gambit... fooled Section 31? Valore, they wanted you to come here. They planned for it. Every step. The moment you walked through those doors, they knew. The surgery? The disguise? A waste of time. You were always the Queen on this board. And now?" He gestured around the empty atrium. "You're walking into checkmate."

He had to be wrong, there was just no way. I shook my head, backing away. I felt as though the darkness that had been hanging over my head was closing in on me, slowly suffocating me. "No. No, you're lying. You're trying to stop me. You—"

Bashir interrupted, "—Am trying to save you." Bashir's voice hardened. "Do you have any idea what's on the top floor? What Dalloway keeps in that so-called 'office'? People have disappeared up there. Good people." He stepped forward again, lowering his voice. "Valore. Jackson. Listen to me. Section 31 doesn't lose. They let you win until it's too late to matter."

I turned away, staring at the elevator. The highest floor. Dalloway's lair. The final confrontation. They knew? No. No. I had no choice now, but to keep pushing on. I had sacrificed so much, had seen too much. "I don't have a choice," I whispered.

Bashir scoffed. "Everyone says that right before they ruin everything. You always have a choice."

You're messing with fire. I turned on him, fury bubbling to the surface. "Sixty million people are dead. Bell is dead. And Dalloway knows why. You think I'm going to walk away now? After everything?" He had no idea what I was dealing with. Did he? Did I? I didn't even care now, I was full of righteous anger, the kind that has a fire so all-consuming that it literally makes your soul burn with indignation.

"Maybe you should." Bashir's voice was quieter now. "Because the truth you're chasing? You might not survive it."

I flinched. Those damn words again. Picard's warning. Kyle's fear. Nina's pleading. I forced a laugh. "No. I'm ready." I said the words, more to sell it to myself than Bashir. But it wasn't enough. Wouldn't ever be enough, would it?

Bashir looked at me then—really looked at me. And what I saw in his eyes wasn't pity. It wasn't anger, it was regret. He let out a big sigh before slowly shaking his head in frustration, the gold flecks in his eyes narrowing his pupils down to pinpoints as he stared at me hard. I swallowed nervously. "Then I'll tell you what you want to know."

I froze. He would? My heart, already trying to slam its way out of my chest, pounded even more—so hard, I thought that Bashir would hear it with those genetically enhanced ears of his.

Bashir stepped aside and gestured to the elevator. "Dalloway's waiting for you. Top floor. He never leaves it. No one but his inner circle gets that far." He met my gaze, deadly serious. "But you? You're his guest of honor."

The elevator doors slid open behind me with a whisper, as though Dalloway was taunting me. For the first time, I felt an icy fear crawl up my new spine, and it made me cold to my core. But I had no choice, despite hearing that I did from everyone around me—I knew better.

Bashir's eyes stared at me without judgement, just a quiet sadness. "Go, if you must," Bashir said, voice hollow. "But remember: you're playing a game that's been rigged from the start."

I stepped into the elevator. My pulse thundered in my ears. You'll fail them like you failed me. "I'll win," I said flatly. The doors began to close.

Bashir gave me one last look—tired, resigned, and full of empathy as he said, "No, Jackson. You'll survive. And that's the real punishment."

The doors sealed shut, cutting off Bashir's grim face. Nothing but silence was in the elevator—except the frantic beating of my heart. I held my breath, almost refusing to breathe out. The elevator rose, each passing floor a heartbeat, a countdown. I stared at my reflection in the polished steel walls. Don't fail them! The woman in the glass smiled back. Starving. Obsessed. Determined. The Queen has reached the final rank.

The doors chimed. Top Floor. Time for checkmate. Dalloway was going down, even if it took me going down with him. I was done playing this game with him, done playing God, done, so done with his bullshit. I stepped forward into the shadows, unsure of what would happen, but I knew in that moment that it would be something irreconcilable. So be it.

The elevator doors slid open with a hiss. The top floor. The air here was different. Thinner. Heavier. Every breath burned my lungs, sharp and cold. The corridor stretched ahead—dark walls gleaming like polished obsidian, reflecting a version of me I didn't recognize. Her green eyes burned with rage. Her lips curled in determination. But her eyes? Her eyes were starving. I hardly recognized myself in all of her rage, her thoughts.

The buzzing under my skin was worse now. A low, constant hum that had crawled into my bones. Every step forward made the noise louder—whispering, taunting. You'll fail them. Just like you failed me. I clenched my fists. My nails—longer now—bit into my palms. I welcomed the pain. It grounded me. Reminded me of why I was here. I could barely contain myself—herself anymore. Who was I? But still… doubt gnawed at me.

What if Bashir was right? What if they planned for this? What if Kyle was right? What if Picard was right? No, NO! It could not be, it would not be, I refused to believe it. I shook the thoughts from my head. No. Stop it, Jackson. No. This was right. This was the only way. Dalloway would answer for Bell. For the sixty million dead. For everything. For every goddamn thing. I will not fail them.

The corridor ended in front of two massive doors—polished black, no markings. His lair. The final rank, the final move—and it was mine to make. My hand hovered over the control panel. It trembled. I forced it still. This was it. The Queen's final move.

Checkmate.

I took a deep breath. The doors slid open. The office was a cavernous expanse of glass and steel. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over San Francisco's skyline, bathed in the dying amber glow of sunset. A sleek black desk dominated the center of the room, perfectly organized. No personal effects. No chaos. No signs of humanity. And there he was.

Admiral Marcus Dalloway. Sitting behind that pristine desk. Calm. Collected. His Starfleet uniform was sharp and immaculate. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his hands folded neatly before him. Smiling. A slow, smug smile that made the buzzing in my head explode into a roar. How dare he sit there so smug! Had he any idea how many people he'd orchestrated the murder of? Did he even care? The rage simmered beneath the surface of my familiar yet alien body, like a slow-cooker.

"Ah," he said smoothly. "Captain Valore. Or should I say... Miss Valore now?"

My hand snapped to my belt, drew my phaser, and pointed it straight at his head. Phaser set to kill. No hesitation. He was dead meat. I had him exactly where I wanted him. The words poured out of my mouth as though they were spoken by someone else. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?!" My voice cracked with fury—loud, raw, animalistic.

The smile never left his face. Dalloway leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered. "Because you won't." His smug attitude made me want to smash his face in and it took every once of strength I had no to do it.

My finger twitched on the trigger. The buzzing was deafening. "Don't test me!" I roared. My hand shook, but the phaser didn't waver.

"Look at you," Dalloway whispered, eyes gleaming. "All this rage. All this... transformation. You think you're different now? Better? This isn't the Queen's Gambit, Captain. This is the King's Game. And you've always been my piece to play."

He smirked and stood up, pacing the area behind his desk casually, frustratingly benign. He continued, "Right from the start, this was always my game. I'm the King, Jackson." His eyes pierced mine as he kept going, adding insult to injury. "Bell? He was a test, a maneuver, a pawn. And the Kalendrans?" His hands waved them away as if they were nothing. The hate and coldness in his voice gave me pause, but just for a moment.

"The Federation… Starfleet… has become too complacent, too weak," he spat. "They are a danger to themselves and the rest of thr galaxy with their 'golier-than-thou attitude, thinking they run every damn thing." His fist cracked against the desk, making me jump. "They know nothing! Section 31 does, though. We know everything. We know for a fact that the Federation cannot withstand another attack. Not after the Borg invasion, the Dominion…" His voice trailed off just for a moment. "This was nothing but a test, Captain. We engineered the dark matter anomalies, with surgical precision. Once we'd destroyed enough star systems and the entire Federation lost faith in Starfleet, we come rushing in."

His voice chilled me with the deadly precision of his words and the confidence with which he said them. Reflexively, my finger twitched on the trigger button. I wanted so badly to end him, right here and now, to wipe that goddamn smirk off his ugly face.

But he continued anyway, "We have the answer to it, the remedy against the dark matter. That's why we've been testing it, burning systems alive with it." He grinned fiercely, turning back to me as he sat back down. "And you, Valore? You played right into my hands. You became exactly who I wanted you to become." He leaned forward, making my face even redder with anger and rage. "You became the one person who thought he could stop me. But we're everywhere." The last line was whispered and absolutely enraged me.

Oh no he did not. He had no idea who he was dealing with at this moment. My pulse thundered. My vision blurred. The buzzing under my skin became a scream. But, he knew. He planned this. Bell. The colony. All of it—You'll fail them. Just like you failed me.

"I'm going to end you," I whispered. My voice didn't sound like my own. "I'm going to pull this trigger and you're going to die, knowing you didn't win." I was so certain I was right, so sure I had the upper hand. Dalloway wouldn't be here much longer, and I couldn't be happier about it.

"You already lost," Dalloway said. His voice was silk, cold silk. "You became the monster the moment you stepped in here. You became me." His smile, self-satisfied, as though he'd thought of everything, sent me into a spiral I knew I'd never recover from.

My hand trembled as I gripped the phaser more tightly, sweat beginning to threaten my hold on it. I jammed it straight in between his eyes with a thunderous look and screamed, "I. Will. END YOU!"

"JACKSON!"

The voice cut through the haze. I blinked. No. No, not now—The doors behind me burst open. This could not be happening right now.

"JACKSON, STOP!"

Kyle. Kyle was here. I didn't turn. My gaze stayed locked on Dalloway. The phaser—still steady. My eyes were cold as ice, but my skin felt as though it were on fire.

"Look at me!" Kyle's voice broke on the last word. "Please. Look at me!" I didn't dare.

I heard footsteps—fast. Then a pause. "I'm right here," Kyle said, softer now. Closer. "You don't have to do this." His voice cut through me like a knife, straight to the heart.

But I did. I had to. My grip tightened on the phaser. My finger hovered over the trigger. I choked out the words, confident that there was no other option. Don't fail them! "He deserves this." My voice cracked. I couldn't look away from Dalloway's smug face. "He deserves to die."

"Maybe he does," Kyle whispered. "But not like this."

Dalloway finally shifted—only slightly. For the first time, I saw it. The smallest flicker of uncertainty. The thrill that ran through me at that actually made me feel a sense of satisfaction, as though I'd finally achieved something, finally broken through the haze and maze of nonsensical bullshit the man had heaped upon me for a month.

Kyle's voice came again—desperate, pleading, startling me out of my euphoric reverie. "If you do this, you become exactly what he wants you to be. A monster. You become him."

Oh, come on, not now. I could not handle this. Would not handle this. Would I? My vision blurred. My hands shook. The thoughts rolled around in my head, smacking every corner of my brain all at once. Sixty million lives. Bell is dead. Dalloway knows why. The buzzing was a scream now. My body vibrated with it. Pull the goddamn trigger.

"Don't—" Kyle's voice cracked. "Don't let him take you too." His voice was pleading, and Kyle's face was contorted with what—fear? Anger? Sorrow? Pain? I didn't—I couldn't…

"You'll fail them, just like you failed me."

"I CAN'T," I screamed, a raw, agonized scream. I wanted to pull that trigger so badly! I wanted to, wanted to end him the way he'd ended sixty million plus other lives. And instead of pulling the trigger—CRACK.

I slammed the butt of the phaser into Dalloway's face, pouring all my pent up anger, rage, guilt, and grief out in that one move. As soon as I did, I stared at Dalloway, somewhat in shock.

He crumpled with a grunt—blood blooming from his brow. His eyes looked at me with such hate that I thought for one second that I might combust on the spot.

I stood there—gasping. Trembling. My hand still clenched around the phaser. Then I let it drop. The weapon clattered against the floor. I leaned down to stare Dalloway straight in his ice-grey eyes. "You're under arrest, asshole," I spat. My voice was hollow.

Dalloway's face crumpled as he lost consciousness on the cold metal floor. It was over. I had won—hadn't I? Why did I feel as though I had, but I hadn't?

I turned—and stumbled, but Kyle was there. Right there. Always there. His arms caught me before I hit the ground. His steadiness comforted me, and in that moment—The dam broke. All of it. The grief, the rage, the guilt, the anger. It was a major flood.

I collapsed against him, shaking violently, sobbing. It was over! I won. But had I really won? What had I nearly done? How close had I come? What would have happened had Kyle not shown up when he did? The buzzing was gone now—replaced by an emptiness so vast it scared me more than the rage ever had. My body, at once both alien and familiar, burned with exhaustion.

Kyle said nothing. He just held me. His arms were strong, steady and safe. I'd forgotten how good he felt against me. His scent filled my nostrils and grounded me in a way I hadn't felt since well before taking command of Mariposa.

"You're here," I whispered between ragged breaths. "You're here." I had to repeat it to make sure this was really happening, was really real.

Kyle's voice was soft and tender as he stroked my hair on the cold floor of Dalloway's office. "Always," Kyle said. "Always."

Dalloway groaned on the floor—bloodied, beaten. Defeated. But I didn't care. For the first time in what felt like forever, I'd let myself break. And Kyle was there to catch me.

The Queen hadn't fallen. But the cost? The cost had been almost everything.

Chapter Thirteen: The Ends do Not Justify the Means

The hum of the Mariposa's engines—steady, familiar. My ready room—pristine, untouched. As though nothing had happened. As though I hadn't almost become a monster. But I had. I had nearly become exactly what I'd set out not to be. Who was I anymore? Would I even be able to look at myself in the mirror anymore? I paused, looking at my reflection in the mirror. For a moment, I was shocked—I still saw her face looking back at me. I blinked, and then the familiar rugged face looked back at me. I patted my body down, just to make sure all my normal parts were back. They were. Thank God.

I leaned against the viewport, watching San Francisco shrink into the distance. The Earth glowed below, all blue and beautiful, as if it hadn't been hiding a Section 31 base in its belly.

Behind me, the doors hissed open. I didn't turn. But I felt them. Kyle. Krell. T'Varis. R'Gore. The cavalry. My crew. My family. The room fell into silence. Heavy. Expectant. Here it comes.

"Jackson." Kyle's voice, sharp as a damn disruptor. No rank. No Captain. Just Jackson. Oh boy.

I turned, hands clasped behind my back, face set in my best 'Yes, I almost committed murder but let's keep it professional' expression.

Here goes. "Well," I said with a grin that didn't quite reach my eyes. "I assume you're all here to congratulate me on a job well done."

Krell snorted. Loudly.

T'Varis arched a brow. "Fascinating. An individual who nearly dismantled their entire identity and moral compass now seeks praise. Logic would dictate—"

"Oh, here we go," I muttered. Jesus. I briefly thought about tossing myself out the nearest airlock, but I knew they'd just drag me back in to hear them. And, let's face it, I knew I needed to hear it, deserved to hear it, It could not be any worse that the shit I'd told myself already.

T'Varis continued as though she'd never paused. "That we collectively read you the riot act," she finished.

Kyle stepped forward, arms crossed, fire in his eyes. "You almost killed him, Jackson. You almost became him."

The room went dead silent. I held his gaze. "But I didn't." I hadn't. I hadn't let him destroy me. Right? The man was behind force fields now, for the rest of his life. Sixty million lives bought him an eternity of imprisonment. But it didn't make me feel any less shitty.

Kyle laughed. Bitter. Frustrated. "Oh, you didn't? Right—just took a swing with a phaser and nearly lost your damn mind. That's restraint now?"

"Tactically speaking," R'Gore interjected, leaning casually against the wall with that smug Romulan smirk, "it was a bold final move. Admirably violent. I was impressed."

I bit back a snicker.

"R'Gore, you are not helping." Kyle glared.

"I wasn't trying to."

Krell folded his arms. "I'm still stuck on the part where you waltzed into a Section 31 base alone, surgically altered, phaser set to kill—kill, Jackson—without backup. Do you know what I went through patching you up the first time?"

I sighed, sinking into my chair. "Let me guess: 'reckless,' 'irresponsible,' 'unacceptable for a Starfleet captain'—I've heard this song before."

"No," Krell said flatly. "Stupid."

I blinked. "Oh." Well, I wasn't expecting that level of calling-out. I suppose I deserved it, though. I had certainly put them all through a wringer, and now it was time for my reckoning. I'd take it like a good boy.

T'Varis nodded. "Agreed. Illogical and profoundly stupid." Her eyes were laser sharp as she searched my face.

"Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it!" Kyle exploded, pacing now. "We thought you were dead! And if you weren't dead, we thought—no, we knew—you wouldn't come back from that choice. You would've been gone—the Jackson Valore we knew, gone." His voice cracked on that last word.

And I felt it, right in the chest. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it sat there, heavy as a Tarkalian cat. Why were they all focused on what I did, rather than what I had not done?

"I didn't pull the trigger," I said softly.

Kyle froze mid-pace. Turned. "Because I stopped you."

Partly true. "No." I shook my head, forcing the grin back on. "Because I chose not to."

Silence. Then—

"Oh, for Christ's sake—" Krell threw his hands up.

"Gods spare me," T'Varis muttered.

R'Gore laughed—low, sharp. "Captain Valore, ever the performer."

But Kyle was having none of it. He stepped closer. "Don't do that."

My grin faded. "Do what?"

"That." His gaze softened, all that fire simmering into something worse. Concern. "Pretend you didn't almost break. You can't laugh this one off. Not this time."

I looked away. Back at the stars. Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe they all were. The Queen hadn't fallen. But the cost? Almost everything.

Kyle reached for me—hesitated—then let his hand fall. "Jackson… you scared the hell out of me." His voice was laced with pain and his bright eyes looked at me with a mix of understanding and hurt.

That did it. The words hit harder than Dalloway's smugness ever had. I scared him. I scared the only person who'd ever loved me, flaws and all. And I had done everything I could to push him away; yet here he still was.

"Good," I tried to joke, but my voice came out cracked. "Keeps you on your toes."

"Jackson."

I couldn't look at him. Not yet.

Krell broke the tension with a sharp clap of his hands. "Alright. Enough brooding. Valore, sit. The entire senior staff is here to roast you, and I, for one, intend to enjoy it."

I sank into the chair behind my desk. The others followed suit—Kyle beside me, Krell and T'Varis across the table, R'Gore lounging near the corner like a damn cat who owned the place.

"Well," I said, steepling my fingers. "Proceed." I steeled myself for the verbal lashing.

Krell leaned forward, like he was a father scolding a son. "You don't get points for stopping yourself at the brink of becoming a murderer, Jackson."

"I was hoping for a medal," I quipped.

"I'll give you one." R'Gore's lips twitched. "The Romulan Medal of Sheer Audacity."

Kyle glared at him. "Not helping."

"Still not trying to."

T'Varis gave a long, steady look. "Captain. Your strategy, while effective, placed you at significant psychological and physical risk. We are relieved you succeeded. But—" she leaned forward, voice softer—"we would have preferred you not destroy yourself in the process."

Oh thank God...Relieved. Not angry. Not only angry. Relieved.

R'Gore shrugged. "Frankly, I'm still impressed. Walking into the lion's den in disguise? Cutting Dalloway down without pulling the trigger? Ruthless and poetic. Very Romulan."

"Oh, stop flattering him—" Krell snapped.

"She," R'Gore corrected smoothly. "At the time."

The room quieted. I glanced away, fingers tapping the desk. Was it over? Was that it?

Kyle shifted beside me. "How are you feeling?"

A loaded question. I considered lying or deflecting, but the buzzing wasn't there anymore. The rage wasn't clawing at my insides. And the Queen? The Queen had made the final move—and checkmated the king.

"Tired," I said finally. "But... clearer." I felt free, finally. I felt as though, despite the knowledge of what I'd done, that I'd managed to come through it on the other side, relatively unscathed.

Kyle exhaled, leaning back. "Good."

The others didn't press, and bless them for that.A long pause stretched. Then—

"So…" Krell said, eyes narrowing mischievously. "What exactly was the plan if Dalloway hadn't cracked? Kill him and hope for the best?"

I gave a slow grin—this one finally reaching my eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Kyle groaned. "Unbelievable."

R'Gore chuckled. "Magnificent."

T'Varis sighed. "Illogical."

Krell rolled his eyes. "Insane."

"Effective," I said simply. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime—I meant it.

The hum of Starfleet Command's main chamber wasn't comforting. It wasn't the steady rhythm of Mariposa's engines, familiar and grounding. No, this hum was sharp. Cold. Clinical. The kind that whispered watch your step.

The massive chamber loomed ahead with its polished duranium walls, Starfleet banners hanging like reminders of duty, of sacrifice. And at the center, standing with the poise of a man who knew exactly how much weight his words carried, was Admiral Aaron Renault.

I had expected someone older. Grayer. Wiser, maybe. But Renault? Trim, young, Trill markings trailing elegantly down his temples and neck. The man was confidence embodied. Too confident, maybe. The kind of confidence that came from lifetimes of experience. Literally. Joined, I'd heard. And that meant he carried more ghosts than most. But so did I, now; especially now.

He watched me approach with a gaze that could slice through duranium plating. Sharp. Calculated. Dangerous. But not unkind.

I was nervous as hell, but I kept my posture straight, shoulders squared, and my hands clasped behind my back. My reflection in the polished floor glared back at me—green eyes steady, jaw set. The woman I'd been just days ago wasn't there anymore. Only me. Jackson Valore. Or what was left of him. I didn't fail them.

Renault didn't speak right away. His eyes flickered briefly to my crew, standing just behind me—Kyle, Krell, T'Varis, R'Gore. My cavalry—my family. Their uniforms were crisp, and faces unreadable. But I knew them, I felt them behind me.

Renault's lips finally curved. Not into a smile. Into a line. Oh crap. I knew I was in for it. I briefly wondered if I'd have a command after this conversation. I had broken so many regulations.

"Captain Valore," he said. His voice was low, calm. Too calm. "I don't know whether to throw you in a brig or write you into the history books." His gaze pierced right through me, the knowing gaze of someone who has seen far more than I ever will.

My throat tightened. Oh God…

He stepped forward. Slowly, deliberately, each step echoing like a drumbeat, matching my frantically beating heart. Here we go.

"You disobeyed direct orders. You endangered yourself, your crew, and the integrity of this entire fleet."

"Yes, sir." I kept my gaze locked on his. My face blank. I'd prepared for this. I deserved this. I deserved a whole lot right now.

Renault circled me like a hawk. "You infiltrated a classified Section 31 facility—alone. Surgically altered. Phaser set to kill." His voice sharpened on the last word.

I flinched, just slightly. But he saw it. I knew he did. "Yes, sir."

"Do you know how many captains wouldn't have come back from that?" Renault stopped just in front of me, his face was mere inches away. "Do you know how close you came to becoming a footnote in Starfleet's darkest pages?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." Oh, did I ever. I was the one who lived it. Now, thanks to my reckless, rash actions, I'd have to face my reckoning.

"Do you?" His voice was quieter now, colder. "Because I don't think you do."

I said nothing. What else was there to say? It's not like I could deny anything, fix anything with my words; silver-tongued as I was. For a long moment, the room was still. The silence weighed on me, heavier than the gravity beneath my boots.

Then—Renault smiled. A real one this time. "Good."

I blinked. What? What the hell was he saying? Good? What was good about any of this?

Renault stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back. "Because if you didn't know just how close you came, Captain, I would have to throw you in a brig."

The tension in my chest loosened—just a fraction.

He turned slightly, addressing the entire room. "But you do. You came back, and you didn't pull the trigger."

I stiffened. My crew did too. I could feel every single one of them staring at me, a mix of pride and confusion.

Renault's eyes softened. "You didn't become him."

The buzzing that had haunted me for days—it wasn't there. Not fully. But I felt a shadow of it. The echo of a decision I'd almost made. I didn't fail you, Will.

"You stepped into the abyss, Captain Valore. And you walked out again."

I opened my mouth—then closed it. What could I say? I hadn't walked out unscathed. The abyss had left its mark. It had left a deep one, scars that would forever haunt my waking—and sleeping—hours. I had a long road to recovery, emotionally, and I knew that. But I was ready for it. I was ready to try and put these demons down, maybe once and for all. The Queen has risen and the King is dead.

Renault looked at my crew now. "And you—" His eyes swept over Kyle, Krell, T'Varis, and R'Gore. "—stood by him. Held him steady."

Kyle's gaze flicked to mine. Brief, soft. I looked away. I owed Kyle a great debt of gratitude. He had done more for me than I had even been able to give myself. That meant something—no, everything.

Renault returned his attention to me. "Which brings me to this." He reached to the side, lifting a sleek black case from a nearby pedestal. My breath caught. No. Not this.

He opened it. Inside were several Starfleet commendations.

I took a step back without realizing it. I didn't deserve this. I wasn't ready, I…

"You don't want this?" Renault asked, eyebrow raised. He looked perplexed and somewhat amused. "You know we don't just give these out like candy, Captain."

"I—" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. "I almost became a murderer, sir."

"Almost." Renault's gaze sharpened. "But you didn't." He smiled once again, pushing the box of commendations toward me.

I looked at the commendation. It gleamed under the harsh lights. Mocking me, shaming me, lifting me up. This was almost too much.

Renault lowered his voice. "Starfleet doesn't commend perfection, Captain. We commend bravery. The willingness to step into the dark when no one else will." He paused. "The cost of that bravery is high. We know that. You know that."

The room seemed to close in. My heart pounded. I could still see Dalloway's smug smile. Still hear Kyle's voice—"Don't let him take you too."

Renault held the commendation out to me. "You didn't fall, Captain. You stood back up. That's what counts."

My hand hovered over it. Did it count? Was he sure about that? Was I? The weight of sixty million lives pressed against my shoulders. Dalloway's face. Bell's absence. The buzzing in my bones.

But then—Kyle's steady presence beside me. Krell's dry sarcasm. T'Varis's cold logic masking deep care. R'Gore's relentless loyalty. Family. I took the commendation. It was heavier than I expected. I turned my tearing eyes toward Kyle, T'Varis, R'Gore… I smiled at them and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

Renault smiled. "For bravery in the face of unimaginable odds. For walking into the dark and returning to tell the tale. Captain Jackson Valore and the crew of the USS Mariposa—you are hereby commended."

The room erupted into applause. I stood there—frozen. This should have felt like victory, but it didn't, it felt like a reminder. A reminder of how close I'd come and how far I still had to go. Gods, I still had so far to go. But at least this time, I knew I would not face it alone.

Renault stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "Don't let this be your last mission, Valore. You walked away this time. But the next? The next might break you."

I turned to look at him. "Good thing I've got people who won't let that happen," I said, glancing back at my crew.

Renault's smile softened. "Then maybe you'll be alright after all."

He extended his hand, and I shook it. His hands were firm and steady, and he looked at me with a proud, paternal look. For the first time in days, the buzzing under my skin dulled. I finally felt the chains that had bound me for so long loosening. Thank God.

As the room began to clear, Renault paused at the door. "By the way, Captain… I took the liberty of scheduling your next appointment." He smirked as he said it.

I arched a brow. "Appointment?" What appointment? What was happening?

Renault gave me a knowing smirk. "Starfleet's best counselor. You'll thank me later."

I froze. No, oh no. I knew exactly who he meant. The one person in the quadrant who could pick apart everything I had become—and everything I had almost become. The one person in the quadrant who knew me better than I knew myself. Well, damn. But also, thank God.

Well, I guess it's time. I turned back to the viewport, the Earth now a pale dot behind the Mariposa. The stars stretched endlessly ahead. It reminded me of the future, in a strange way. The stars don't lie, do they? No, they don't. It was a nice reminder of all I had to gain—and a stark reminder of all I had to lose. The Queen had survived the board. But the game? The game was far from over, and I was ready. Or at least—I would be. With a little help.

Chapter Fourteen: The Stars Do Not Cease Their Movement

The door to Mariposa's counseling suite slid open with a hiss. Sterile. Quiet. Too quiet. The room had been redesigned recently—warm lighting, soft chairs, a low hum from the ship's systems thrumming beneath the deck. They probably thought it was soothing, but all it did was make me want to bolt.

I stood at the threshold, arms crossed, weighing the pros and cons of turning around and declaring myself emotionally stable. Which, obviously, I wasn't. But who would dare question the mighty Captain Valore? I could just leave.

I could walk out of here and tell myself that I didn't need this. That I could handle it the way I always had—alone, with enough reckless decisions and overwork to keep the memories at bay. But something in my chest clenched at the thought.

You almost killed him. The buzzing started up again—faint, but present. A ghost of itself. I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away. Not now. Not here. I just needed to breathe, center myself, get through this without breaking something.

"Are you coming in," a familiar voice drawled from inside, "or are you planning to stand there all day thinking of clever escape plans?"

Damn it. Kyle. Of course, it was him.

He lounged in one of the armchairs, impossibly relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. His uniform jacket was draped over the back of the chair, leaving just the black undershirt that—honestly—was a little unfair. He looked good, infuriatingly good. But his green eyes? They weren't playful, not today. Today, they were sharp. Focused.

"I thought I was meeting with the ship's counselor," I said, stepping inside, forcing casual arrogance. "Not my ex-husband."

Kyle gave a slow, deliberate smile. "Renault pulled some strings. Apparently, I'm qualified. Figured you'd be less likely to lie to me."

"Oh," I said flatly. "Well, that's just charming." The string of curses going through my head wasn't repeatable to polite company. The doors hissed shut behind me.

Trapped. The voice echoed sharply in my head before I quenched the thought: You'll fail them, just like you failed me….

Kyle gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."

I shook my head vehemently. "I'm good." I so did not want to do this with Kyle. I didn't want to bare my entire soul to the one person who could rip it to shreds. But I couldn't deny the knowledge that I had come close. Too close.

"Jackson."

Damn the way he said my name. Like a warning. Like a promise.

I sighed and dropped into the seat with all the grace of a brick. Slouching immediately, legs stretched out, arms folded across my chest. I looked like a child throwing a tantrum. "Happy?" I quipped, waggling my eyebrows for effect.

"No," Kyle said, leaning forward. "But we'll get there." The room fell silent.

My gaze drifted to the stars streaking past the viewport. Mariposa was back at warp. The mission was over, Dalloway was locked away, and I was sitting here, pretending like everything was fine. But it wasn't fine. Kyle knew it, and damn him, he always knew.

I could never keep secrets from him; he was too good at reading me. What was it he'd said to me once? You can never bullshit a bullshitter, Jackson. "So," I said, breaking the silence. "Are we going to get all touchy-feely now? Talk about my feelings?" I waggled my fingers for emphasis. "Should I cry a little for dramatic effect?"

Kyle didn't even blink. "You almost became a murderer."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The air in my lungs turned cold. I suddenly felt nauseous. There was no warm-up, no gentle prodding, just straight for the jugular.

I opened my mouth to fire back some sarcastic remark, but nothing came out. For the first time in a long time, I couldn't think of anything witty to say. I couldn't fall back on my usual sarcasm mask. I had to face the truth, even if I didn't want to.

Kyle's eyes were locked on me, waiting.

The buzzing roared back to life. Dalloway's smug smile. The phaser in my hand. The impossible ease of it, how it would have taken nothing to pull that trigger. My fingers twitched, and suddenly I was aware of how tightly I was clenching my hands, how my knuckles were aching from it. It took every once of strength to release my fists.

I forced a grin that felt brittle. "Wow," I said, voice too light. "No foreplay, huh? Always appreciated that about you."

Kyle didn't move. "Stop deflecting." His voice was low. Dangerous. And damn it, it worked.

The grin slipped from my face. He meant business. I was done for.

Kyle leaned in, elbows on his knees, his gaze pinning me to the chair. "You almost killed him. You had the phaser pointed at his head. I saw you. You wanted to pull that trigger."

"I didn't, though." The words came out sharper than I intended.

Kyle shook his head. "But you wanted to."

I flinched. My breath hitched, the weight of that truth pressing down on my chest. I carried this burden with me now, carried it everywhere. I knew I'd have to let go of the anger, but damned if it still felt good. But, I had to force myself to say the words I didn't want to say. My breath hitched as I took a deep breath and let one single tear roll down my face as I whispered, "I don't know what scares me more—the fact that I wanted to pull the trigger… or how easy it would've been." I hated saying it out loud. I hated that it was true.

Kyle was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "But you didn't."

I swallowed hard. "Because you stopped me."

"No," he said. "You stopped yourself. I just reminded you who you were."

I let out a shaky breath. "And who's that?" I hoped he knew. Because I sure as hell didn't.

Kyle's gaze softened, but only slightly. "The same stubborn bastard I married. The same one who sacrificed everything for command. The same one who's been carrying guilt like it's part of his uniform."

I blinked. My mouth opened to let out a usual sarcastic mark, but all that came out were two words I'd never thought I'd hear out of my mouth: "…I'm scared."

There. I said it. The big admission. The one I'd been choking on.

Kyle smiled, small and real. "Finally."

I scowled. "Don't get cocky."

"You're literally the cockiest person in this room, Jackson. And there's only two of us."

A snort escaped me before I could stop it. Kyle grinned. Victory.

"But seriously," I said, voice dropping. "How do I come back from this?"

Kyle's smile faded, replaced by something gentler. "One day at a time. One session at a time. You talk. You work through it. And you let people—me—help you."

I stared at him. "You volunteering for this? Therapy duty? Not exactly glamorous."

Kyle leaned forward, so close I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "I don't care about glamorous." His voice softened. "I care about you."

The words hung between us, heavy and real. This was almost too much. Did he know that I still adored him? Did he know that if I had to do things all over again, that… I looked away again, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "…You know," I muttered, "this would be a lot easier if you weren't still attractive as hell."

Kyle barked a laugh. "Jackson—"

"I'm just saying. It's distracting. Professional environment and all." I smirked at him, a little of the color coming back into my face as I wiped away the tears that threatened to consume me.

"Oh my God." Kyle shook his head, but he was smiling. And for the first time in weeks, so was I. And for once—finally—there was no buzzing, no shadows. Just me. "Alright," I said, standing abruptly. "Session's over. I'm declaring myself emotionally stable."

Kyle gave me that look. "Sit. Back. Down."

Damn. "…Okay, but you can't blame me for trying." I grinned as I sat back down, the room feeling lighter.

Kyle smirked. "Slow-burn recovery for a slow-burn romance, huh?"

I froze. Oh no. He knew. Another string of unrepeatable curses rang through my head.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "What? You think I didn't notice?"

I pointed a finger at him. Narrowed my eyes. "You shut your mouth right now."

Kyle laughed. "Not a chance."

The path ahead was long. Painful. But for the first time, I believed I could walk it. With Kyle beside me.

Always.

Stellar Cartography was quiet, save for the soft hum of the holoprojectors and the occasional beeping from Lieutenant Rocking's console as she sifted through the data. The massive, domed ceiling projected the latest star charts in real-time, rendering the galaxy in a stunning tapestry of shifting constellations and pulsing nebulae. But tonight, the usual beauty of the stars felt… wrong.

Commander Nina Mel'Th'eeve stepped inside, the doors hissing shut behind her. She spotted Rocking immediately. She was standing in front of the primary console, arms folded tightly across her chest, her hair flickering between deep, somber blue and streaks of analytical silver. Her luminous, translucent skin seemed paler than usual under the soft glow of the displays. A deep crease furrowed between her brows, amplifying her Elaysian-Human mixed heritage as she stared at the holographic representation of what had once been the Kalendran system.

Or rather, what was left of it. Nina inhaled slowly, steeling herself before stepping forward. "You're still here?"

Rocking startled, her fingers twitching at the unexpected voice. She turned, her hair shifting to a startled orange before settling back into muted navy. "I—" She hesitated, glancing back at the projection. "I couldn't sleep."

Mel'Th'eeve stepped beside her, following her gaze. The remnants of Kalendra IV hung in space like a ragged cloud of debris, glowing faintly with the residual energy of its violent demise. The once-thriving colony, now reduced to nothing more than scattered atoms and ghostly radiation. And all because of one man's arrogance.

Mel'Th'eeve exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Me neither."

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. They were both standing in the wreckage of what could have been so much worse. The data sprawled across the interface in front of Rocking—gravitational shifts, dark matter residue, energy dispersal maps. The scale of it was staggering.

Rocking reached out, dragging a fingertip along the glowing strands of the holographic map. "The rate of decay is still accelerating." Her voice was quiet, but tightly controlled. "The gravitational field fluctuations from the dark matter weapon are disrupting subspace in ways I can't fully quantify yet. If Dalloway had succeeded—"

Nina didn't let her finish that thought. "But he didn't."

Rocking let out a sharp, shaky breath. "He almost did." Her hair flashed with an anxious swirl of indigo and ember-red before settling back to a dull, stormy blue. "Jackson's report says the Kalendran system was just the beginning. They had at least three other systems lined up for similar tests. Three entire civilizations that would have been wiped out. And the worst part?" She gestured to the fluctuating data streams, her voice tight. "We still don't know how deep this goes. How many of these anomalies are still out there, ready to collapse at any second? How many more lives are at risk?"

Mel'Th'eeve let out a slow breath, her Bajoran earring glinting in the low light as she folded her arms across her chest. "That's why we're here." Her voice was soft and pensive.

Rocking looked at her, skeptical. "To make sense of the madness?"

Mel'Th'eeve shook her head. "To make sure no one ever does this again."

Rocking pressed her lips together, but she nodded. Her eyes flicked back to the map, tracing the outlines of the destruction. "The residual dark matter is still active in some sectors. I ran a new analysis of the subspace ripples earlier—there's evidence of energy distortions stretching beyond the blast radius."

Nina frowned. "How far?"

Rocking tapped a command into the interface, and the hologram shifted. Waves of residual energy bloomed outward from the wreckage of Kalendra IV, reaching toward neighboring systems like unseen fingers grasping at the stars. They vaguely reminded both women of the way Kalendra IV's star had fluctuated wildly when they first entered the Kalendran system.

It was almost enough to make Mel'Th'eeve vomit. She fought back nausea as her stomach turned. "That's a hell of a range."

Rocking nodded grimly. "If it reaches a threshold point, it could cause spontaneous subspace ruptures. We could be looking at potential corridor destabilization—possibly even a cascade effect in nearby systems."

Mel'Th'eeve's jaw tightened. "If the nearby systems get caught in that—"

"It won't be just them." Rocking swallowed hard. "If my calculations are right… this could affect the entire quadrant." Both women shared a hard, terrified look. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the stellar projection, the soft flickering of stars in motion. The weight of what they had just survived—the narrow margin between survival and catastrophe—settled over them like a suffocating fog.

Then, Rocking exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face. "Stars, I hate this."

Mel'Th'eeve's mouth quirked into a humorless smile. "Tell me about it." She sighed, "If it hadn't been for the Prophets, the Kalendrans might have been totally eradicated." The words hung heavily in the air between them.

Rocking turned to face her fully. "And Jackson—" She hesitated, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to say it out loud. "He's back, but… he's different."

Mel'Th'eeve's expression softened. "He's been through hell."

Rocking's hair shifted to a muted lilac—a sign of uncertainty. "Do you think he's okay?"

Mel'Th'eeve thought back to the way Jackson had looked when he stepped onto the bridge earlier that day—lighter, but not untouched. Like a man who had climbed out of a pit and was still feeling the weight of it on his shoulders. The fire in his eyes was still there, but now it burned with something quieter. She hated that for him. "He's alive," Nina said carefully. "And he didn't let Dalloway win."

Rocking let out a shaky breath. "I was terrified when he left for that base." Her voice cracked slightly, and she shook her head. "I knew it was a trap. We all did. And yet… he still walked in there. Alone. Willing to throw himself away to stop them." Her silver-blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears of relief and pain.

Mel'Th'eeve placed a reassuring hand on Rocking's shoulder, squeezing gently. "That's who he is."

Rocking looked down, her hair shifting between hues of deep violet and thoughtful gold. "I just… I don't want to see him do that again. I don't want to see him become something he's not just to fight a battle that no one person can win." Her breath hitched, hands curling into fists at her sides, like she was trying to hold something back. Like if she let it out, it might break her.

Mel'Th'eeve smiled, small but certain. "Then we remind him who he is. And we make sure he never fights alone."

Rocking looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. The colors in her hair settled—steady gold, edged with steel-blue resolve.

They turned back to the projection, not to the broken system they couldn't save—but to the millions of lives they had. The damage was done, but the fight wasn't over.

Mel'Th'eeve exhaled, placing her hands on her hips. "Alright. Show me what you've got. If we're going to track the remaining anomalies, we need to figure out where they're weakest."

Rocking brightened, her expression shifting into something far more familiar—determination, purpose. "I was thinking the same thing. I have a few theories on how to neutralize the remaining subspace distortions before they spread." Her hair flashed a silver-green color—triumph.

Mel'Th'eeve smirked. "That's what I like to hear." The two women stood side by side, staring at the projection of the ruined system—not as something to mourn, but as something to prevent. The scars of the past would never fade, but maybe—just maybe—they could stop them from multiplying. And maybe, just maybe, they could keep Jackson Valore from losing himself in the fight. Together, they got to work.

Counselor Kyle Valore had a way of making his office feel like a battleground. Not in the obvious sense—there were no raised voices, no heated arguments, no dramatic confrontations. No, Kyle was too good for that. His battlefield was subtler. More refined. He let silence do the heavy lifting. Let his smirks disarm. Let his casual posture lull people into thinking they weren't being carefully unraveled under his watchful green eyes.

And it worked. Most of the time. But tonight, Doctor Krell Bosett wasn't having it. Bosett sat across from Kyle, arms folded over his broad chest, his dark Betazoid eyes utterly unreadable. His posture was a contrast to Kyle's deliberate nonchalance—where Kyle lounged with one ankle perched on the opposite knee, his fingers idly spinning a stylus between them, Bosett sat rigidly upright, his expression somewhere between unimpressed and I will drag you through this if I must.

The silence had stretched just long enough for Kyle to start thinking he was the one in control. Then Bosett spoke. "You're in love with him."

Kyle's grip on the stylus faltered for half a second before he recovered, catching it smoothly and twirling it again as if Bosett hadn't just fired a photon torpedo directly at his chest. His expression remained neutral, but Bosett saw the slight tension in his jaw. Kyle was absolutely sure he didn't want to hear any of this. Maybe if he pretended that Bosett wasn't there it wouldn't be real.

Kyle sighed dramatically. "Well, if we're skipping foreplay, I'd at least appreciate a drink first."

Bosett did not smile, not even a flicker. Damn him.

Kyle dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Look, if this is some kind of intervention—" His voice came out more strained than he'd intended.

"It's not," Bosett interrupted, voice calm. "It's a statement of fact."

Kyle exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You're direct. I'll give you that."

Bosett smirked. "I don't have the patience for your evasions tonight."

"Evasions?" Kyle raised an eyebrow, adopting a look of mild, feigned confusion. "Now, why would I—"

"Because you think if you ignore it long enough, it'll stop being true." Bosett's words, while accurate as a laser scalpel, still hurt. And it cut through Kyle's veneer like a piece of whale blubber.

Kyle's lips parted slightly, but he caught himself before he could give anything away. Instead, he leaned back and forced a smirk. "You really should charge for this level of insight, Doc. You trying to take my job from me?"

Bosett didn't blink. "You still love him."

Kyle let out a slow, measured breath. "Jackson is…" He hesitated, as if trying to pick the least incriminating words. "Jackson is complicated." Ky;e swallowed hard and looked down, studiously avoiding Bosett's unflinching gaze.

Bosett's eyes didn't waver. "You didn't deny it."

Kyle pressed his lips together, exasperated. "You are relentless, aren't you?"

"I have to be."

Kyle sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Alright. Fine. Yes. Of course, I still love him." His voice was quieter now, his usual bravado tempered by something closer to exhaustion. "But what difference does it make? We've been divorced for four years, Bosett. Four." The words hurt him, more than he wanted to admit. The man he'd married left him. Chose command over him. Like a goddamn starship was more important than him

Bosett tilted his head slightly. "Then why haven't you moved on?"

Kyle let out a huff of laughter, but there was no humor in it. "You think I haven't?"

Bosett arched a single, perfectly unimpressed eyebrow.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. Maybe I haven't had the grand romance since then, but I've—"

"Flirted," Bosett supplied. "Dated. Slept around, maybe." There was no accusation in his voice, only that calm statement of certainty that made Kyle want to rip the smug look off the Betazoid's handsome face.

Kyle's smirk was almost smug. "You've been watching me that closely?" His green eyes sparkled with amusement.

Bosett gave a small, amused snort but didn't let him off the hook. "None of it mattered, did it?"

Kyle didn't answer. He didn't want to. Because Bosett was right, none of them had mattered. He'd tried like hell—God knows, he tried. He'd flirted, dated, even slept with other men since Jackson. But none of it mattered to him. None of those men lasted very long because, well simply, they weren't Jackson. They weren't the man who had so completely stolen his heart.

Bosett leaned forward now, mirroring Kyle's earlier posture. "Because, at the end of the day, no one was ever him."

Kyle exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. The man had no shame. He was almost as relentless as a Mother Horta finding rocks.

Bosett continued. "You still orbit each other. You dance around it. Push and pull. But the truth is, you never really left him, Kyle. You just convinced yourself it was easier to pretend you had."

Kyle swallowed hard. He didn't like this. Didn't like feeling pinned in place. He wanted to argue, to throw Bosett off his rhythm, but the man wasn't budging.

"So what?" Kyle said, voice quieter than he meant. "What do you want me to do? Chase him down? Confess my undying love? Plan a damn wedding?"

Bosett's voice remained calm, but firm. "I want you to stop pretending."

Kyle scoffed, shaking his head. "Pretending what?"

Bosett's gaze sharpened. "That you're not terrified."

Kyle froze. He hadn't been expecting that. Not that. Anything but that.

Bosett pressed on. "You're afraid, Kyle. Not of losing him. You already did that once. You survived it. You're afraid of getting him back." Though soft, the words had the intended effect.

Kyle's jaw clenched and his fists curled in his lap, the stylus cracking slightly under his fierce grip. Why did love have to be so…difficult?

Bosett's voice softened. "Because if you let him back in, if you let yourself have him again… then that means admitting you never wanted to lose him in the first place."

Kyle closed his eyes briefly, his grip on the stylus was now so tight his knuckles turned white and he feared the stylus would actually break in half.

Bosett leaned back slightly, giving him space. "Jackson chose command. And you've told yourself for years that it was the right choice. That it was worth the cost." He tilted his head slightly. "So, tell me—was it?"

Kyle didn't answer. Bosett waited. Seconds stretched. The hum of the ship's systems filled the quiet space between them, and for a moment, Kyle let himself feel it. Let himself sit in the raw, uncomfortable truth of it all. Forced himself to really listen to Bosett. Then, finally, he let out a slow breath. "I don't know."

Bosett nodded, as if that was exactly the answer he'd expected.

Kyle let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. "Damn, I hate you."

Bosett smirked, but it was fond. "I know."

Kyle rubbed his hands over his face, then looked back at him. "We stood in front of a Vulcan officiant once and promised forever. And yet, here I am, trying to pretend I don't still believe in that. What am I supposed to do with this, Bosett? He's still him. Still reckless. Still impossible. And I—" He hesitated, voice trailing off into something almost uncertain.

Bosett's expression gentled just slightly. "And you still love him anyway."

Kyle let out a breath, then smiled wryly. "Yeah." He let himself feel that for a moment. It almost surprised him, the force of that knowledge.

Bosett stood, rolling his shoulders. "Then maybe you should stop running from it."

Kyle scoffed. "You're really invested in this, huh?"

Bosett smirked. "I'm invested in the well-being of my captain. And in the man who's been driving himself insane pretending he doesn't care."

Kyle watched him for a long moment. "And you're sure this isn't jealousy?" He knew better but he had to be sure.

Bosett chuckled, shaking his head. "Kyle, if I were interested in Jackson, you'd already know."

Kyle smirked. "Damn. Almost disappointed."

Bosett rolled his eyes. "Get out of your own way, Valore."

Kyle exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he stood. "Easier said than done." And it really was. Jackson wasn't an easy man to appreciate, but damn, he was easy to love.

Bosett clapped him on the shoulder. "That's why I'll be here to remind you."

Kyle let out a laugh, small, but real. "Yeah. I figured." He looked at Bosett gratefully.

Bosett stepped toward the door but hesitated just before it opened. "One more thing."

Kyle arched a brow. "Oh, good. There's more." He tried and failed to roll his eyes.

Bosett smirked. "Next time you see Jackson, try not to make it a game."

Kyle blinked. "What?"

Bosett's smirk widened. "We both know you flirt with him like it's a sport. But if you're serious about this? About him? Stop making it a game."

Kyle swallowed. He knew Bosett was right. Damn him. "…Noted," Kyle murmured.

"Now, go figure out how to tell him." Bosett gave a satisfied nod and left, the doors hissing closed, leaving Kyle alone in his commiseration.

Kyle sat back down with a sigh, staring at the door long after it hissed shut. His fingers drifted, almost unconsciously, to the small, worn case in his desk drawer that contained the pair of Vulcan bonding rings they'd exchanged. He didn't open it. He didn't need to. He already knew what was inside. Stars help him. He was terrified. But so, so in love.

Chapter Fifteen: Mirror Mirror, On the Wall

I sat in my ready room, the hum of the Mariposa's engines a steady vibration beneath my fingertips as I traced the rim of the untouched glass of whiskey sitting next to me. The drink was more for the illusion of control than for actual consumption—something solid to hold onto while I sat behind the desk, trying to stay calm.

I had nearly destroyed myself in the process of finding the truth. I didn't fail you, Will.

I had to let this go, I knew I did. But damn if it weren't hard! I heard the door chime, startling me out of my self-sabotaging reverie. "Come," I called, and the doors whooshed open with a pneumatic hiss.

Commander T'Varis and Doctor Bosett, two entirely different presences, yet both carrying the same weight of judgment—judgment I had earned.

Bosett leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, dark Betazoid eyes locked on me like he could see right through me—which, to be fair, he probably could. T'Varis, as always, stood with perfect Vulcan stillness, hands folded neatly behind her back, her expression betraying nothing. But Jackson knew her well enough by now. The tension in her posture, the fractional tilt of her head—it was all there. The Romulan in her was very upset with me. They were waiting.

I exhaled slowly and spoke with my usual charm and sarcasm, "I assume this isn't a social visit."

T'Varis tilted her head slightly. "That would be a correct assumption."

"You've been putting this off," Bosett added, voice calm but edged with something sharper. "Long enough."

I forced a smirk, but it didn't quite land. "Didn't realize my soul-searching was on a deadline. Should I have filed a report? 'Dear crew, here's how I nearly self-destructed—please find attached the list of questionable decisions I made along the way.'" I chuckled slightly, my cheeks reddening in soft embarrassment.

Bosett's expression didn't waver. "No. But you do owe us an explanation."

My eyes snapped up to his sharply, "For what?"

"For everything," Bosett snapped. "For letting us watch you unravel. For ignoring us when we tried to stop you. For forcing me to cut you open and rewrite your damn DNA so you could sneak into the lion's den without a backup plan."

Oh. That.

"For nearly forcing your senior staff to remove you from command," T'Varis added coolly. "A probability which, I should note, was at 87.4% before your transformation."

Jackson clenched his jaw. "And yet, here I am." I didn't like feeling cornered. I forced myself to see things from their perspective for a moment. Truth was, they had every right to be cautious about my command ability, considering I had done everything in my power to strip that from myself in the pursuit of becoming someone else.

"That is not a defense," T'Varis said. "That is deflection."

Bosett sighed and rubbed his face. "Jackson, look—we're not here to dress you down. We're here because we need to know that the person sitting in that chair is still you. That the man who almost threw himself away isn't the one making decisions for this crew."

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. "I did what had to be done. If I hadn't—"

"You don't get to say that," Bosett cut in, stepping closer. "That's what you tell yourself to keep from feeling the weight of it. But we felt it. We watched you become someone else. And I don't mean the body. I mean you. The Jackson Valore who sat in that chair before all this wouldn't have looked me in the eye and asked me to erase him."

My throat tightened and I didn't look away. He was right, I owed them that much. "I thought I had to."

T'Varis arched an eyebrow. "Had to destroy yourself? Or had to prove something?"

I huffed sharply. "I was already compromised. Section 31—Dalloway—they had a file on me bigger than my damn service record. Every tactic, every weakness, every person I ever cared about cataloged like a damn research study. How the hell was I supposed to fight that? I thought—I thought if I became someone else, I could win. I could beat them without them ever knowing it was me." I swallowed, suddenly not to sure of the logic behind the words. They fell short, even to me. I had been obsessed, not driven pragmatically, and that was the truth of this.

Bosett let out a breath. "And? Did it work?"

My fingers curled around the glass, and I fought the urge to drain its contents. "No." It had only made me more confused.

"Then what did you actually prove?" T'Varis asked. "That you could infiltrate them? That you could resist? Or that you could abandon your own identity so thoroughly that you no longer knew who you were?"

I swallowed hard. I wanted to argue, to throw out some snide remark but I was so goddamn tired. Tired of trying to be mister perfect, tired of trying to figure out who I was anymore. "I had to get that bastard. I had to end it."

"But you didn't," Bosett said softly. "You stopped yourself. You chose to come back. That has to mean something."

I let the words settle. They felt heavier than I'd expected. I couldn't deny that much, but… I had almost killed him. I had a phaser set to kill pointed at the spot between his eyes. I almost became him—a monster.

T'Varis studied me for a long moment. "You believe you lost yourself. I would argue otherwise."

I snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Enlighten me."

"You made a choice to end Dalloway's life, and then you made a choice not to. That, Captain, is not the act of a man lost to himself. That is the act of a man who still possesses control—however precarious." Her words, while controlled, also held an undercurrent of pride.

I exhaled and tried to steady my shaking hand as I set the glass down. "So, what now? You two came here to make sure I'm still me—do I pass your test? Or am I supposed to hand over my pips and let someone more qualified take the chair?" I almost made the words snarky, but honestly, they just came out resignedly.

Bosett shook his head. "We didn't come to take your damn chair, Jackson. We came to make sure you wanted to sit in it."

T'Varis inclined her head. "And to ensure you understand that you are not alone in it."

I stared at them, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. The fear, the anger, the sheer exhaustion of carrying everything by myself for so long. But it didn't have to be that way. I let out a breath. Fine. "Alright," I said, my voice far steadier than I felt. "Message received."

Bosett snorted, "We'll see."

T'Varis clasped her hands behind her back. "I will expect to see you in meditation sessions again."

I rolled my eyes. "Why do I feel like that's not a request?" Not meditation! I would rather face fifty Kyle Valore's than do a Vulcan meditation again.

T'Varis's cool voice rang out, "Because it is not."

Bosett smirked. "And I'll be monitoring your stress levels. If you don't start dealing with this, I will declare you unfit for duty. And don't think for a second I won't follow through."

I sighed dramatically. "You two are insufferable." But God help me, I loved them so much. Without them, I really was nothing but a shell of a Starfleet officer. I reflected on that thought for a moment, realizing that this was exactly what they wanted from me. I needed to stop thinking I had to carry everything alone.

"And yet," T'Varis said, "you tolerate us."

I smirked and huffed a laugh. "Don't push it." The room fell into silence again, but this time, it was different, lighter. I let out a slow breath and leaned back in my chair, the weight of the past few weeks still present—but no longer unbearable.

T'Varis and Bosett turned to leave. At the door, Bosett paused. "Oh, and Jackson?"

Oh boy. "Yeah?"

Bosett smirked. "Next time you decide to self-destruct, do us all a favor and run it by your crew first."

I laughed. "Noted." And for the first time in a long time, I almost believed things were going to be okay.

I sat alone in the mess hall, poking at my dinner like it had personally offended me. The low hum of the ship and the occasional murmur of off-duty crew members filled the space, but it still felt too quiet, too still. I wasn't used to that, not anymore.

I was halfway through forcing myself to eat when I felt it—him. That particular awareness that only came when Kyle Valore was in the vicinity. It was like my body reacted to him before my brain could catch up, a subtle hum under my skin that made me acutely aware of every step he took in my direction. I flushed as I recalled the effects his presence had on me while we'd been married.

"Well, this is a rare sight," came his voice, warm and amused. "Captain Valore actually eating."

I smirked but didn't look up. "Oh, look. My favorite counselor. Here to psychoanalyze my food choices?"

Kyle slid into the seat across from me, setting down a steaming cup of coffee, all confidence and ease, like he belonged there. Like he still belonged there. Damn him. Did he always have to exude that charm and outright sex appeal?

"Just making an observation," he said, smirking, his green eyes doing that irritatingly attractive thing where they sparkled with mischief and something dangerously close to fondness.

I forced myself to focus on my meal, though my stomach had officially decided food was the enemy. He was watching me, I could feel it, and if I met his gaze, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep my thoughts where they needed to be—on anything other than how unfairly good he looked in that uniform. I dared a glance up, noticing how the uniform clung to his muscular body.

Kyle leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. "How are you?" It was disarming enough, but the way he asked it made me question every choice I'd made to leave him; made me question everything.

I clenched my jaw. "Fine." I tried and failed to push down the nervousness. I'd married him before—you'd think I'd be over the nervousness.

His brow lifted. Just the slightest movement, but enough to say, really? We're doing this?

I sighed, setting my fork down. "Okay, fine is a stretch." I leaned back, rubbing the back of my neck. "But I'm here. I'm… trying." I gulped softly, my eyes meeting his gorgeous green ones. I fell into them once more before I could stop myself.

Kyle nodded, his gaze never wavering. "I know." That was the thing about him. He didn't push. He didn't demand. He just was. And it terrified me how much I needed that.

We sat in silence for a moment, the space between us thick with unspoken things. He took a slow sip of his coffee, studying me over the rim. Then, casually—too casually—he said, "You've been avoiding me."

I scoffed, forcing out a laugh. "Avoiding you? Please. I've just been busy." I had been avoiding him. Ever since our first counseling session, where he'd called me out on my feelings for him, I couldn't face him. Couldn't face my feelings for him, more accurately. And I was still in a daze over what all that meant. I was still dealing with my near annihilation of self—I didn't have time for feelings about Kyle.

Kyle's eyebrow arched higher, dangerously high. "You've been avoiding me." His words were pointed—and accurate. I couldn't deny it any longer.

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "God, you're insufferable."

Kyle smirked. "And yet, you tolerate me."

I snorted. "Don't push it." Our eyes met, and we both chuckled softly.

His smirk softened into something gentler. Something that made my chest ache. I hated that even after four years of divorce he could still have this effect on me. You know, the one that made me want to simultaneously slap and kiss him.

Softly, Kyle spoke, "I meant what I said, you know. Back in that session."

My breath caught and my grip tightened on the edge of the table. "Which part?"

Kyle's eyes searched mine, and I hated that I felt exposed under that gaze. "That I care about you. That I'm here."

I swallowed, forcing my gaze downward to my plate, the food now completely unappetizing. I should say something, I wanted to say something, but I didn't trust myself not to let something slip—something dangerous, something irreversible. I hated that he could make me lose control of myself like this. He would always have that effect on me, though. He was the only one who could disarm all my defenses as quickly as I erected them.

Instead, I defaulted to my only reliable defense mechanism. "Well, that's very touching, Counselor Valore," I drawled, forcing a smirk. "You know, if I weren't already emotionally compromised, that confession might've swept me off my feet."

Kyle rolled his eyes but didn't move away. "Right. Because you're so unaffected by me."

The string of curses running through my head left me almost speechless. "Completely," I deadpanned. "In fact, I can barely remember your name."

Kyle leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "That's funny. Because you sure as hell remembered it when you moaned it in your sleep a couple weeks ago."

My eyes shot open wide, and I choked on absolutely nothing. "Excuse me?" Panic, absolute panic settled into my head, heart, and everything in-between.

Kyle took a slow sip of coffee, looking far too pleased with himself. "You heard me." Oh, he was enjoying this, the little shit.

Heat prickled at the back of my neck and I scowled. "First of all, you have no proof of that." Deny, deny, deny.

Kyle tilted his head, as if considering. "Mmm, I don't. But Bosett might."

Oh for the love of the wormhole aliens. I groaned, "I hate you."

Kyle just grinned. "You really don't." Those green eyes held nothing back as they bore straight through me, straight into the heart of who I was—like he always did so effortlessly. The worst part? He was right. Goddamn him.

The teasing faded after a moment, and he studied me again, his expression turning somber. "Jackson…"

The way he said my name made my stomach twist. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I know." He didn't have to say it. I knew what he was asking. I knew what he was offering. And it scared the hell out of me.

So I did what I could. I reached for something I could control. Before I knew what I'd said, the word came out: "Stay."

Kyle blinked, his smirk vanishing. I met his gaze, holding it steady, despite the way my heart was hammering against my ribs. "For dinner. Just dinner."

Kyle's lips quirked, and for a moment, I thought he might push, might tease me just a little further. But instead, he just nodded. "Just dinner," he agreed softly.

I exhaled, and the tension I hadn't even realized I was carrying loosening just a fraction. Kyle wasn't going anywhere. For now, that was enough.

I took a deep breath, stepping onto the bridge of the Mariposa and letting the familiar hum of the ship settle into my bones. It was the first time in what felt like years that I walked in without a storm cloud hanging over me. The viewscreen displayed the expanse of space stretching ahead, a quiet reminder of the universe's indifference to our survival. But today, I didn't feel indifferent.

The senior staff was all here—T'Varis sitting in her chair next to mine, Bosett at his usual post, Kyle standing near the ops console pretending he wasn't keeping an eye on me. And at the front of the bridge stood the two people I'd come here to recognize: Rocking and R'Gore.

I stopped near my chair and let my gaze sweep across my crew, taking in the faces of the people who had stood by me, even when I gave them every reason not to. Shit, I owed them more than I could say. But I had to start somewhere. I was so proud of them.

I cleared my throat. "I know I'm not the easiest captain to serve under."

That got a few smirks. Bosett outright scoffed. Kyle, ever the professional, arched a knowing brow. Even T'Varis—T'Varis—tilted her head as if to say you're just realizing this now?

Damn. "Look, I know I haven't been… at my best these last few weeks," I admitted, forcing myself to hold their gazes, to own it. "I let my emotions drive me. I let my anger, and my grief get the better of me. I snapped at people who didn't deserve it. And I damn sure took risks I shouldn't have." My throat tightened slightly. "I don't expect you to forgive me overnight, and I sure as hell don't expect you to forget. But I do need you to know that I see it now. I see all of you. And I see what you did to save those people."

A beat of silence. The bridge held its breath. Then, I turned toward the two officers who had done the impossible. "Rocking. R'Gore."

Rocking's hair, which had been a cautious shade of deep blue, flickered suddenly into a swirl of oh stars, bright copper and amber. She swallowed, her hands tightening at her sides, but she held my gaze.

R'Gore, ever the disciplined Romulan, betrayed nothing on his face. But I wasn't fooled. I could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists—not in tension, but in restraint. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. He wasn't used to being seen.

"You two did something extraordinary," I said, my voice steady. "The Kalendrans were gone. That dark matter field was tearing them apart molecule by molecule, and we all knew there was no way to break them free. And yet—" I let a small, proud smile slip through. "You figured out a way."

Rocking's hair deepened into a shimmering gold. She was beaming, trying to keep her composure, but failing spectacularly. "It was… well, it was just a theory at first, Captain," she said, her voice shaking slightly but exuberantly. "We weren't even sure the plasma charge would destabilize the field enough to create an opening, let alone sustain it for evacuation."

"And yet," I repeated, "it did. Because of you."

I turned to R'Gore, who looked so completely Romulan in that moment, I nearly laughed. His expression was schooled into perfect neutrality, his hands still behind his back. But I saw the tiny flicker of his pulse at his throat, the way his ears twitched just slightly at the attention.

"You made the call," I said to him. "You could've waited. You could've hesitated. But you didn't. You executed the plasma sweep with perfect precision. And because of that, we got 400 people off that planet. It wasn't 60 million, but it was 400 more than we would've saved otherwise. And I'll tell you right now—if I were one of those people, I wouldn't care about the odds. I'd just be grateful for the people who refused to give up."

R'Gore finally moved. Just a fraction. His fingers flexed against the back of his hand, his throat bobbing slightly as he swallowed. "It was… logical," he said, the words clipped, careful. But there was something else beneath them. He looked almost green with pride.

"It was brilliant," I corrected. Silence stretched between us. And then, to my utter shock, R'Gore's lips parted slightly—barely there, barely anything at all. But I swore it was almost… a smile.

Rocking, meanwhile, was practically vibrating in place. Her hair flashed a bright, nearly scandalous shade of pink before she steadied herself. "Captain, I—" she hesitated, then straightened. "I just want to say, it wasn't just us. It was everyone. Nina, Merth, Marcus—everyone was a part of this."

I nodded. "You're right. And I'll be making sure every single one of them knows how damn proud I am." I turned to the rest of the bridge, letting my gaze settle on each and every one of them. "You're all the reason we pulled this off. And I will never forget that."

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes, and for a moment, no one said anything. And then Bosett clapped his hands together. "Well," he said, smirking. "That was almost touching."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "He means that sincerely."

Bosett nodded and huffed. "Of course I do."

T'Varis, ever the voice of reason, clasped her hands on her lap. "It is reassuring to see you are regaining clarity, Captain. Your recognition of your crew's contributions is—commendable."

Well, I wasn't out of the doghouse yet. "I'll take it," I muttered, crossing my arms.

Rocking was still standing there, hands clenched at her sides, eyes suspiciously bright. "Can we hug?" she blurted, then immediately flushed as her hair exploded into a swirl of pink and silver. "I mean—! I just thought—!... Never mind, bad idea, I take it back."

I blinked and the bridge erupted into laughter.

Even R'Gore exhaled sharply—Romulan for laughing, I was sure of it. Romulans never laughed—something they inherited from their Vulcan cousins; I was certain of it.

I sighed dramatically. "Fine. But this is a one-time deal."

Rocking's hair turned the brightest gold I'd ever seen before she launched herself forward and hugged me, nearly knocking me off my feet. The crew cheered. I groaned. Kyle smirked at me like he was memorizing this moment for later mockery. And, for the first time in a long, long while… I let myself enjoy it.

The stars never ceased their motion, and now, neither would I. I would always be looking up to those who would sustain me in the good times, and the times I didn't deserve it. They were my family. My home.

Always.

FINIS