EPISODE 7: "WHAT DREAMS INDEED..."

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 Fassbender as Commander Xerxises Cinaran 

GUEST CAST

Joshua Shea as Charlie Cinaran
Sendhil Ramamurthy as Major Michael Hassani
Kelly Hu as Colonel Leila Mendoza
Nicole Kang as Ensign Min-Cho Ye
Paige Hurd as Lieutenant Tabitha Clarke

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The Romulans. The name on its own was enough to bring out an almost primal dread within Helena Tel's heart. 
Since her childhood, pre-Federation history had been something of a pet passion of hers. She could spend hours reading about those heady early days of humanity setting forth into the stars. But when she started at the Academy, it was reading the logs of Jonathan Archer, Erika Hernandez, Sarah Hall and all the other Earth Starfleet captains that had awakened her to a part of history it was easy to overlook.
The true cost of war. 
It had made Helena appreciate just how lucky she was, that those people had fought and gave their lives for the very survival of humanity. Waging the first true interstellar conflict Earth was involved in. The sacrifices they and so many others made to secure the original alliance of races that would evolve in the United Federation of Planets once the war was over. 
But the menace of the Romulan Star Empire had never really gone away, even almost two centuries since that conflict's end. Although officially, the Romulans had closed their borders and retreated away from galactic politics after the Tomed Incident of 2311, the talons of the raptor still stretched out every so often. Just to remind everyone they were still razor-sharp. 
The destruction of the Enterprise-C. The sneak attack on the Klingon colony at Khitomer. Still recent enough in memory that the very idea of another Romulan incursion wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded. 
It gave Tel chills. She had barely been eleven years old when the all-too-politely-named 'Tomed Incident' had occured in 2311. While it hadn't affected her directly, she had known several people who had lost loved ones from the disaster. She had then entered her teenage years in the post-Tomed climate, rife with paranoia and fear at even the mention of Romulans. They had been very unsettling times. 
For whatever reason they now seemed to be stretching forth into the Typhon Expanse, an area where the Federation was only now gradually regaining a stronger footing for exploration junkets into the outer Beta Quadrant. While it had been under Federation jurisdiction for close to 80 years, it had never been fully explored since the abortive investigation into the Starship Bozeman's disappearance back in 2278. 
What if this is the start of another of those offensives. Another chance for them to remind us that they may have gone silent, but they're still watching everything we do..?
It was the last thing the morale of the millions of Federation citizens needed. There was already enough trouble brewing back in the Alpha Quadrant. The Cardassians continued to push further out of their current holdings, while the Talarians nipped at Starfleet's proverbial heels with the mounting losses in the Galen Sector. Both the Tzenkethi and Tholians were making several incursions across their own borders, meaning the colonies and outposts nearby were in a constant state of alert.
Sitting in the Deck 2 conference room with her senior staff, Tel could see that they were all worried, thinking along the same lines. That, combined with the absence of both Solan and Cinaran, was enough to lend a somber air to the meeting. Not a good start, Tel mulled silently. Although Tel was thankful that Michael Hassani, their guest and current occupier of the brig, was of the firm belief that their missing officers would have been brought in for a detailed interrogation. Not simply killed and disposed off.
Small mercies, I guess...
Unfortunately, as Olishnavar th'Dane finished recounting his experience and what he remember of the attack on the Winds of Andoria, his words did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. 
"They were definitely Romulan cruisers, Captain." The young man's voice didn't have a single quiver of uncertainty. His gaze never left Tel's, remained fixed and confident. It was hard not to take him on his word.
Apparently, Daniela Reese thought otherwise, "You've been through a lot, Mr. th'Dane. Suffered head trauma. You could be--
"With respect, Lieutenant," th'Dane interrupted firmly, turning his attention to the security chief, "I know what I saw. They were old-style ships. Stormbird-class attack cruisers."
Stormbird? The class based on the old Klingon D7? That is an old configuration, Tel considered with some surprise. They were old before Tomed. I know they say to 'stick with what works', but you'd think they'd have some newer designs by now. "You're positive, Mr. th'Dane?"
Th'Dane nodded, adamant, but then immediately winced in pain. He gingerly reached for his injured antenna, before continuing, "Yes, Captain. I saw their ventral hull as they warped out. Unless the Klingons have started painting raptors on the underside of their ships, it's safe to say they were Romulans."
His shoulder slumped as he sagged back into his seat, "Truth be told, it kind of made sense. As they were firing at us, most of our sensors already burned out or blinded by the first volleys, I thought there was something familiar about their attack pattern."
How the Hell does a kid barely out of school recognize Romulan battle deployments, Tel wondered privately. She phrased it a bit more tactfully, though, as she asked him. It may have been the room lighting playing a trick on her eyes, but the captain of the Antares could have sworn she saw the Andorian blush a little. 
"I, uh..." th'Dane squirmed a little with clear embarrassment, "I kind of have an eidetic memory." He shrugged, trying to act casual, and failing miserably, "I read a report on Federation/Romulan combat incidents one time at the Academy."
Well, well, well. Tel allowed a smile, impressed, "You attended the Academy, Mr. th'Dane?"
He nodded, sitting up straighter, beaming with pride, "Attended and graduated, ma'am. Class of '47." His smile faded, "But I resigned my commission a couple of years ago because of a family matter."
As she offered a sympathetic smile of her own, Tel felt for the young man. "I'm sure your family appreciates your efforts, Mr. th'Dane."
She moved to end the meeting, sending everyone back to their stations. She watched as th'Dane carefully rose from his chair, being lead out under the watchful eye of Maggie Campbell. The Antares C.M.O. hadn't liked the idea of temporarily releasing her patient to attend a meeting, but Sickbay had not been the place for a conference. 
An idea beginning to form at the back of her brain, Tel stood herself calling after the last two officers to make an exit, "Lieutenant Reese, Lieutenant Dayan."
Both officers looked back at her expectantly. Inwardly, Tel grimaced. She knew what she had to do, but had been putting it off for as long as she could. No longer, not with what th'Dane had told them, "I'd like to see you both in my ready room."
"We need to talk."

*           *           *

When your commanding officer tells you 'we need to talk', it's never a good thing...
As she stood in front of Captain Tel's desk in her cramped ready room, Daniela Reese couldn't help but wonder just what this sudden meeting was all about. The last time she had been called into speak with Helena Tel, it had been to prepare the Antares for possible battle. A battle they had ended up fighting without her since she had been planet-side in the middle of a rescue op while fighting off an attack of her own. 
This time, though, she wasn't alone. At her side stood Lieutenant Dayan, staring straight ahead at very near full attention, much to Reese's private amusement. This guy needs to lighten up a bit, she appraised. I mean, yeah, we're dealing with a lot, but that's the perfect reason to loosen up a little. 
Her private ruminations, about just how big the stick up his butt was, came to an end as Tel looked up at them. Unlike them, she was seated comfortably, having been reading whatever was on her desk terminal screen. Now, she focused her attention on them, her fingers interlacing as she rested her elbows on the desk.
"This is not a conversation I imagined myself having on this assignment," she began, her voice sombre and conflicted, "But we're Starfleet. We do what we have to, in order to ensure the survival of our crew and the completion of our mission."
Uh-oh... Reese did her best to ignore a sudden feeling of unease as Tel continued, although she had a distinct feeling she knew what was about to happen, "We all hope that Mr. Hassani's claims about our people are true. That they are safe and relatively well looked after, and will be returned to us once we are able to establish a proper dialogue."
I'll believe it when I see it, Reese grumbled to herself. Tel hadn't seen the way that soldier had rammed his rifle butt into Solan's stomach. The vitriol and disgust they'd expressed at dealing with a 'green-blood'. Would they even care about the distinction between Vulcan and Romulan?
"That said," Tell continued, forcing Reese to pay attention, "I'm down an Executive Officer, and the crew needs stability and to see a proper chain of command in place."
"Effective immediately, Lieutenant Reese, I'm appointing you Acting First Officer."
And, there it is. She opened her mouth to protest, but Dayan beat her to it, "Captain?!" Reese tried not to pay too much attention to how incredulous the young helmsman sounded. Admittedly, she had been on the verge of questioning the decision herself, but it was quite another thing to be called out by someone she barely knew.
Tel lifted her hand, cutting them both off before either could speak further, "Lieutenant Dayan, you've performed admirably in the last few hours, but you still have a lot to learn and I need someone at my side with more combat experience."
Reese cast a quick look to Dayan. Judging from the set of his square jaw, he wasn't appreciative of being reminded of supposed shortcomings, "Your willingness to perform above and beyond your regular duties is noted, and welcomed, but if we do go into battle with Romulan forces, I need your skills keeping us moving."
Dayan nodded stiffly, "Understood, Captain." He pushed his shoulders back, "Am I dismissed?"
Once Tel offered a slow nod in response, Dayan did a quick about-face and made his exit. Sorry, kid, Reese silently offered. If it helps, I wish it was you staying behind. 
Once they were alone, Tel offered her a look of apology, "Sorry to dump this on you, Daniela." She sat back in her chair, offering Reese the guest seat with a gentle wave, "I'm well aware that it's been a while since you were in a command role, but truth be told, I'll take what I can get."
Reese couldn't help but smile. She liked Tel's honest and blunt manner. It was easy to respect someone who told you how it was from the get-go, no pussy-footing or sugar-coating. Still, she felt a need to remind Tel of her own limitations, "You are aware that my practical command experience is somewhat lacking, ma'am?"
Tel nodded tiredly, "I am, but you have more star-hours logged then Dayan, not to mention actual tactical experience beyond simulations and brief skirmishes." She fixed a steely gaze on Reese, "That edge, that served you well enough to be made Security Chief on the Jennings? That's what I need right now. You being a graduate of Command School is just extra."
Reese offered a brief nod, "Of course, Captain." She paused before carrying on, "What's our course of action?"
Tel sighed heavily, "I'm putting in a call to Deep Space Four, requesting further orders. I'll send over a report explaining the situation as best I can." She shrugged, "But given how far out we are, even with the new subspace repeaters in the area, it could be a while before we get a response from them."
She passed over one of the dozen PADDs that littered the small desk, "For the meantime, we're going to get the crew focused on the many, many repairs we need to get seen to. We worry about the rest of it when we have to."
"Is that wise?" Reese didn't want to piss off her commanding officer by being inpertinent, but she knew that as acting X.O., she needed to offer a counterpoint to Tel. When the Antares's captain looked at her quizzically, she continued, "I mean, shouldn't we gather as much intelligence as we can to present to Starfleet Command?"
She saw understanding dawn for Tel. "You're talking about Hassani?"
Reese nodded, pushing forward, "He is a vital resource for us to tap to understand just what the hell is going on in the region. Him and th'Dane."
"Th'Dane seems willing and able to help," Reese agreed, "But Hassani..?" She gave her an appraising look, "I was under the impression you didn't like or trust our accidental stowaway."
"Oh, believe me, I don't," Reese replied, doing nothing to hide her feelings, "You get that way with someone who pointed the business end of a plasma rifle in your face." She took a moment to breath, calming down, "But I'm willing to listen to what else he might bring to the table, beyond his history lesson." 
Tel's eyes widened with understanding, "Are you thinking we should make contact with Hassani's people?" She shook her head, "They did fire at us without provocation."
Reese sighed, nodding slowly, "I'm very aware of that. Of the damage we took." She slung a thumb over her shoulder, "But those cadets and interns we're throwing into this, they're not just out here to be scientists, to be soldiers when it counts. They're also here to be diplomats and explorers. That's what we are here for, to teach this next generation about how to be a truly great Starfleet officer."
"To show them that, yes, sometime conflict is going to come into your life. But it's our duty to do anything and everything we can to work out a solution that ends a fight before it even starts."
Whoa. Where'd that come from? Reese squirmed, uncomfortable at having suddenly broken out into a whole speech. Tel, though, leaned back with a coy smile. Looking rather impressed. "I couldn't agree more," she responded. "I'm glad we're on the same page. I was planning on suggesting this myself, but you seem to have beat me to it, Lieutenant."
Reese relaxed, letting out a relieved breath. Then, she offered a sly grin, "That's said, I'm not totally naive."
Tel nodded cautiously, "Trust but verify? I can understand that." She put her elbows on the desk, leaning forward with intent, "But it we're going up against Romulans, we need all the back-up we can get. I'll make sure to mention it in my message to DS-4. Have them marshall our forces to be on the same side."
Reese let out an exhausted, resigned breath, "Never thought I'd be facing down the Romulans, especially not on this mission." We're saying stuff like that a lot at the moment, she privately considered. 
Forget 'to boldly go' as the Starfleet motto, they should change it to 'expect the unexpected'...

*           *           *

The brig of a space-going vessel, no matter what the class of starship, designation or fleet of origin, was always a dingy, unwelcoming place. More often the not, located in the bowels of the ship. Out of the way. A place you only visited when absolutely necessary. 
That seemed to be the universal rule, or at least, so it appeared to Helena Tel. As she walked into the compartment that served that function of the Antares, Tel saw nothing to dispel her of that belief. 
A lone security non-com manned the monitoring post, standing to attention as she entered alongside Lt. Clarke. The acting Science Officer, carrying a small carry-case at Tel's request, was doing her best to hide her nerves and anxiety, but Tel was all too aware that Clarke was just one of a number of people aboard the Antares she was asking to step into a role they weren't ready for. 
Pushing those thoughts aside for the moment, Tel instead focused on the occupant of the single cell being used. Inside, Michael Hassani worked through a series of graceful moves and positions, some kind of martial arts form that Tel wasn't familiar with. He had shrugged off half of his undersuit, and sweat glistened off his toned and muscular chest. His eyes were closed, as if he were in some kind of trance or sleep-walking state.
"He's been at it for better part of an hour, ma'am," commented the guard in a voice almost whisper-quiet, after Tel shot him a quizzical look.
It was almost a shame to interrupt him, but with everything going on, Tel understood time was of the essence, "Major Hassani?"
It took Hassani a moment to seem to register her, before finally opening his eyes as he turned to look at her, "Captain Tel." He offered a brief nod, "Sorry. Just a little calisthenics to keep myself busy." 
Time to get to it. Clearing her throat, Tel fixed Hassani with a level gaze. "Let me be blunt, Major." She took a step closer, all too aware of the energy barrier keeping Hassani in the cell, "I want to believe what you've told us. That somehow our shared humanity can bring us together and move beyond our unfortunate clash."
Now she could see she had his attention, Tel narrowed her eyes, "That said, I need to know one thing. Are you absolutely sure that the two officers we were forced to abandon will not have been harmed?"
Hassani pursed his lips, taking his time as he seemed to formulating an answer. But will it be an answer I'll be happy with? Finally, he crossed his arms, "The man in the blue uniform? He looked human enough. As long as he cooperated, I'm confident he'll be fine. Your other officer, though..?" A brief sneer twisted his handsome face, before he got his emotions under control, "I can't say. Like I said, we're not cold-blooded killers, but if he is a 'green-blood', he's not among friends, that's for sure."
In all truthfulness, Hassani's answer was pretty much what Tel had been preparing herself to hear back. She swallowed dryly the lump of dread that formed in her throat, offering a weak nod of understanding. "I appreciate your honesty."
Hassani stepped close to the edge of his cell, "In that case, maybe you could return the favour?"
"I'm listening," she responded cooly. 
"I've seen enough of your ship and crew to see that your technology is much more advanced then my own, Captain," he began, uncrossing his arms, putting his hands on his hips. "That your crew aren't all entirely human. Are there more 'green-bloods' on board? Is humanity working with them? Or maybe for them?"
They were all reasonable questions. Questions that Tel had prepared for before coming down here. "The answers to your questions are all very long and complicated, Major. But suffice to say, yes. Humanity is just one race within what we call the United Federation of Planets. There are a dozen different races represented among my crew, but the majority of the Antares crew is human."
She gave Clarke a nod, and the young lieutenant opened up the carry case, before rotating it for Hassani to see. "These are PADDs, devices that will allow you to read certain unclassified documents from our ship's records. A brief history of the Federation, of what happened on Earth after the L-5 Disaster..."
Hassani pulled his gaze from the PADDs at Tel's deliberate pause, just as she intended, "... and our conflicts with a race called the Romulans."
"Romulans?"
Tel nodded, "I think, once you've read these, you'll begin to understand just how much our people do really have in common."
Then maybe, she considered privately, we can move forward and focus on our mutual problem...

*           *           *

As she walked into the engine room, Reese was struck with two thing. The first was just how busy and crowded it seemed with anyone who had some technical skill being put to work in patching systems and completing repairs. 
The second was the smell.
Her nose wrinkling as the foul odour assaulted her nostrils, Reese tried her best not to choke. She failed miseranbly. Barely stopping herself from gagging and bringing up her meagre bite to eat. Good God, what is that stink?!
"Yeah, sorry about that, Reese." In grease-stained technician's overalls, Mitchell Hanover joined her by the master systems display, sporting a snarky grin, "Turns out that when the particular polycarbon weave insulation used in this old girl's deckplates burns, it smells just like rotten Ktarian eggs."
"Urgh..." Reese finally managed to get her protesting stomach under control, breathing through her mouth instead, "What? Are you all using some kind of nasal numbing agent?"
Hanover gave her a dirty look, "Yeah, right!" She scoffed, shaking her head, "If you can't handle a few bad smells in our line of work, then you should find another one!"
Reese couldn't help but grin, "Sorry. Forgot who I was speaking to." She looked around, noting that everyone was getting on with whatever task they'd been assigned. Uniforms of every colour, including several interns in the grey one-piece jumpsuits, moved from station to station. 
One of them was Charlie. 
Reese hadn't had a chance to find her godson to talk properly since their encounter in the corridor outside the transporter room. She hated having to leave things as they were, but with everything going on...
Oh, who am I trying to kid? If she was honest with herself, Reese couldn't fault Charlie running out on her. I'm just as angry as he is for what Xerx did. From a logical point of view, she understood the decision he'd made in that split-second, and would have made the exact same one in his place. 
But she had no-one to leave behind...
"He's holding up, Reese." Hanover edged a little closer, lowering her voice so not to be overhead. With a nod towards the oblivious young Betazoid, she continued, "Getting on with the job. Keeping himself busy. Occupied."
Reese nodded. "Thank you for keeping an eye on him, Mitch."
Hanover shrugged, grimacing a little, "Ah, I didn't do anything. Just gave him plenty to do to keep his mind of it." She grinned mischieviously, "I'm not exactly a 'hand-holder', but I do know how to keep people too busy to be scared."
The chief engineer looked back over at Charlie as he helped several enlisted crew with a repair to an open EPS grid, "Truth be told, he's handy to have around. He knows what he's doing, how to work with others." 
Your dad taught you well, Charlie, Reese marvelled. I just hope we can bring you some good news soon. 
The captain would soon be having her private talk with Hassani, to forge a better understanding of the man and the group of people he claimed to be part of. Since leaving Sickbay and voluntarily returning to the brig, Hassani had been kept busy with various PADDs of Federation history to read. With an emphasis on the shared lineage of the Vulcans and Romulans. 
In another time and place, Reese might have felt sorry for Hassani, his head swimming with all this new information, but right now, all she cared to focus on was hoping and praying both Solan and Xerx were in alive and well. 
Please, God, let them both be okay. Despite the protestations of her mother, Reese had been raised in the neo-Catholic faith by her grandparents. They had been the ones to help bring her up, while her mother made a career in Starfleet for herself. While she may no longer believe in the God as was taught her, she was not arrogant enough to outright dismiss that there was a defining force or entity. Like many, she prayed when it mattered. When she hoped with all her being that people she cared about would be safe. Just as she did now.
But right now, ignorance was indeed bliss. At least for Charlie. 

*           *           *

With a few minutes to spare before her guest arrived, Helena Tel sat at her desk in her quarters. On the small desk terminal, she had pulled up the personnel records of one Ensign Olishnavar th'Dane [Commission Resigned]. It wasn't a long read, given the brief time he actually served in Starfleet - four years at the Academy, two years on Starbase 190, then a year on the USS Trieste as a junior bridge officer. Then, he had left it all behind due to a 'family crisis', but there was little detail beyond that rather vague description. 
Still, despite the shortness of his career, the record was exemplary - th'Dane could very well have been on the cusp of promotion to lieutenant commander if he'd stayed in the service. His academic scores were excellent, and he had even graduated in the top 5% of his entire class.
Damn, this kid is smart! He's wasted working on a run-down freighter.
Tel was forced to put her slowly-forming idea on hold as her door chime beeped for attention. "Come in," she called, standing and tugging down on the front of her one-piece uniform, eliminating what creases on it she could. 
However, when the doors opened, Tel pulled back in surprise. Instead of who she was expecting, Maggie Campbell stood at the door. In her hands were two standard-issue mugs. "Maggie?"
Without a word of reply, Campbell walked straight up to her and offered one of the cups. The aroma of freshly brewed, real coffee tickled Tel's nose, as the C.M.O. grinned, "Figured you needed a pick-me-up. My own personal blend."
With an experimental sip, Tel knew immediately what she meant, "Irish coffee?"
Campell shrugged, "The coffee is real, but the whiskey is just the synthetic stuff." Her sly grin returned, "I'm not trying to corrupt you any more then normal, I swear."
Despite appreciating the gesture, and the company, Tel shook her head, "Now really isn't a good time, Mags. I've got--"
Campbell quickly silenced her with a look, "Yeah, yeah, I know. A captain's work is never done. But even you need a break every now and then. So sit, and drink. Doctor's orders."
Tel narrowed her eyes in annoyance, "I'm not in the mood for this now, Maggie." She knew exactly why the doctor, her oldest friend, was really here. 
Campbell wasn't easily dissuaded, though, "Tough. You need to deal with how you're feeling about what's going on." Her gaze burned into Tel. She could feel her own defenses, the feelings and emotions she'd been surpressed for the past hours since that ship had appeared on sensors. 
All her defiance and resistence crumbled in a second - she wasn't sure if it was the small taste of whiskey, orjust her underlying guilt, but Tel accepted defeat. Her shoulders sagging, she slowly lowered herself into the closest chair, "What's going on is that I'm in over my head. Again. Just like on the Ophelia."
She looked up at Campell, as the doctor sat opposite her. But the woman's gaze wasn't on her, but on the small model of an original-design Excelsior-class starship on the coffee table. From where she sat, and the angle the model was at, she could make out the name and registry: U.S.S. Ophelia, NCC-2985.
Finally, Campbell looked back at her. Her eyes burned with indignation, "That's bullshit, Hel."
Tel couldn't help but laugh. Only Maggie would think to talk to me like that. She knows she's the only one I'd let get away with it. Campbell had a reputation for straight-talk and believing tact was for counselors and psychologists. As a Medical Officer, she felt she owned it to her patients (not to mention, close friends) to be as honest and clear as possible.
"You were cleared of all wrong-doing, remember?" Campbell didn't need to remind her. The command tribunal, a step down from a court-martial, had been one of the most humiliating things she'd ever had to endure since earning her captain's pips. 
"What happened back on Browder Prime? It was horrible. A betrayal, even." Her expression softened, "I won't ever forget it. But I refuse to let it define what I act like going forward." She shook her head, "Besides, this situation is completely different. Hassani and his people, no matter how much distance separates us, are still human. That bonds us on a deeper level." 
Tel wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe in what Hassani had told them. That the efforts she was making with him would come together as she and Reese planned. She admitted so to Campbell, as the other woman sipped her own drink, "But that doesn't change the fact that I left two of my people behind, that I may very well be taking a ship full of children into a fight we probably won't win."
A spark of anger ignited deep within Tel's heart, and the words poured out, "Dammit, Maggie, this isn't supposed to be happening!" 
"Well, guess what?" Campbell fired back with equal passion, "The universe doe not revolve around Helena Bloody Tel, okay? We're the ones who are out here, and if you keep going around with this attitude, then those kids you're so worried about, they're as good as dead."
The English woman stood toe to toe with Tel, "What we need is the Helena Tel I know is still inside you. The one that earned the Grankite Order of Tactics. Twice!"
Campbell's words did their job. They cut through the dark cloud that Helena hadn't even realized had surrounded her heart. She's right. I'm acting like we've already lost. Ever since Browder, I've been second-guessing myself. 
No more.
Campbell's sly grin slowly returned as she looked deep into Tel's eyes, "There she is."
It was like she was awakening from a long sleep. It was the part of her she'd tapped into during the fight. A part that had been subsumed by her guilt at the deaths of her officers at Browder, of stepping down from command of the Ophelia, at realizing she'd left behind Solan and Cinaran. "Thank you, Maggie."
She raised her coffee mug in a toast, "It's what friends, and cranky Ship's Surgeons, are for, right?"
As they clinked mugs, the door chimed again. Time to get down to business. "Enter."
The doors parted, allowing Major Michael Hassani to enter. Flanking him were two of Reese's security non-coms. Both had type-2 phasers in their holsters. He offered both Campbell and Tel a nod of greeting, as Tel welcomed him in to her cabin. Understanding that this was a private meeting, Campbell quickly excused herself - but left the coffee mug.
Tel apprasied the at-ease Hassani for a long moment, before addressing his escort, "Thank you, gentlemen. You can wait outside for now."
There was a moment of hesitation in both enlisted crewmen. A pointed glare to the ranking man quickly had them scurrying out with a rushed, "Yes, ma'am!"
Once they were left alone, Tel offered Hassani a seat. Once the pleasantries were dealt with, with him politely declining a drink, Tel sat across from him. He smiled crookedly, at which point Tel abruptly realized how attractive Hassani was, now he wasn't scowling. Even without his armor, the man cut an impressive figure, with his undersuit accentuating the impressive physique she had seen earlier.
"I want to thank you for your hospitality, Captain Tel," he said amiably and with genuine sincerity, it seemed. "If I'm totally honest, I'm surprised you're letting me walk about without more restraints."
Tel shook her head, "That's not the Federation's way, Major. You've earned a degree of latitude with your willingness to talk and allow us to confirm you are indeed human." She shrugged, allowing herself a warm smile of her own, "Besides, clapping you in irons is not the best way to improve any bad impressions we've already made with our long-lost brethren."
Hassani's smile widened, as he nodded in agreement, "Very true." The smile faded abruptly, as he then sighed, "I just wish I could confirm that my people are indeed taking care of your own officers with the same generousity."
That was something Tel didn't really want to think about, even though she knew it was indeed a possibility. Hope springs eternal, they say, she considered, as she leaned forward, "Major, there is something we need to talk about. Lieutenant Reese briefed me on her encounter with your team on the planet."
Hassani grimaced, "I was wondering if that was going to come up." He shook his head, "You've given me a lot of information to absorb these last few hours, Captain. That these 'Romulans' you talk of, they are the same race who terrorized this entire area of space. That they descend from another species called 'Vulcans', of which your first officer is a member..?"
Tel nodded with sympathy, all too aware of how much she was asking Hassani to take on faith and trust they had barely earned. "So, you can understand why I might be worried about Commander Solan's condition at the hands of your people?"
Hassani nodded grimly, "I wish I could give you a better assurance. But the 'green-bloods', these Romulans? There isn't a single family on New Jamestown who didn't suffer some kind of loss in our battles with them, not one individual who wouldn't enjoy evening the score." He sat up straighter, "But we're not monsters, not animals. I have to believe that my commanding officer would not allow any of our crew to do any permanent damage to your officer."
It't not much, Tel considered, but it's something. Guess I'll have to take it...
...and hope Solan can live with it until we can arrange some kind of parlay.

*           *           *

The last few hours had been like a debating exercise back at the Academy. Lots of loud arguments being thrown back and forth, as one side tried to convince the other of the veracity of their beliefs and standpoint.
But in this case, Cinaran understood that both his life and Solan's were depending on him winning, or at least coming to a draw. Loosing was not an option. I really wish Danni was here. This kind of thing was always her wheelhouse. But he also had something else to fight for - the need to see his son again. 
The Betazoid had never been more thankful for his telepathic ability. With it, he had been able to sense when his words had some kind of affect on Colonel Leila Mendoza, the lithe and handsome woman who commanded the Endurace, the frigate he and Solan had been brought aboard. That had allowed him to follow up on those moments and push his arguments home. 
"Believe me, I know how crazy this all sounds," he finished up, all too aware of the two large armored guards standing ready at the doors to the cramped office he'd been sequestered with Mendoza for the past few hours. "I'm asking you to take in so much, on just my word alone."
"But then again," he continued, after a moment's deliberate pause, "you're asking the same of me, that a rag-tag group of humans somehow miraculously survived being tossed two hundred light-years across the galaxy, and made a home for themselves on the edges of the Typhon Expanse?" He shook his head. "It sounds fantastic. But I've seen and accepted stranger things."
Mendoza leaned forward. Her gaze was cold, distrusting, "So, you think because of that, I should just believe everything you've told me?"
Cinaran shook his head, "No. Not everything," he replied evenly and calmly. Keeping his game-face on and at ease. "But enough to know we're not your enemy. Not me, Solan or anyone aboard the Antares."
Despite the stoic facade she maintained with ease, Cinaran could feel Mendoza's resolve wavering. Both he and Solan had allowed themselves to be poke and prodded in the spartan and utilitarian infirmary the small cruiser was equipped with. From what he could discern without going too deep into her mind, the variety of tests they'd run showed them enough to know that there was enough difference in Solan's physiology to distinguish him from what their records told them of Romulans. 
Mendoza finally shook her head with resignation, "Even if I do believe you, which is not to say I do..." When she continued, it was deliberate and pointed, "It doesn't change the fact that the Endurance is out here on an important mission, but our encounter with your ship had resulted in significant damage and a missing officer."
"An incident we only engaged in because we were fired at, Colonel," he gently reminded, "and I am positive that your officer will have been treated with respect." As long as he didn't cause any major problems after being beamed aboard, he privately considered. That last was more of a hope then a guarantee, admittedly, but Cinaran wasn't going to bring it up if he didn't need to. Hopefully Danni didn't hurt him too much. 
As Mendoza grimaced ever-so-slightly, Cinaran picked up the litle flicker of guilt at her order to open fire first. He earnest wished that Solan was here - as Executive Officer, he had much more experience dealing with discussions like this, representing Starfleet and the Federation. But he also knew Mendoza would have a hard time listening to anything the Vulcan had to say, even if he wasn't still in the infirmary being patched up from the 'enhanced interrogation' he'd been put through. 
So, Cinaran pushed on. "Look, Colonel Mendoza. Allow me to be perfectly blunt. The Federation has no quarrel with the people of New Jamestown. It would gladly welcome you into the fold, or leave you in peace if that is what your government wants."
"But the race your people fought against, the Romulans? They have been a thorn in the side of the Federation, of humanity, for around two centuries." He leaned forward, ignoring the spike in alertness he felt from Mendoza and the guards, "If they're operating within the Expanse, for whatever reason, this is something that will affect all of us."
Mendoza slowly nodded. The Starfleet officer could slowly feel her natural defences coming down. The idea that the 'green-bloods' she'd been taught to fear and distrust all her life might very well be coming back had given her a jolt of clarity. "Agreed. So, how do you suggest we proceed at this point?"
As he opened his mouth to reply, knowing exactly what he needed to say, he was interrupted when the wrist gauntlet Mendoza wore chirped for attention, and a voice was electronically piped through. [C&C to Colonel Mendoza.]
The still calm of command descended over the woman as she lifted her gauntlet comm device to her lips, "Mendoza. Go."
[Colonel, we're getting a transmission. Alpha-1 priority frequency.] There was a brief pause before the voice of the officer on the other end continued with surprise, [It's Major Hassani!]
Mendoza shot to her feet. Her stunned amazement and relief caught Cinaran completely off-guard, before the veneer of professionalism reasserted itself, "Verify that."
[Confirmed, Colonel,] came the reply. [It has his I.D. verification. It's him. He's onboard the other ship. He's requesting live communcation.]
Cinaran offered a silent thank-you to whatever Gods might watch over Starfleet officers in times of need. Looks like Captain Tel had the same idea I had...

*           *           *

[Good to see you, Captain.]
The sense of utter relief that washed over Daniela Reese at hearing Xerx's voice, at seeing him alive and apparently unharmed, almost had her sagging against the Tactical console. She quickly pulled herself together and made as if she was looking over the displays as part of a routine check.
"Likewise, Commander," replied Captai Tel, standing from her chair. Next to her stood Hassani. "I hope you and Commander Solan are being treated well?"
Cinaran seemed to bite off the choice of wording he was going to reply with. Instead he looked to the woman standing next to him. According to Hassani, this was his C.O., Colonel Mendoza. [There were some initial... issues,] Cinaran finally explained, [But we're making progress on moving past those.]
[Major, report your status.] Mendoza seemed to be ignoring everything but her own officer. 
For his part, Hassani stood a little straighter, arms behind his back at parade rest. "Status is A-OK, Colonel. Free and clear." 
What the hell was that..? Reese felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Was this some kind of communication protocol being exchnaged there? Starfleet had similar protocols set up, to use to establish if someone was under duress. A quick glance at Tel, seeing she was also looking Reese's way, let her know that the captain was having similar concerns. 
Hassani seemed to be aware of the scrutiny. He turned to look first at Tel, then Reese, "I've just informed Colonel Mendoza that I am unharmed and that I am not being forced to say anything against my will."
He then looked back at his screen, "These are good people, Colonel. They've explained some things that might seem like they're something out of the old sci-fi tales of Asimov and the like. But I believe them."
Mendoza shook her head, her stony visage softening slightly, [I'll admit I've thought on similar lines.] She sighed just loudly enough to be heard via the comlink, [To think that we finally run into people from Earth, and we end up firing on each other.]
Tel spoke with surprising humble tones, "Mistakes were made on both side, Colonel. But I hope we can move past that and come together with a common agenda?"
Mendoza nodded with understanding. [The green-bloods. Your 'Romulans'.]
"Indeed, Colonel. We have a mutual enemy," Tel began. "If the Romulans are indeed stretching out again from behind the Neutral Zone into the Typhon Expanse, both the Federation and the people of New Jamestown need to be ready."
Reese felt a flash of worry when the commander of the other ship grimaced, [I have friends back home in Guard HQ. They might be able to open a dialogue with some of the Governing Council.] Mendoza shrugged, crossing her arms, [I can't promise you much, Captain. But the last thing New Jamestown needs is to become a target again.]
"That is something neither of us want, Colonel," Tel replied. "However, I don't like the idea of sitting around idly as politicians discuss what needs to be done."
Reese found herself developing the beginnings of a respect for Mendoza when she offered a sly grin in response, [I like the way you think, Captain. What are you suggesting?]
Tel shot another look to Reese. She nodded back confidently in agreement. They'd already discussed a possible plan of action, of using Antares to do what the ship was best at, as a bargaining chip. "I suggest we rendezvous back in the system we originally... 'encountered' each other. An exchange of information in familiar territory, while studying the sight of the attack on the freighter that was destroyed."
Mendoza narrowed her eyes. Reese could practically see the light-bulb blink on over her head, [You picked up the same energy readings we did. It was Romulan weapons-fire?] She let out a strained breath, [We weren't sure. It wasn't something we immediately recognized, but it shared certain similarities.]
Tel nodded, "Exactly, and with all due respect, our sensor systems seem to be much more advanced then yours, so I suggest we put those system to good use."
After a long moment, Mendoza nodded, [We're still currently on station dealing with repairs. We'll await your arrival. Endurance out.]
As the transmission ended, and Tel gave the order to set a course to Syetm Q-241, as wrong as she knew it to be, Reese felt a familiar thrill of excitement run through her. Time to go raptor-hunting...

*           *           *

When he was growing up, Eitan Dayan had often been told by his mother that working hard was it's own reward. It was a lesson in life he'd taken on board and did his utmost to remember...
...especially when his career in Starfleet wasn't advancing as fast as he had planned. 
The truth of the matter was, he understood why Tel had appointed Reese as acting X.O. She was more qualified and experienced. There was also the fervent hope both Solan and Cinaran would be recovered. He wanted to advance, yes, and do what he could to show Captain Tel he was ready, willing and able, but he had no desire to be seen eager about jumping into dead man's shoes. 
It just felt like, no matter how much or how hard Dayan worked his arse off, it didn't get noticed. Or at least, not enough to make a difference.
He needed it to make a difference. To make something of himself. 
He'd declined the invitation from the team to join them in the recreation lounge. Instead, he entered the smaller mess halls on Deck 6. Like other Miranda-class cruisers, the Antares had a main Recreation Room as well as several lounges. But Dayan wasn't in the mood for a crowd, or people asking him questions he didn't have any answers to, despite his status as Chief Helmsman. With it being late in the ship's day, he'd hoped to find the mess quiet. The perfect place to grab a bite to eat, unwind a little before heading to his cabin. 
So, when he saw it practically deserted, Dayan breathed a sigh of relief. A smattering of enlisted and cadets, sat in small clusters, keeping to themselves. He made his way over to the dispenser and called up available options - with so many secondary systems either off-line or under repair, food service was limited. He ordered coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich. Not exactly a culinary masterpiece, but it would do to get his growling stomach under control. 
Collecting his order from the food slot, Dayan began to move to the closest table. But he came up short when he spotted the familiar face of a solitary figure in the furthest corner of the hall. In his haste to get some dinner, he hadn't spotted their 'other' guest; the young Andorian from the destroyed freighter. 
Although he - th'Dane, if memory served - wasn't looking in Dayan's direction, the helmsman was able to get a good lock at him. There was something about the empty, faraway look in his eyes that evoked eerie feelings deep within a part of Dayan's heart that he'd worked hard to move past. 
In the old 'dark days' of humanity's past, it was called 'shell-shock', before eventually become known as PTSD; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was a look he had seen in the mirror every day for six months after Raakani VII. The eyes of someone who had seen death up close and personal, yet lived to tell the tale. 
Without realizing it, Dayan crossed the distance between them with a few strides. Feeling a need to help this young man, who could only be a few years younger then Dayan himself, deal with what he'd experienced. "Mind if I join you?"
When th'Dane practically jumped out of his chair, Dayan grimaced, He quickly apologized, much to his own embarrassment. Thankfully, th'Dane saw the funny side, although he did briefly wince in pain, reaching for - but not touching - his wounded antenna. 
"It's fine," he replied, much to Dayan's relief, before gesturing at the table's other seat. As he seated himself, and took a needed sip of his coffee, he couldn't help noticing that th'Dane's smile did not reach his eyes. 
After a moment's silence stretched out between them, th'Dane spoke, "You were at the staff meeting. Lieutenant Dayan, wasn't it?"
Dayan nodded, "Chief Helmsman, that's right."
This time, when th'Dane grinned, there was a bit more life to it, "It's been a while since I sat at the helm of an actual starship. I bet this girl handles really well?"
Dayan found himself grinning as well, "Yeah, she's a beauty. Whatever improvements the refit team made to the RCS thrusters, not to mention the impulse engines, she has got some sweet response times." He shook his head, "Nothing like the slow and lumbering turns the first Miranda-class ships made."
Th'Dane nodded eagerly, "Yeah, I manned the helm for a friend's Kobayashi Maru test. Trying to keep out of the weapons fire of Tholian ships in a simulated 20-year-old cruiser?" He shook his head with disdain, "It was embarrassing! Not the James Kirk experience I had hoped for."
"Tell me about it!" Dayan remembered his own Maru experience, as a command school trainee. At one point, his own helmsman had been 'killed', forcing Dayan to take the position himself. He'd managed to keep out of weapons range of renegade Klingon marauders for another two minutes before his ship had been blown out from under him.
It was strange. They spent years at the Academy, as undergrads and post-grads, training for what they believed could be every kind of encounter they'd partake in. But when it came down to it, nothing they learned could ever really prepare them for 'real life'. The good. The bad. 
The really bad. Moments like Dayan had experience on Raakani VII. Or that th'Dane had lived through on the Winds. 
Out of nowhere, he heard himself say, "It helps, sometimes, to talk about it."
Th'Dane smile collapsed into a wary frown, "Excuse me?"
Bugger... Dayan wasn't sure where that had come from. He understood that he'd been drawn to the Andorian because he recognized a fellow wounded soul. That maybe he could help guide the younger man to unburdening himself from what haunted him. But he'd meant to do it slowly and gently. Not jump right into it.
He mentally shrugged. In for a penny, as Nan used to say. He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. I just meant that... well, I could have asked how you were feeling, but honestly? That sounds like the dumbest question I could think to ask."
Ploughing on, Dayan saw the uncertainty in th'Dane's face, "But I don't need to ask. Because I've been where you are. I know exactly how you're feeling. 
"Really?" There was an angry heat in th'Dane's words as he replied, but his voice remained steady and quiet. "You know how I'm feeling about the fact that I saw people I worked alongside every day for years killed right in front of me? That somehow, out of everyone on board the Winds, I'm the one that survived. By the skin of my antennae at that?" 
Slowly, Dayan nodded, pushing away his food. He'd lost his appetite. "Actually, I do. More then you know."
Th'Dane frowned, eyes full of doubt, but he remained silent, allowing Dayan to explain. "I was assigned to the USS Yorktown straight out of the Academy." He couldn't help a melancholic smile as he thought about those first few months in deep space, "You know the drill. As a junior officer out of Command School, you get shown the ropes of starship operations, take part in the away missions. It was brilliant."
The pain of what he went through may have dulled, but the memories of what happened would never be truly forgotten, "Then we went to Raakani VII. It was a run-of-the-mill diplomatic courtesy call. My captain, X.O. and a few other junior officers all in full dress uniform to pay the Federation's respects."
"What happened?" Th'Dane's voice was barely above a strained whisper. 
"It was a coup d'etat," he explained somberly. "The King's exiled brother decided he knew how best to rule, and brought his small militia into the capital city in a surprise attack."
He remembered the screams. The ear-popping blast from old-style projectile weapons that evaded security scanners. Waking up in the Yorktown's sickbay, his uniform soaked with the blood of those that died. He was thankful that was all he remembered of what happened. 
Dayan took a breath, needing a moment to collect himself. "Only me and the X.O. made it out. She ended up retiring on medical grounds." He looked th'Dane in the eye. "So, believe me. I know exactly how you feel."
Th'Dane stared at him in silence for several seconds, swallowing dryly several times before finally managing to speak. "How do you cope with it?"
"I almost didn't," he freely admitted. "But I realized that I had to make something of my life. My career. So I started to get on with it. One day at a time. When I did, I realized I had crewmates and friends around me who wanted to help."
"But who is going to help me, Lieutenant?" There was something almost heartbreakingly sad about th'Dane's half-hearted smile, as he looked around the mess hall, eyes taking it in with longing before meeting Dayan's gaze again, "I'm not part of Starfleet anymore." 
Dayan shook his head vehemently, "That's bollocks, mate." It felt good to see th'Dane's outright amazement  at his rather British turn-of-phrase, "You may have left Starfleet, but Starfleet wont leave you high and dry."
"Eloquently put, Mr. Dayan."
With a jolt of surprise, Dayan shot to his feet as he belated realized that Helena Tel had entered the mess hall and was approaching them. He hadn't even heard the doors open, much to his chagrin, "Captain..?"
She offered an apologetic smile, "At ease, Lieutenant. I was actually looking for Mr. th'Dane." She looked to the young Andorian, who had also jumped from his chair, "I'm happy to see that Dr. Campbell released you from Sickbay."
Th'Dane offered a hesitant nod, "She wanted me to get something to eat, but honestly, I just don't have much of an appetite."
"You've been through a great ordeal, young man," Tel replied. "Just give yourself time."
The Andorian shrugged, "I just-- I've never been one to sit idle. I like to keep busy."
The devilish smile Tel offered caught Dayan as off-guard as th'Dane, "I was hoping you'd say that." Her expression sobered in an instant, "I'm calling together a brainstorming session."
At Tel's next words, Dayan wasn't sure who was more surprised - himself or th'Dane. 
"I'd very much appreciate it if you joined us, Mr. th'Dane."

*           *           *

If I get any more of the cold shoulder, I'm gonna freeze to death...
Standing out of the way as much as possible, Cinaran felt very much alone on the command deck of the Endurance. He watched as the crew and technicians went about their jobs with calm military precision, a testament to their training. But there was little in the way of human interaction or camaraderie. 
All because of his being there.
The Betazoid didn't need his telepathic senses to read the clear hostility many of the crew still felt regarding him. He could see it in their eyes whenever someone shot him a quick look, a sly peek out of the corner of their eye or just glared at him openly. No one had said a word to him, beyond Mendoza, and even she still kept her distance. 
Not that he could blame her. He was an unknown quantity. Both he and Solan represented so much they didn't understand. But at least they were out of their cells and being treated like guests, not prisoners. Even if they still had a long way to go.
Speak of the devil... The familiar serenity of the Vulcan's mind touched at Cinaran's, and he turned towards the egress doors as they opened, admitting Solan and an escort. The science officer managed to suppress a wince at the clear evidence of the Vulcan's earlier mistreatment, taking solace in the fact that Solan was up and about. 
But he couldn't help but gasp slightly as he felt the increase in negative emotions from the crew around them. They did their best to fight back at the sight of someone who looked so like the feared 'green-bloods', but it was a struggle for all of them. The silence in the command deck became even heavier and doom-laden. To the point that all the crew looked to their commanding officer at her post. 
Unlike many starships, the Endurance command deck lacked a 'command chair', instead having a free-standing workstation on a raised dias. Like the rest of the command deck's control consoles, it used physical switches and toggles, but also incorporated several LCD screens for the ship's commander. It was with baited breath that everyone stopped what they were doing as Mendoza turned from her station to face Solan and Cinaran. Finally, she stepped down on to the deck proper, quickly closing the distance between herself and her guests with several strides.
"Commander Solan," she began, hands interlaced behind her back, the picture of parade rest, back straight and shoulder locked. "I offer my sincere apologies at the way you have been treated."
Cinaran did his best to hide his surprise. This was the last thing he expected to hear. But the truth was, Mendoza did feel guilt and was being utterly genuine with her words as she continued, "The crew take from my example, but I allowed a gross breach of acceptable behaviour by not putting a stop to the enhanced measures of your interrogation."
Solan remained silent. Not even cocking an eyebrow in his usual fashion, allowing the colonel to say what she needed to, "I hope that whatever future relations between our people, we can move forward from this?" 
Finished, she offered a hand to the Vulcan. The old human gesture of a 'handshake'. Cinaran bit his lip in sudden anxiety at the diplomatic minefield that had just formed. Of course, Mendoza had no idea that Vulcans were touch-telepaths, so limited their physical contact with those not of their own species. Would Solan's rejection of the offered hand cause even more offence..?
But much to the Betazoid's stunned amazement, he watched as Solan clasped Mendoza's hand and gave it a vigorous pump. Well, I'll be damned..!
"It is my wish that we do indeed move forward as well, Colonel." Solan replied with typical stoic tone, but Cinaran could have sworn he heard - and felt - just a minor undercurrent of sincerity in the Vulcan's voice. "I hope that my time among your crew will allow you to see that Vulcans are of no threat to you, and we share little of our Romulan cousins prediliction for violence."
He released her hand, with Mendoza offered a brief but affirming nod of respect. Begrudging, yes, but respect all the same, "Me as well, Commander." She cleared her throat, as Cinaran felt the momentary surge of relief at receiving Solan's forgiveness, how it helped ease her shame. She stood that little bit straighter, as she turned and headed back to her station, gesturing for them both to follow.
As they flanked her, Cinaran could feel the tension of the crew lifting, the air feeling lighter now as the crew reacted to the actions and words of their commander. Maybe there is hope yet...
"We're still in orbit of the fourth planet," Mendoza briefed them. "Hopefully, once the Antares gets her and we compared notes, between our two ships, we can figure out just where the Romulans might be hiding out." She looked to Cinaran himself, "Any suggestions on how to enhance our scanners would be welcome."
Feeling a familiar thrill, and after getting a nod of approval from Solan, Cinaran nodded, "I can take a look, sure." He quickly realized he had no actual idea just what kind of systems the Endurance actually sported, "But I can't make any promises until I take a look at your hardware and operating system."
Mendoza waved one of the techs over, who then lead Cinaran back to an out of the way work-station. Thankfully, the control readouts were easily enough understood and controls clearly marked. However, it was pretty clear that the people of New Jamestown had prioritized strength and power over scientific curiosity and a desire for knowledge - the scanning systems were more on par with old Earth Starfleet designs. 
Still, Cinaran couldn't fault them their belief - if Betazed had been at the mercy of aggressive aliens during their first steps into outer space, they might too have gone down the path of 'might is right'. 
As he worked with the tech, whose own nerves at working with 'an alien' were slowly easing, Cinaran easily came to grips with it. They've got the tech and capability, he soon realized with relief, they've just never had the need to use it beyond what it can normally do.
Let's see if I can change that...

*           *           *

The brainstorming session had been eventful, to say the least. With both Hassani and th'Dane invited, the two of them had offered opinions and suggestions that perhaps the senior officers of the Antares might not have thought of. Including Maggie Campbell had added another wild-card to the discussions, but Tel knew that behind the snark and quips, Maggie was one of the best 'out-of-the-box' thinkers around. 
In their short time together in the conference room, they'd managed to understand and clarify several important points. The Winds of Andoria had flaunted Federation shipping statutes by deviating from their filed flight plan and cutting across a large swath of the Expanse. A 'short-cut', th'Dane had embarrassingly explained to the group, that his skipper had been using for years, despite Starfleet declaring the Expanse off-limits to all civilian vessels operating in the region.
Given the fact that the Winds had apparently been using this illegal route for a while, it stood to reason that the Romulans had only recently moved into the Expanse. Otherwise, the Winds may very well have met it's destruction long before now. If the Romulans were operating in the Expanse under such secrecy, it also seemed logical that they would only have destroyed the Winds because they believed the freighter had come across something it shouldn't have.
"Our sensors weren't the best," th'Dane had explained, "but we picked up some kind of weird subspace..." He'd paused, seemingly struggling for the right word before shrugging in defeat, "a 'wobble', I guess you could call it, when we had to slow to impulse when this high-energy ion storm caught us by surprise."
A 'wobble'? Tel was no science officer, but both Reese and Clarke had agreed with her that it could have been a distortion as a result of the ions interacting with a cloaking field. If the Winds had inadvertently picked up a Romulan ship, it may very well have felt that the Winds could compromise both the ship they spotted and what it represented.
Like the possible location of wherever the Romulans had set up a forward operating base. 
They were too far away from Star Empire space for casual back-and-forth, especially given how many Federation outposts monitored Romulan space. Each equipped with the latest in counter-cloak technology and advanced sensors arrays designed exclusively to watch out for any possible breaches. 
The Winds of Andoria had been half-way through its 'short-cut' when the Romulans had attacked, pushing them further into the Expanse, coralling them to System Q-241. Somewhere out of the way for the ship to crash, out of sight and out of mind. Another casualty of the mystery of the Typhon Expanse. It was pure luck the Antares was even in the region close enough to pick up their distress call, to scan the site of attack soon enough to still find evidence of Romulan weapons. 
But the Antares was not a ship of the line. Not a combat vessel, at least not one that could go toe-to-toe with a Romulan cruiser. They'd had 40 years to improve their technology away from the prying eyes of the rest of the galaxy.
Tel had no desire to take a ship full of children into combat against an enemy with who-knew-how-many unknown technological enhancements. 
It all came down to the fact that the Antares was undermanned and ill-equipped for the sudden course-change in their assignment. But they were the only Starfleet vessel operating within range of these goings-on, so they had a duty to do what they could. For now. Even if Tel didn't already think that, the brief communique she'd received from DS4 before the meeting had given her little choice. Her orders were to investigate any Romulan presence within the Expanse and report back, while awaiting tactical support. 
With that in mind, as the rest of the staff took their leave for some needed down-time, Tel spoke up, "Mr th'Dane, please stay. I'd like a word."
The Andorian, looking decidedly nervous, slowly retook him seat. Maggie Campbell also remained in her seat to Tel's right, toying with a PADD. The C.M.O., as Reese had done when asked her opinion, had voiced her concerns regarding what Tel was about to ask of the young man, so soon after surviving a crash-landing and loosing his crew. 
"You can't expect anyone to want to jump back in the saddle this fast, Hel," she had brusquely pointed out in her way. "Even if he wasn't recovering from the physical trauma, he's still processing the emotional effects."
Tel, though, had convinced her that this would be the best way to help the th'Dane heal and move on from his experiences. To help begin the healing process. By being the support system he needed, just like she'd heard Dayan reminded him of. 
"If this is about the Winds violating statutes," th'Dane began, wringing his hands, solitary antenna twitching with anxious energy, "I know I should have noted an official objection the first time I found out they--"
Tel quickly waved away the young man's worries, "What's done is done, Mr. th'Dane." She offered a supportive smile, "I'd rather talk about your future."
She could see his growing puzzlement and confusion, so she continued, making a point to project a business-like, harsh manner, "Let me be perfectly blunt, Mr. th'Dane. The Antares is in hostile territory with an inexperienced crew. I have no desire to take this ship into battle again, but it may very well happen, so I need all the able bodies I can get."
Understanding seemed to light up the Andorian's eyes as she carried on, "Now, under Starfleet regulations, I have the right to reactivate your commission and put you to work." She then softened her tone, dropping her charade, "But I would much rather have you work with me, not for me. The truth is, I need you on my bridge. So, I'd like to ask you to allow me to temporarily reactivate your commission, and once this situation is dealt with, I will happily drop you back at DS4. Free from any further obligation to Starfleet."
She ignored the pointed look she could see Maggie shooting at her. Yes, she was aware of the fact that the Antares might not make it back to port in one piece. All too aware, in fact. But she wanted - needed - to believe and hope they would. "However, if you don't feel that--"
"I accept." The reply was so matter-of-fact that Tel almost didn't register it. She could see her own surprise mirrored in Maggie's stunned look. "I would be proud to serve on this ship, Captain Tel."
That was easier then I expected... Still, she not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth in these strenuous times, "Very well then."
She stood, offering her hand to th'Dane, who shook it eagerly, "Thank you, Captain."
"Welcome aboard the Antares, Ensign th'Dane."

*           *           *

Huh, Reese mused privately as she looked up to see who was entering the bridge from the opening port-side entrance. Guess he said yes after all...
When Captain Tel had outlined her plan to recruit Olishnavar th'Dane, Reese had made her doubts clear that he would agree to her suggestion. It wasn't that she had anything against the young man - in fact, she liked him a whole lot. He'd met her earlier challenges to his recounting of the attack on the Winds of Andoria with confidence and determination. Even before that, the acting First Officer had been impressed with th'Dane's attempt to convince the away team to leave him behind to secure their own safety. 
But that didn't change the fact that, despite impressive credentials, he'd been out of Starfleet a good few years. Not to mention that he was still recovering from a near-death crash landing and the associated wounds and injuries he'd sustained as a result. In her current capacity as a sounding-board to her commanding officer, Reese would have been remiss in her duties to not point these out.
Still, Reese couldn't help but smile at the sight of the clearly-nervous Andorian smoothing down his standard-issue mustard/gold operations division uniform. Combadge in place, with the lone rank pip denoting his rank as Ensign. The picture-perfect image of a well-turned out Starfleet officer. He met the curious glances his way without batting an eye-lid, but Reese saw the almost imperceptible twitch of his intact antenna as he walked the deck.
It was Tel who brought the odd silence that had followed th'Dane's arrival on the bridge to an end as she stood from her chair and approached him. Giving him an appraising look, before offering a grin, "I see you found your way to the quartermaster's office, Ensign."
"A tighter fit then I remember, ma'am," th'Dane quipped, a slight tremble in his voice the only other indication of whatever nervses or anxiety he was dealing with. Reese couldn't help but be impressed with him. Despite everything, th'Dane was facing his trauma head-on and not sitting out on the sidelines. "But I'll get used to it."
Tel's grin broadened, "Take your station, Mr. th'Dane."
He offered a brisk nod, before moving down to the lower level and taking the navigation position, having been vacating by Petty Officer Kirchaal only moments before. The enlisted Rigellian was an able member of the crew, but she herself had been more then ready to admit that she lacked the training or experience that th'Dane had. Kirchaal would be better put to use assisting the other engineering personnel with all the repairs still needing to be tended to.
Reese wasn't a big fan of the idea of taking the Antares back to the site of battle, at barely half-strength, even if they were 'all friends now' with Hassani's people. She had never been one to let go of a grudge easily, and being shot at tended to piss her off remarkably effectively. Not to mention the fact that both Xerx and Solan were still in their custody. The Betazoid's oblique reference to having 'issues' had left her worried for the both of them, but more for Solan in particular. 
But Reese was also a pragmatist and understood the need to compare notes with the only other people who had any idea that Romulans had been skulking about the Typhon Expanse.
I just hope the captain's faith in Hassani isn't misplaced...
It was with those kinds of concerned thoughts running through her head that Reese spent the next few minutes. She managed to distract herself from worrying by focusing on her duties, checking several diagnostics she was running on various tactical systems. Pleased to see that all the shield generators were operating back up to 90% efficiency, but not happy that several torpedo launching subroutines were still glitching thanks to power surges through the EPS relays. 
Dayan's clipped British tones brought her back to the present, "Approaching System Q-241."
"Slow to impulse, Lieutenant," Tel ordered crisply. Reese noted how she leaned forward just a little in her command chair. Was is excitement or trepidation that made her do it. Not for the first time, Reese wished she had at least a modicum of Xerx's Betazoid gifts. "Anything on sensors?"
While Clarke ran a series of scans, Reese brought up her own sensor feed as the young science officer replied. "I'm picking up the Endurance near the fourth planet, Captain," she explained, sounding almost bewildered, "But, ma'am, I'm also picking up something very weird."
Yeah, that's one word for it. Reese frowned at what she was seeing, barely making any heads or tails of it, despite the computer's assistance. Even when Clarke elaborated, Reese still felt clueless, "There is some kind of strange gravimetric disturbance surrounding the Endurance. Gravity in the immediate area around the ship is undergoing constant shifts."
In contrast to everyone else, when Hassani spoke up, he sounded nonchalant, "There's no need to worry." He met both Tel's questioning look, as well as Reese's own rather waspish glare, with an annoying hint of amusement, "They're just purging the gravitic fold generator."
Despite her annoyance at Hassani's blase attitude, Reese  was satisfied to finally learn the name of the so-called 'big gun' Captain Tel's after-action report on the engagement with the Endurance had mentioned. "That's the gravity weapon you used before?"
Hassani nodded sagely, "Yes. Something we developed from the original artificial gravity research being done on S.O.R.A. With Liirani tech, we were able to weaponize it." He shrugged carelessly, "But the excess gravitons can cause localized sensor interference, so every so often it has to be shut down while the scanners are recalibrated."
"That would explain the gravitic anomalies," Clarke agreed, but then pointed to a display, "But there's also several unusual subspace wakes passing through the graviton field."
Hassani's frown did not sit well with Reese, "That's not a normal by-product. The engines are shut down during a purge, and flight operations are cancelled to avoid accidents."
"Captain..?" Something in th'Dane's tone made the hair on the back of Reese's neck stand on end. It was not a good feeling. 
She looked to the Andorian as he stared at his navigational readouts, "I recognize the subspace signature of those wakes." He turned to face Tel, eyes wide with realization and dread, "They all almost near enough match the 'wobble' we picked up on the Winds..."
The rest of the sentence went unsaid, but Reese got the idea - 'right before the Romulans attacked'...

*           *           *

Around the Endurance, space was twisted and distorted. But now, several distinct areas began to solidify, transforming into sleek, avian-like shapes.
Within seconds, those four areas fully faded into view with a deliberate, tauntingly-slow pace. Each with forward-swept wings that arched out and tapered off into a powerful looking nacelle. The fore of the vessels narrowed into a vicious point that housed glowing weapons emplacements...

*           *           *

Oh, shit...
It was all hands on deck on the Endurance's command center. They were practically flying blind, while the scanner arrays were brought back on-line frustratingly slow. Crewmen and techs ran between consoles, passing orders and confirming vessel status as battle alarms echoed so loud that the deckplates under Cinaran's feet felt like they were reverberating. 
The Betazoid stood at one of the anciliiary bulkhead consoles under the large forward viewscreen. Desperately trying to coax just a little more data out of systems that were outdated at least two decades compared to the Antares. But I'm not on the Antares, more's the pity, so I have to work with what I've got...
"We've got four Romulan birds-of-prey taking positions all around us!" He had to yell to be heard above the din of both alert sirens and panicked crew. Although the design of the ships was completely new to him, the classic design architecture and general power signatures gave away their identity. Not to mention the raptor imagery emblazoned on the vessel's dorsal hull, displayed with intent as they soared past and around the stationary Endurance.
He looked over to where Solan stood with Mendoza at the later's command console. "We should attempt to communicate with them," offered the Vulcan.
Mendoza pursed her lips, disgust coming off her in waves. She hated the very idea of being at the mercy of 'green-bloods'. Cinaran was impressed when he felt her push her instinctive reactions down, as she shook her head, "We're still comm-blind because of the purge."
"Then I suggest we 'sit tight'," Solan responded. "Perhaps they have no desire to engage in hosilities unless provoked?"
How on Earth did the Winds of Andoria 'provoke' them, Cinaran mused with distaste. A Monarch-class freighter was no kind of opponent, but Romulans had chased it down and destroyed it. Still, he held his tongue, knowing that Solan was right to try to urge a peaceful resolution to this stand-off.
However, any hopes for that option went out the window when he notes the sudden build-up in the forward weapons array in the closest ship, "They're firing!"
The disruptor blast slammed into the Endurance, sending the crew of the command deck flying. The reinforced armor that covered the ship absorbed the worst of it, but damage-control alarms still went off on multiple panels and displays across the compartment.
"I think that answers your question, Commander!" Mendoza spat, as she gripped tightly onto her console to avoid being thrown to the deck by the ship's wild bucking. 
"Indeed." His reply, delivered with typical Vulcan stoicism, seemed so at odds with the current situation that Cinaran very nearly gave in to an almost insane urge to laugh. By sheer force of will, he didn't. 
"All crew, bring the ship to attack posture," Mendoza called out, focusing on the battle her ship was now pulled in to. "Bring weapons batteries on line, and prep the grav-generator for immediate discharge as soon as the coils are clear!"
Cinaran backed off, moving out of the way of the personnel moving all around him. He wasn't the least bit familiar with their battle protocols and would end up being more of a hindrance then anything. The best place for him was at Solan's side, keeping out from underfoot as the Endurance crew went to work.
He hated it. He wasn't a soldier, a warrior. But he didn't like standing on the side-lines while others fought to keep themselves and others alive. 
However, this wasn't his ship. His crew. All he could do was wait it out. To render aid and assistance if and when it was called for. For now, his fate was in the hands of people he barely knew and still wasn't sure he could trust.
Not like I have a whole lot of choice, though...

*           *           *

"Red Alert. All hands to battle stations."
Tel's voice was calm and controlled, but with a tense undercurrent as she gave the order and sat up straight in her seat. Her eyes were fixed on the sight of the Endurance being absolutely pummelled by disruptor blasts from the attacking Romulan cruisers. Birds-of-prey, by the size and look of the design, Reese hypothesised, but not a class I recognize. 
The bridge lights dimmed as the alert lighting kicked in. The klaxons sounded several times as Ensign Ye relayed the order called the crew to their posts. Acting on instinct borne from years of training, Reese brought all weapons systems to full readiness without waiting for any official orders. They were on-line within seconds, as all shield generators went into active mode and surrounded the Antares in their protective bubble. 
"Shields up, all phaser banks online, torpedo launchers loaded," she reported crisply as everyone else on the bridge went about their tasks. Dayan and th'Dane had their heads lowered, conferring in quiet whispers, while Ye continued collating deck readiness reports. Reese couldn't help but feel sorry for them - out of all of them, she was the only one to see full-on combat prior to their time in the Expanse. 
I wonder how many of them will live to see more..? 
The thought came unbidden, and Reese quickly quashed it. Now was not the time to be thinking along those lines. Instead, she needed to her head in the game. Although she was no stranger to ship-to-ship combat, she didn't know the Antares's tactical profile as well as she'd like. That was not been her main priority when she'd been prepping for this assignment. I was supposed to be a teacher, not a tactical officer...
The last time Antares had gone into battle, for however brief a time under misunderstood circumstances, she had not been on-board. This would be her first outing handling the Miranda-class starship's weapons. She didn't doubt her own skills, though, or her experiences throughout her career. Despite the off-ramp her career might have taken to become a member of faculty at the Academy, she was a fighter first and foremost. 
She would do whatever it took to keep her crew safe. 
With a brief glance, Reese also made a note of the fact that Hassani had barely moved. His gaze still on the screen, taking in the image of his ship buckling under the constant Romulan barrage. Despite her justifiable animosity towards him, she felt a twinge of sympathy for the man - cut off from his people, forced to stand by idly as they fought hard, unable to do anything to assist. A feeling she had been all too familiar with when she'd been stuck on the planet the Endurance still orbitted.
[Engine Room to Bridge!] Mitchell Hanover's perturbed voice cut through the near-silence of the bridge that had settled over the bridge since the alert klaxons had been silenced. [Are you freaking serious with this Red Alert crap?!]
Reese couldn't fault the chief gineer. Once again, the Antares was about to enter the fray of battle. The wounds still fresh from their earlier scuffle. Hanover and her team of techs, interns and cadets - including Charlie - had barely stopped since the Antares had warped away from this very system not too long ago. Still, it was hard to not wince a little as the engineer continued on, [We've only just gotten most of our damaged systems back up and running again!]
The captain's reply was collected and level, not rising to her chief engineer's ire, "It can't be helped, Chief. I know we're not in top fighting shape, but we've got Romulans dead ahead, and the Endurance is no match for them on their own."
Hanover sounded somewhat mollified as she responded after a moment's aggrieved silence, [Fine. I'll do what I can to keep this bucket of bolts together. But we're not going to last too long in a fire-fight ourselves, Cap.]
"Understood. Bridge out." Tel cut the channel with a stab of her finger on her armrest controls. 
It was like the entire bridge crew was holding their breath. Even Hassani broke his gaze away from the screen to look to Tel, who remained unmoving in her chair. 
Finally, she looked over her shoulder to Reese herself. Locked eyes with her. Her gaze questioning. Needing reassurance.
The acting First Officer offered a small nod of acknowledgement. Confirmation that she was making the right decision. The only decision. No matter what, Starfleet did not just walk away from a situation like this. 
They would not leave anyone to the mercy of the Romulans. 
With the barest hint of a grateful smile, Tel then faced forward again. Hands gripping her armrest with a white-knuckle grip as she spoke the words they were all waiting for.
"Helm. Take us in."

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To Be Concluded in
EPISODE 8: "A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD"
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