EPISODE 5: "THE GOOD DON'T LAST"

Written By Alex Matthews

Created by Jonathan Crosby-Bromley 
and Alex Matthews

Based on 'Star Trek' 
created by Gene Roddenberry

“Star Trek and all related marks, logos and characters are solely owned by CBS Studios Inc. This fan fiction is not endorsed by, sponsored by, nor affiliated with CBS, Paramount Pictures, or any other Star Trek franchise, and is a non-commercial fan-made film intended for recreational use.  No commercial exhibition or distribution is permitted. No alleged independent rights will be asserted against CBS or Paramount Pictures.”

Copyright (c) 2020

Produced by Sojournerverse Productions

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CAST

Vicky McClure as Lieutenant Daniela Reese
with
Marcia Cross as Captain Helena Tel
Steven R. McQueen as Commander Solan
Indira Varma as Commander (Dr.) Maggie Campbell
Hannah John-Kamen as Lieutenant Mitchell Hanover
Kit Harrington as Lieutenant Eitan Dayan
Freddie Fox as Olishnavar ‘Oli’ th'Dane
and
Michael Fassbinder as Commander Xerxises Cinaran 

GUEST CAST

Joshua Shea as Charlie Cinaran
Sendhil Ramamurthy as Michael Hassani
Nicole Kang as Ensign Min-Cho Ye
Paige Hurd as Lieutenant Tabitha Clarke

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The silence on the bridge of the Starship Antares hung heavily over the entire crew present. But none felt it more oppressively then the refitted Miranda-class starship's commanding officer. 
I left them both behind... I abandoned them.
On the face of the problem that she was currently wrestling with, Captain Helena Tel knew she had done the only thing she could. Taken the only available option, in order to safeguard the rest of the crew. Right now, the ship's small Sickbay was filled to capacity, the injured being tended to by the interns and cadets assigned to work with Dr. Maggie Campbell and her minimal staff. 
But knowing that did nothing to settle the sick feeling in the pit of Tel's stomach. 
Lieutenant Eitan Dayan, her helmsman, turned to look at her, trying his best to keep his face stoic and calm, as he reported, "No sign of pursuit, Captain."
She nodded briskly. Let's be thankful for small mercies, I guess. It seems the young officer's belief that the Antares would be able to outrun the attacking unknown aliens that had engaged them had been correct. 
She looked to her right as her operations officer, Ensign Min-Cho Ye, spoke up, "Damage control teams are doing what they can, Captain, but they report that some of our repairs may need a starbase to take care of them properly."
Tel grimaced, "Tell them to do their best, Ensign." She sat a little straighter, trying to project confidence and assurance to her crew, "The priorities right now are the engines and life-support systems."
Ye nodded in acknowledgement, as Tel turned her attention to Lieutenant Tabitha Clarke, sitting at the rear science station, "Bring up the navigation charts for the immediate area, Lieutenant. Find us a place to lay low to make what repairs we can."
"Understood, ma'am," Clarke replied, turning back to her console and engaging in her task with a focus Tel found herself envious of. 
Try as she might, Tel couldn't shake the nagging feeling of guilt that tightened around her heart. She barely knew Solan and Cinaran beyond the scope of their work in refitting the Antares, having made a point to keep a certain professional distance between herself and her crew. But that didn't make what she'd done any less troubling. She knew in her mind that she may have very well signed their death warrants.
But a very small part of her hoped that somehow, they would survive whatever they were facing. 
Whatever her decision had consigned them to...

*           *           *

His head hurt like hell.
As Xerxises Cinaran continued rubbing futilely at his temples to ease the pain of what felt like a Klingon marching band parading across his cerebellum, an after-effect of whatever stun-setting the alien weapon he'd been shot with used, he took stook of his current situation. 
It had been an hour or so since he'd woken up in the cell he currently occupied. His memory was a little fuzzy, but he remembered throwing his tricorder to Daniela, watching as she was beamed away. The horrified look on her face as she realized what he done. 
It had been blind instinct that had made him do it. On some level, he'd realized that the wide-beam transporter would have not just picked up himself and Solan, but also the four alien troops in the close proximity. By throwing his tricorder at Reese, it had meant only one troop had been taken in the beam-up, alongside Reese...
..but leaving Cinaran and Solan at the mercy of their captors. 
The Antares had decent offensive and defensive capabilities, but if the power of the alien ship was anything like that of the attacking troops, the Starfleet ship would not have lasted long at all. The very idea of Antares being destroyed - of all the lives onboard being snuffed out, including that of his beloved Charlie - made Cinaran feel physically ill. But Helena Tel was a survivor, a pragmatist - if it came down to it, she would do her duty to the bulk of her crew. 
If their survival came at the cost of his own life, of Solan's..? Well, Cinaran knew Solan would approve of him embracing the old Vulcan adage: 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one'.
Still, he was alive and well, more or less, and that meant there was hope. 
So, first things first...
Cinaran closed his eyes, reaching deep within, opening his mind, lowering his mental shields as he reached out with the telepathic senses that were his birthright as a proud son of Betazed. He could feel the minds of the unknown aliens around him, throughout the ship. Reaching out and touching the emotions of unfamiliar alien minds was always unnverving, especially without any kind of primer or knowledge of them. But, to his surprise, these aliens minds didn't feel all that strange. In fact, they felt oddly similar to many of the other humanoid races he'd touched over the years.
He supressed his natural curiosity, instead focusing on the way the emotions flowed from the several dozen minds he could 'feel'. Sifting through them, the barest touch on their mental surface, as he sought one in particular. It didn't take very long until he came across what he was searching for. 
The precisely ordered thoughts, the vaguest hint of the emotion under the surface thoughts, repressed by years of training and practice. The telltale clues he had found a Vulcan mind. {Solan? Can yoiu hear me?}
After a few painstaking seconds, Cinaran 'heard' the Vulan commander's calm and placid reply, {Yes, Commander Cinaran. I can indeed.} 
Cinaran finally allowed himself to release the breath he'd been holding. {Oh, thank the Gods! I wasn't sure if this was going to work. Are you okay?}
{I am well, Commander,} Solan replied, pausing before asking, {But are you? I can sense through this link that you are concerned for the safety of your son.}
The Betazoid could have kicked himself. Obviously, he had lowered his mental blocks a little too much, if Solan could feel that nagging worry in the back of his mind. But Solan's next statement caught him even more off-guard, {I understand your concerns, Mr. Cinaran. I may not be a father myself, but my sister does have children. It is only natural for a parent to be troubled by a situation such as this.}
The words soothed his concerns a little, but not enough, {This was supposed to be a run of the mill training exercise. Something like this shouldn't have happened!}
Through the tentative link, Cinaran could have sworn he felt a twinge of amusement from the Vulcan, {Obviously you have not read of incident involving the original Enterprise and its time as a training vessel for the Academy.} Before Cinaran could quiz him on what that was supposed to mean, Solan continued, {Besides, the cadets and interns aspire to become officers within Starfleet. Unexpected battle is sadly something that they may encounter. At least they have an able tactician in Captain Tel.}
On the cusp of replying with a witty rejoiner, Cinaran paused. He frowned. There was something underneath Solan's words, something he could just about sense, but not distinguish. Something the Vulcan was keeping back, {What's wrong? Are-- are you in pain? Is that what I'm feeling?}
After too long a pause, he finally replied. {I am experiencing some discomfort, yes,} he projected back. Was that a hint of bemusement? {It appears our captors hold some hostility towards members of Vulcanoid species and have taken time to communicate that to me with physical action.} Cinaran could feel him take a moment to compose himself, {I apologise if it is causing any discomfort.}
He's being beaten, and he's apologizing to me?! Cinaran couldn't quite believe it. {Never mind the apologies, Commander! We have to figure out how we're going to get out of here.}
{Escape would be futile, Mr. Cinaran,} Solan's voice remained aggravatingly calm, {We are still trapped onboard an unknown alien vessel with possibly hostile intentions, with a crew that vastly outnumbers us. We should bide our time. For now.} With an added degree of emphasis, he added, {Understood, Commander?}
Cinaran mentally bit his tongue. He knew the Vulcan was right. Even if the thought of doing nothing rankled him rotten. {Yes, sir.}
{Excellent.} There was a slight but weighty pause, {Ah. It appears our captors wish to speak to me once more. I believe they may resort to physical violence again.} 
{What?!} Cinaran fought down his panic and worry, {Have you tried speaking to them?}
{They do not appear to have accepted the truth of what I have tried to explain to them,} Solan replied. {They have also refused to shed their armor. It is as if they do not wish me to see what they truly look like.}
As he was about to offer some banal words of support, Cinaran felt Solan's presence in his mind grow dimmer. {Solan? What are you--?}
{I am severing our mental connection, Mr. Cinaran,} he explained. His 'voice' was fading quickly, {I require all my focus to deal with my current predicament. I also do not wish you to suffer any psychic backlash from the experience.}
{Solan!}
Nothing. The link was gone. Cinaran slowly opened his eyes, staring ahead without seeing. Solan was going to tough it out on his own.
And to his utter despair, Cinaran was utterly helpless to do anything to stop it. 

*           *           *

Daniela Reese watched as Mitchell Hanover pulled away a wall panel to access the off-line ODN circuitry underneath, and began pulling and relocating duotronic nodes in order to divert power to their current location.
She was understandably on edge and anxious. Her best friend had been abandoned in the clutches of hostile aliens, alongside the Antares's first officer. But there was nothing she could do about that now. She'd attended Starfleet Academy's post-graduate Command School, she knew and understood that Tel had made the right choice - the only choice. 
But that didn't mean she had to like it.
Instead, she chose to focus on the problem she had inadvertantly brought onboard the Antares when she'd been beamed up with an armored alien troop. She'd managed to disarm and stun the troop, and he was now being watched by several enlisted security guards as they lay insensate on the deck of the brig.
The Antares may be a science vessel on a training mission, but it was still a Starfleet ship. A brig was a standard (if unfortunate) necessity of any vessel. That said, until the current moment in time, it had been in a stand-by state. Not any longer.
"Got it!" Mitchell cried victoriously, as the circuits she was using a sonic screwdriver on came to life. The display screens on the central monitoring console came to life, displaying a variety of readings from the sensors that were now scanning the occupant. 
The engineer joined Reese at the console, nodding with approval, "Look's like everything is in proper order. Getting a good read from the security scanners." Her grin quickly faded, "Of course, this is power we could really use elsewhere at the minute."
"Can't be helped, Chief," Reese responded plainly. Mitchell grunted with resignation, before making her exit. Leaving Reese to her throughts as the assembled guards kept their eyes warily on the cell. She evaluated the majority of her security personnel since coming aboard, and knew they were each capable. But it made her feel more reassured knowing that a level-8 forcefield was up and running, keeping their 'guest' secure and in place, while he recovered.
Speaking of which... Reese tapped her communicator, "Reese to Sickbay."
[Sickbay. Campbell here.] Campbell hadn't been in the transporter room during her little scuffle with the alient troop, having already taken Oli, her Andorian patient, to be treated. 
Reese grimaced at the odd groans of pain and discomfort that she could hear over the intercom, "How's everything your end, Maggie?"
[Peachy,] came the typical snarky reply, before she audibly sighed with annoyance, [Sorry, just didn't think this cruise would end up with so many people in here. We've got things under control for now, though.]
Reese felt for her - and she felt exactly the same way. Definitely not how she saw this assignment going, "Sorry to call you away from it, but I could do with your opinion of something down to the brig."
[The brig?] Maggie sounded incredulous, [What on Earth do you need me down there for?!]
Reese quickly explained as succintly as she could. She wanted a trained medical eye looking over the scans the brig sensors were now taking of the troop. The more they knew going in, the better they could get a handle on this whole damn situation. The Antares CMO just as quickly agreed to link the Sickbay system with the brig scanners, before signing off. 
She looked over at Chief Petty Officer Dale Olsen, the highest ranking of the troops under her command, essentially her Deputy, "Keep an eye on them. Let me know if or when they wake up."
Olsen nodded, "Got it, L.T."
Reese offered a tired smile in return, but it became a grimace of pain as the events of the last few hours abruptly began to catch up to her. Her whole body hurt. Giving her neck a none-too-subtle crack before stretching out her arms, resisting the urge to moan at the momentary relief it gave her from assorted aches and pains. 
She made her way out of the brig area, out of the security center and into the corridor. All she wanted was a sonic shower to ease sore muscles, but she knew her duty was to report to the bridge first. Captain Tel would want a verbal report from the only member of the bridge crew assigned to the away team who made it back.
Lucky her.
But as she walked towards the nearest turbo-lift station, it opened prematurely. Reese came to an abrupt halt as Charlie Cinaran practically bolted out of it, before skidding to a sudden halt as he became aware of her. "Aunt Danni? Where's Dad?"
She didn't need any kind of special ability to see how close to panic her godson was. It was all across his young, handsome, face. She struggled to find the words to explain. To justify the decision Xerxises had made, putting her safety ahead of his own. What he had said to her with his mind just before the transporter had taken her: Tell Charlie I love him...
Reese could have kicked herself as she saw Charlie grow pale. His eyes widening with horror as he picked up on her thoughts at such close proximity, his own mental shields weakened by his worry and fear. He started to back up, shaking his head in denial, "No... No! You're lying! You're wrong!"
"Charlie, I'm so sorry..." The words felt as hollow as they sounded. She wished she could take them back almost as soon as she had said them. 
Through the tears already forming in his dark eyes, Charlie glared at her with an anger she had never seen in him before. "You-- you just left him?"
Reese felt a lump of guilt in her throat. She shook her head, "That's not what--"
"Don't!" He practically shouted the word at her, pointing at accusatory finger towards her, "Don't you dare! You think you abandoned him! I can hear that's what you think!"
Guilt was replaced by a fierce anger, "That's enough! You may be able to read my thoughts, but you don't know what happened down there." She took a moment, to calm down, her own emotions bouncing around tumultuously. "Your father did what he felt he had to do."
Whatever anger fueled Charlie's rage soon abated, his shoulders sagging, "Why would he leave me? Why would he do that..?"
Before Reese had a chance to even think of a response, Charlie, tears streaming down his cheeks, abruptly bolted off down the corridor, "Charlie, no! Wait!"
It was pointless. The young Betazoid disappeared around the bend in the corridor, the sounds of the running footsteps on the deck fading away to silence. Reese felt her heart sinking deeper into her stomach with a growing hopelessness.
Nice god-parenting form, Danni. Little shakey on the dismount...

*           *           *

The grating sound of hydraulic gears took Cinaran completely by surprise.
It snapped the Betazoid out of the despairing mood he'd been in since Solan had cut off telepathic contact with him. He bolted to his feet, coming into a defensive posture as the forward section of the cell began to slowly rise upwards. 
Through the small transparent section of the bulkead, he saw to of the armored troops outside the cell. He mentally chided himself for not even having noticed their presence. 
As the bulkhead finished its ascent, he backed up a little as one of the troops stepped into the cell. The other held one of their energy rifles at the ready, but Cinaran was pleased to note it wasn't actually aimed at him.
[What are you?] The open curiosity of the simple question caught Cinaran completely off-guard. He started blankly in response for a long moment, before answering, "I'm Commander Xerxises Cinaran, of the Starship Antares. Representing the--"
[No, no.] The troop's agitated voice, rendered genderless and  mechanical by the speaker system, interrupted, [I mean, what are you. You look human, but you're not.]
They know of humans? Cinaran frowned, puzzled, uncertain where this line of questioning was going, "No. I'm from a planet called Betazed. Many light-years away from here. I'm a scientist. Our ship is--"
He was cut off again, much to his growing annoyance, [Why are you working with the green-bloods? Did they conquer your people too?]
Green-bloods? That was what they called Solan back on the planet. He shook his head in growing confusion, "What? No!" This was getting both of them nowhere, "Look, I'm not answering any more questions until you start answering some of mine!" 
Truth be told, Cinaran knew he had no negotiating leverage, not really. If they were willing to beat Solan for answers, there was no reason to believe they wouldn't do the same with him if he refused to cooperate. 
But something about the inquisitiveness he could sense coming from the lead troop gave him some cautious optimism. Perhaps maybe he could turn this disastrous first contact situation around into something more positive. 
He waited anxiously for several seconds, staring at where he hoped the troops eyes were hidden behind their helment. Finally, they nodded. [What do you want to know?]
"First, I want to see Commander Solan," he replied. It was another gamble, he knew, but he had to know how Solan was. "I want to know if he's okay."
[He's alive.] came the bitter reply. Cinaran had to reinforce his mental blocks against the sheer heat of the hate and vitriol he could feel coming from the troop as they spoke, [I can't guarantee he's 'okay'.]
Cinaran bit back his own angry retort. Keep it calm, Xerxises, he reminded himself. "If you let me see him, I will answer any questions you have."
The troop looked over at the other one, [Have the green-blood brought to the wardroom.]
The other troop nodded, moving off to one side and operating the control device mounted on the armor around their wrist. The lead troop gestured towards the room beyond the cell, the hatch that must lead into the rest of the ship, [Come.]
Taking a breath to steel himself, and uttering a silent prayer to the Old Gods of Betazed, Cinaran stepped out of the cell.
Here goes nothing...

*           *           *

The battered and bruised form of the Antares dropped from warp speed, not as graceful as her usual manuevers. Ahead of the vessel is a small, barren-looking moon, almost a cousin to the Moon of Earth, which itself orbits a massive gas giant to rival Saturn.
Slowing down to a relative crawl of one-quarter impulse, the Miranda-class starship slipped into orbit of it's temporary hiding spot...

*           *           *

Captain's Personal Log, stardate 30135.2: We've stopped running for the moment. We're tucked away above the magnetic pole of a class-L moon orbiting a super-Jovian gas giant in an uncharted system 7 light-years from Star System Q-241. 
The crew are going about their tasks with admirable resolve, but they're all feeling the loss of Commanders Solan and Cinaran. I--

"Computer, delete last sentence, and discontinue recording until further notice." 
The desktop terminal in front of Tel beeped wordlessly with acknowledgement. The transcript of the log she was recording was quickly amended to meet her request. The captain of the Antares slapped her hand on the sturdy material of her desk, venting too little of her frustration with the action.
She stood up, feeling the need to be in motion. As she paced, she looked out of her ready room's single viewport. The relatively small moon they orbited didn't have much in the way of a view to behold. Scans showed it could support life for a time, but the massive clouds of carbon dioxide didn't make it very friendly. 
Pretty much like Tel's current mood, in fact. She was in no mood for visitors, but it seemed she was not going to get the solitude she desired. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment before finally responding to the door chime, "Enter."
Her visitor was Lieutenant Dayan. He strode in without any hesitation or second thought, offering her a PADD, "More precise estimates on repairs from Engineering, Captain."
She nodded, taking the PADD, and turning back to the viewport, hoping the young man would get the hint to leave her in peace.
Apparently, he didn't. "I've ordered Ensign Ye keep all non-essential systems at stand-by, so we can have the power to critical systems instead, in case we need to run or fight again any time soon." 
Tel, more then a little surprised as his gung-ho attitude, turned to face him, as he continued, "I've also assigned all non-essential personnel to help with either tending to the injured or assisting with repairs, depending on their skill-set. The duty assignments are included in the report."
Who the Hell does this kid think he is?! Tel narrowed her eyes with annoyance. Pursed her lips for a moment before finally responding, "Those kinds of orders are not your responsibility, Lieutenant."
Dayan maintained a stoic demeanour that would have impressed even Solan, "With respect, ma'am, with you off the bridge, someone had to step up. We are currently down both the First and Second Officers."
Tel momentarily seethed at his presumption, "Watch it, Mister."
The tall London native stood his ground, "I'm only doing what any good command-trained officer should do in this kind of situation, Captain." His stance softened, as he dipped his head in apology, "I don't mean to over-step, though."
Tel's anger quickly burned itself out. She knew the helmsman was right. Neither of them liked the situation for what it was, but a ship needed order and stability in it's command hierarchy. "Of course not," she conceeded, finally looking at the PADD. Despite herself, she was impressed with how he'd organized things. They only needed a little finesse, just to cover all the bases. She look at him, genuinely pleased, "This is good work, Mr. Dayan."
Dayan couldn't suppress the pride in his smile. He's well on his way to making someone a damn good Second Officer, Tel thought to herself, just needs a little bit more seasoning. If we get out of this in one piece,  maybe Robbie D could finally return that favour he owes me...
The door chime signalled again, cutting off her train of thought. She called for whoever it was to come in, pleased to see it was Lieutenant Reese, "How's our guest?"
Straight after dealing with the situation in the transporter room, as they'd jumped to warp, Reese had called up to the bridge to explain what had happened. Not just leaving behind two of their number, but their accidental abduction of one of the attackers. "Secure in the brig, behind a forcefield and under guard," the security chief reported, "Still unconscious, though."
"This individual might be able to answer some questions," Tel muttered, as possible scenarios started to bounce around her brain. "They could be the ones that forced the crash of the Winds of Andoria."
"Dr. Campbell is already going over the data the brig sensors are recording," Reese explained, as she pulled out the tricorder she had in her holster. Tel recognised it as a enhanced scientific model, not the standard one Reese would have been issued for away team duty, "This is Commander Cinaran's tricorder. It has all the scans he took of the wreckage and of the alien weaponry they were firing at us."
Tel felt a surge of optimism for the first time in the last few hours, "Get it to Chief Hanover. Have her analyse the readings. We need to know who the Hell we're dealing with."

*           *           *

Although the interior of the ship had little in the way of markings, Cinaran was getting a pretty good idea of the mindset of his captors. 
There was little in the way of illumination, at least compared to a Federation starship like the Antares. All shadows and indirect lighting. The bulkheads and decking looked unfinished, with exposed conduits and whatever passed for circuitry. In fact, the overall look reminded him of the few Klingon vessels he had visited since the Empire and Federation had begun fostering a more cordial relationship in the last couple of years. 
They also hadn't seen any more of the crew as the two troops escorted Cinaran to their destination. He wasn't sure if it was due to a small crew complement, or if they had been ordered to clear the corridors during the trip. It meant he had no idea just how many people might actually be on-board. 
No idea how many troops he and Solan would have to avoid if they managed to make a break for freedom, no matter how futile the Vulcan believed any effort to be. 
The troop carrying the rifle motioned for Cinaran to stop. He did so, as the other troop, the one who had actually spoken to him, pulled at a manual release lever on the door hatch. Cinaran marveled at the rather low-tech approach, so used to keypads or automatic entry sensors. But you go with what works, I guess.
Once the hatch opened up, he was ushered into the compartment. As soon as he saw who was sat on their knees on the deck, he rushed foward without thinking, "Solan!"
As he dropped to his knees at the unresponsive Vulcan's side, he gave him a brief look over, wincing at what he saw. His face and neck were a patchwork of cuts and bruises, streaked with green blood, his left eye swollen shut. Cinaran glared up fiercely at the lead troop, "Why?! Why did your people treat him like this?"
[He's just a bastard green-blood! Why do you care so much?!] The troop with the rifle stepped forward as they spoke. But the lead troop raised a hand, forestalling their subordinate's move.
[Some of my men decided that perhaps he needed some convincing.] There was no hint of apology in their words, just delivering the facts, [They didn't believe what he had to tell us about your Starfleet and your so-called mission of exploration.]
"But we are explorers!" Cinaran took a breath, reining in his anger and frustration.
The lead troop thrust a quivering finger at Solan, [His people don't explore! They conquer! They destroy! The kill without reason!]
"Look, I don't know where you've got this idea about Vulcans, but they're nothing like that!"
[Vulcans?] He could feel their confusion. It pulled him up short. They don't recognize the name? The next statement clarified that, [Is that what they're called? They never even told us that. We just knew them as death incarnate. Their ships like great eagles of death.]
Eagles... or maybe raptors. The last piece fell into place. "Wait. I think I might be able to explain everything. We're not a threat to you."
The lead troop shook their head, [We did what you asked. You've seen your 'Solan'. Now, you tell us what we want to know.]
Cinaran nodded, slowly getting to his feet, raising his hands peacefully, "Okay, I will..." He frowned, curiosity rearing it's persistent head again, "But maybe you could do me a favour, and remove your helmet? I mean, I would actually like to see into the eyes of the person I'm talking to."
There was a moment of silence. The two troops exchanged a look. Probably conversing on a private comm-link. Cinaran resisted the overpowering urge to 'listen in', as it were, but he could still sense the almost overpowering distrust of the armed troop. Finally, the lead troop turned back to look at him. Reached up and pressed at a particular spot on the armor that covered their neck. 
There was a hushed chirp, followed by a hiss of air, as the helmet portion of the armor begin to retract in on itself. Pulling back into the rest of the armor, revealing--
Well, damn, Cinaran marvelled in stunned amazement, I wasn't expecting that at all...

*           *           *

"You can't tell me anything?"
Reese couldn't help but be disappointed with what she was hearing. From the annoyed look on the captain's face, Helena Tel felt the same. 
Maggie shot her a look, rather miffed at her tone, "That's what I said. You don't have to remind me, Helena, I'm just as annoyed by it as you are."
Shaking her head, Reese looked at the large medical status display screen the three of them where standing in front of in Sickbay. It currently showed a readout of vital statistics of their prisoner, but only the barest details. Approximate height and weight, a basic analysis of the materials that amde up the armor they wore... and that was it. Nothing about species, gender or age.
Tel frowned, looking to Reese, "You reported that you couldn't get decent scans of them on the planet?" 
Reese nodded. "That's right. I thought maybe it was possibly because of a sensor-dampening effect in their armor."
"I can tell you that the armor is made of some kind of alloy our computer isn't familiar with," Maggie added, "but nothing about whoever is inside it." She sighed, tiredly, "For anything more, we're going to have to take it off. Then maybe I can get a blood sample to run a full DNA and genetic analysis."
Alarm bells immediately rang in Reese's head, "I would caution against rushing into getting that sample." She met the curious stares of the other two women full on, "The armor could be booby-trapped. I've read reports of encounters with alien races that wear similar protection that can explode or release a toxin if forcibly removed."
Maggie frowned, apparently not buying it, "We don't know this one will do that."
Reese shrugged, "We don't know it won't either."
Tel seemed to agree, "It won't hurt to play it safe, Maggie." She looked back at Reese, "You take the lead on that, Lieutenant. Go see if Chief Hanover has started work on those tricorder readings. I'll be on the bridge, if you need me."
Reese nodded, "Yes, Captain." She watched as Tel exited, breathing a guilty sigh of relief. It felt to be given an order, some direction. After her run-in with Charlie earlier, she was feeling a little lost. Now, having an actual task to attend to, it gave her a kick in her complacency. 
She looked back, caught off-guard as Maggie abruptly, and rather loudly, yawned. "Sorry, sorry," she muttered, rubbing at her face. It was then she noticed that, like her. Maggie hadn't changed into a clean uniform yet. The front was splattered in what she could only assume was bodily fluids from patients she had been treating after beam-up.
"How are your team dealing with everything?" Reese asked. Maggie offered a small wan, half-smile in response, "As well as can be expected. They didn't exactly think they were signing up for a crash course in triage and emergency medicine. Thank God nobody was too badly hurt, that's all I can say." 
Following Maggie's gaze across the Sickbay, Reese saw that several of the interns and cadets were doing what they could to assist the medical staff, tending to patients, or restocking supplies. One of the nurses was checking on one patient, who was wrapped head to toe in a survival blanket - only realizing as the nurse moved out of the way that it was the Andorian they'd rescued from the surface. 
Maggie must have noticed where her attention was focused. She sidled up to her, "He's recovering nicely. Took a hell of a beating in the crash, but it actually looked worse then it was."
Reese was relieved to hear it. Made the events of recent a little more bareable. Not much, though. "Did we manage to get an I.D. yet?"
Maggie nodded, "Olishnavar th'Dane, of Lor'tan, Andor."
Reese frowned. Wait a second - th'Dane? As in th'Dane Shipping? The company the Winds of Andoria was registered with? Working for the family company, huh? "When can we ask him some questions about what happened?"
Maggie shrugged tiredly, "A couple of hours, I'd say, at a--"
[Olsen to Reese.]
The urgency in the enlisted man's voice made the hair on the back of Reese's neck stand on end, "Go ahead, Chief?"
[It's the prisoner, L.T. They've woken up... and they're pretty pissed.]

*           *           *

As Captain Tel entered the brig, Reese offered only the barest look her way, with a brief nod to acknowledge her arrival. 
The main focus of her attention was the now-upright figure clad in armor occupying the cell. They now stood facing the invisible forcefield screen that kept them contained, keeping a few meters back. From what she been told had happened after they'd regained consciousness, they were understandably wary of approaching it again.
"Expecting trouble?" Tel askeed quizzically. Reese looked at her, noticing the red-headed woman's gaze being drawn to the fact that Olsen and his enlisted troops had their Type-2 phasers drawn and aimed at the cell.
"Apparently, our guest decided to take a run at the security screen," she explained, "Didn't get very far, thankfully, even with that armor. But I don't think my men wanted them to think they could try again."
"Have they said anything?" Tel took position next to Reese at the main control station. She shook her head, keeping her eyes of the prisoner. "No, Captain," she replied quietly, before adding, "But they could just be biding their time."
[You're all human, aren't you?]
The electronically-shifted voice took them all by surprise. All eyes flew to the cell, as the prisoner cautiously stepped forward. Reached a hand out, pulling it back again as the fingertips brushed the edge of the forcefield, [Amazing. I've never seen technology like that. Some kind of stable electromagnetic barrier?]
"Yes, that's correct," Tel answered, stepping forward to talk to the armored individual more directly. "On both counts."
Raising a hand slowly to their neck area, the prisoner pressed at part of his armor. The portion that made up the helmet retracted back into itself...
Reese felt her jaw drop in astonishment. Looking back at her was a sweaty, handsome and very human face...
"My name is Michael," he introduced himself, in perfect English, delivered in a crisp and clear voice with no hint of a translator being used, "Major Michael Hassani, of the New Jamestown Planetary Guard."

*           *           *

"He's definitely human."
Standing in the CMO's small private office off the main ward, Reese couldn't help but be dubious to Maggie Campbell's claim, and from the look she shared with Captain Tel, it was clear her commanding officer felt the same way. "You mean, 'human-like', or 'near-human', don't you?" She wanted - needed - some clarification regarding the species of their 'guest'.
The olive-skinned woman shook her head, "No, I mean 'human'." She pointed to an area of the large wall-mounted display, showing a scan of Hassani's anatomy, "That's what all the scans, which I ran three times, are telling me about him." She then indicated the image of a rotating strand of double-helix DNA on a secondary screen, "Not to mention the genetic analysis I ran on him, right down to the base-pair sequences of his DNA."
"That doesn't make any sense!" Tel proclaimed with heated annoyance and incredulity, "There was no known colonization effort out this far. Not to mention, their ship and technology was vastly different in style to anything humanity ever developed."
Reese watched as Maggie shrugged, "Hey, I'm just here to tell you what I know about our new friend's biology. I don't have all the answers about how and why he came to be out here." She scoffed, "For all I know, maybe he's from a group of humans relocated by those Preserver beings?"
She may not have known Maggie for long, but as a security officer, Reese had developed the knack for knowing when people were holding something back. Gently, without trying to be too confrontational, she prodded, "What else aren't you telling us, Maggie?"
The Antares CMO shot her a disgruntled glare, before admitting, "There was something a little... well, odd, I guess about his DNA."
Tel narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "What do you mean by 'odd'?"
"A kind of genetic marker," Campbell elaborated, "Not something I've seen before exactly, but it still had a passing familiarity." She shook her head, "I need to do some more study into it before I can confirm what it might mean in any detail."
"Uh, excuse me?" The somewhat disgruntled voice coming from the door way caught all three women off-guard. 
Turning, Reese saw the man who now identified himself as Michael Hassani standing there, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Behind him was Chief Olsen, hand on his holstered phaser. Hassani didn't seem to either notice or care he had an escort, as he stepped in, arms crossed. Free of his armour now, he wore a form-fitting one-piece garment, similar to the old bodysuits worn under Earth Starfleet environmental suits. "Look, I let you poke and prod me for your tests, okay? What more do you want?"
Tel cautiously approach Hassani. Proceeded to stare him down. Reese hid a small smile at how Hassani's defiance wavered just enough to indicate that Tel had won their test of wills. "Answers would be good, Mr. Hassani."
Hassani shook his head, letting out an annoyed sigh, "Maybe then, you should ask me some questions?" 
Without waiting for an invitation, he took the seat in front of Maggie's desk, looking far too comfortable for Reese's benefit. He crossed his arms, waiting. It set Reese's teeth on edge, his presumption, but a quick look from Tel told her to let it go - for now, anyway.
Reese came around the other side, taking the seat opposite, leaving no doubt she was in control here. Moving to flank her left side, with Maggie taking the opposite position, Reese kept her eyes on Hassani. Curious, despite herself.
"Okay," Hassani finally began, after studying each of them for a long moment, "I guess I should go back to the very beginning." 
"Are you still taught about 'The Year We Dodged A Bullet'?"