Captain Harry Martinez leaned against the cool metal of the Raptor's stellar cartography console, his gaze fixed on the holographic projection shimmering before him. Beside him stood Lieutenant Quinna, her four arms folded patiently, and Gel Fenrix, the former Urthean captain and representative of her people, who were seeking safe passage to the Kilagra Urthean Empire. Their current predicament was displayed in intricate detail: a projected route fraught with peril, dictated by the necessity of traversing the infamous Badlands. This sprawling nebula, a chaotic tapestry of cosmic dust and unpredictable energies, stretched not only across multiple sectors of known space but even snaked tendrils into the ostensibly neutral territory claimed by the Confederation.
Fenrix had been very cooperative, providing what little remained of her people's historical navigational data – fragmented memories of routes long abandoned due to the Badlands' volatile nature. Amelia, hunched over her console, her brow furrowed in concentration as she meticulously processed this fragmented information, weaving it into a viable, if risky, trajectory.
Despite Amelia’s outwardly calm demeanor and her seemingly genuine cooperation during the recent convoy escort mission, a knot of unease remained stubbornly lodged in Harry's gut. He found himself constantly observing her, his eyes flicking to her subtle movements, the almost unnerving stillness of her large, feline eyes. He chided himself for these lingering reservations, especially as he had witnessed a nascent bond forming between her and Knackt, the Raptor's gruff but ultimately kind-hearted fix it man. The guilt gnawed at him, a quiet counterpoint to the tension of their mission.
Amelia, a whirlwind of focused energy, effectively erected a mental barrier against the Captain's palpable distrust and the general anxieties of their situation. Her fingers danced across the controls, her attention solely on the complex calculations before her. Yet, even in her deep concentration, the tendrils of Eve’s machine presence reached her, a familiar whisper in the back of her mind. Eve, the ship's integrated artificial intelligence and Amelia’s closest confidante, gently probed her emotional state.
“I do not believe that Captain Martinez fully trusts you yet. His biometrics seem to spike when he’s in your presence.” Eve said through their shared link.
"He's trying," Amelia projected back, a silent reassurance to her AI companion. Then, her mental focus sharpened, and she turned her thoughts to the crux of the navigational challenge. Fenrix’s data hinted at a potential anomaly, a specific, uncharted void within the Badlands that might offer a shortcut. "What are your projections on that void Fenrix mentioned?" she inquired of Eve, her mental voice laced with professional detachment.
Eve’s response was immediate and laced with concern. "The data is incomplete, Amelia. Uncharted space within the Anomaly presents significant and unpredictable dangers. There are no sensor readings, no historical precedents. Proceeding there blind could potentially expose you and the entire crew to unknown threats."
Amelia frowned and projected her thoughts back to the computer. “Just because we don’t know what’s in there doesn’t necessarily mean there is anything in there Eve.”
“Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, Amelia.” Eve said.
Amelia acknowledged Eve’s caution but internally silenced the AI’s further protests. The potential time savings were too significant to ignore outright. A month shaved off their journey through the treacherous Badlands could be the difference between success and catastrophic failure.
Lieutenant Quinna, her sensitive senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the room's atmosphere, noticed Amelia’s brief hesitation, the almost imperceptible pause in her usually fluid movements. With a soft, chirping vocalization, she inquired, "Crewman, is there an alternative you are considering?"
Amelia straightened, gesturing to a specific point on the holographic display. "Fenrix's data suggests a possible shortcut through an unstable plasma field within the Anomaly. On the other side of it is a void of that is just choked with interstellar dust. It could potentially shave off at least a month of travel time."
Harry, who had been silently observing the exchange, turned his attention fully to Fenrix. "Your thoughts on this, Fenrix?" he asked, his voice betraying a mixture of hope and apprehension.
The Urthean regarded the holographic projection with a thoughtful tilt of her head. "The Badlands are inherently dangerous, Captain Martinez. Plasma storms, unpredictable gravitational fluctuations, rogue asteroids – these are constant threats regardless of the chosen route." Her melodic voice held a note of pragmatic assessment. "However," she continued, her gaze meeting Harry’s, "this alternative path, if viable, could circumvent the more unpredictable plasma storm patterns and, perhaps more crucially, avoid prolonged travel through open Urthean space. Our presence there, with your vessel and potentially faulty cloaking device, would be a significant risk in itself."
Harry expelled a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly despite the inherent uncertainty of the proposed shortcut. "Aya," he muttered, an expression of weary resignation. "Well, I certainly didn't expect a smooth trip through the bloody Badlands." His gaze drifted to Amelia, who stood quietly by her console, her attention once again fixed on the data.
Fenris's steady voice cut through the tense silence. "There is no such thing as an uneventful crossing of the Badlands, Captain Martinez. The very nature of the nebula ensures a degree of… excitement."
"That’s mainly why the Confederation stays the hell out of there," Harry grumbled, echoing a sentiment shared by most spacefarers who valued their lives and ships. He then turned to his Lieutenant. "Quinna, what's your assessment of this? Weighing the potential benefits against the unknown risks."
The Bem officer considered the implications carefully, her multifaceted eyes shifting as she processed the available information. The secrecy of venturing into uncharted space, coupled with the inherent dangers of the Badlands, presented a complex equation. "I would suggest that the potential time savings make the risk… potentially worth it, Captain," she advised, gesturing with two of her four arms towards the uncharted void on the holographic display. "However, if we choose to traverse this void, I strongly recommend we proceed with extreme caution. Maintain heightened sensor vigilance, prepare for unexpected spatial anomalies, and ensure all defensive systems are at maximum readiness."
“We’d be blind if we go in there if it’s anything like those sensor readings say it is.” Harry nodded, absorbing their assessments. The decision was far from easy, but the potential rewards of a faster transit were undeniable. "Alright," he said, a note of decisive action entering his voice. "Good work, Crewmen.” He said to Amelia.
“Lieutenant, I want a full risk assessment compiled, factoring in the limitations of our current systems. Fenrix, thank you for the information." He turned towards the exit. "I want to review this proposed route with the helmsman and the senior officers.
Amelia offered a small, tight smile. "Acknowledged, Captain."
"Thank you for considering the data," Fenrix added with a subtle inclination of her head.
“I will be in my office completing the task the Captain assigned me, I suggest you keep analysing the data and find some other alternative routes if possible.”
The heavy door hissed shut, the subtle whirring mechanism indicating the Bem's departure. Amelia leaned against the cool metal, a wave of exhaustion washing over her despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
Suddenly, Eve's holographic projection flickered into existence in the center of the small briefing room. The AI’s usual calm demeanor was replaced by a visible agitation, her translucent form buzzing with electronic disapproval. "I strongly disagree with this decision, Amelia," Eve stated, her synthesized voice carrying a sharper edge than usual. "The Badlands are already an unpredictable and taxing environment for the Raptor. To deliberately expose the vessel to further unknown risks within that volatile territory is, in my assessment, profoundly irresponsible."
Amelia pushed herself off the wall, meeting Eve's gaze steadily. "But the core directive remains: to get these refugees home quickly and safely. Consider the alternative, Eve. Would you rather navigate the heavily patrolled Urthean sectors, constantly evading their detection and risking direct confrontation? Every second would be a gamble, every moment a potential attack."
Eve's brow furrowed in a complex digital expression as she processed the counter-argument, internal calculations whirring. "No," she conceded after a moment, her tone softening slightly. "Prolonged exposure to Urthean patrols carries its own unacceptable probabilities of failure and capture. However," her holographic form pulsed with emphasis, "our statistical chances of successfully traversing the uncharted regions of the Badlands and reaching our destination are significantly lower this way. While my internal systems and defensive capabilities are considerable, Amelia, I am not invincible. The cumulative damage from environmental hazards, potential unknown threats, and even minor Urthean skirmishes takes its toll." A digital sigh seemed to ripple through her projection. "Even with the recent improvements to the nanite repair protocols, their effectiveness in maintaining structural integrity and operational efficiency is demonstrably decreasing under sustained duress."
Amelia offered a small, genuine smile. "Thanks for your candid assessment, Eve. Your input is invaluable, even if I can’t tell anyone about it."
A faint luminescence emanated from Eve's holographic form, a subtle indication of her acceptance. "The success of this endeavor will be reward in itself," she replied, her tone regaining some of its customary composure. "Despite our differing initial perspectives, I am pleased that we can consistently find.. A suitable compromise."
"Me too, Eve," Amelia said, the weight on her shoulders lightening slightly at the AI’s words. The alliance was unconventional, forged in secrecy and necessity, but it was their best hope.


* * * *
The Lost and Damned. Pt1
Episode 24
2025 IDP Productions
Written by: Vakash
Edited: Ashen Hugo
* * * *

Captains Log: Stardate 348110.20

After about a week of preparations the Raptor is ready to leave space dock to take the Urthean Refugees to their Asylum in the Kilagra Urthean Empire. It’s going to be a long arduous journey and the ship is literally packed tightly with as much supplies and people as it can hold. Everyone except the senior staff is being asked to double up while emptied quarters are being used to hold extra things we may need during the journey. We will be on our own in a relatively unknown area of space, we have to be prepared as we can for any situation. In the interest of Cooperation between our two peoples it’s been advised by starfleet command to allow the Urthean crew to work with ours in order to maintain some stability. I have mixed feelings about this, but given the situation it wouldn’t hurt, it’s not like they would be given access to critical system protocols and they’ll be supervised by our own people. Tensions will be high enough as it is. I don't need a hold full of restless Urthean’s irritating their neighbors on deck four.

The corridors of the Raptor hummed with a frantic energy, a stark contrast to its usual methodical calm. Every available nook and cranny had been pressed into service, a testament to the sheer volume of supplies and personnel now crammed aboard. Captain Harry Martinez, moving through the organized chaos, found himself frequently intercepted by crewmembers and department heads, each seeking his approval on some final detail or requisition. His signature, applied with a practiced flourish, became a repeated motion as he navigated the ship. The bustling activity was a strange sight for the Raptor, a vessel primarily designed for swift patrols and reconnaissance, not for transporting a whole extra crew of disenfranchised non combatants. Yet, its unique advantage – a highly effective cloaking device – had unexpectedly thrust it into this critical, non-combat mission, a role Harry still grappled with.
“Good Morning Harry!” Fara said, her voice a low purr as she slipped into step beside him, a datapad extended. Her tail, usually a precise indicator of her mood, gave a barely perceptible twitch.
“Good Morning, Chief,” Harry replied, a small smile playing on his lips. He took the datapad, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second—a fleeting contact that sent a familiar spark through him. “I take it the engines are ready to go?”
Fara nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Already got the adjustments made to go plunge into that nebulous mess. Not looking forward to cleaning out the bussard collectors when this is all over, though.” She leaned in just a touch, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Unless, of course, you’d care to join me?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing beyond your talents,” Harry said, a quiet challenge in his tone. He knew she loved the work, the grimy satisfaction of it.
“You are always welcome to come down to engineering and help out if you want,” she countered, her gaze direct and teasing.
Harry chuckled, a warm sound that only few ever heard from him. “You say that, but we both know where that’s going to lead.” He gave the data-pad a pointed glance, a silent reminder of their public setting.
“Yeah…” Fara trailed off, her voice a soft murmur that was almost lost in the corridor’s hum. She nudged him playfully with her elbow, her touch lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary. “But the makeup would be worth it.” Her eyes held a mischievous glint that promised much more than words.
Harry flushed slightly, the only sign that she’d managed to find a successful chink in his armor. He smirked, a private acknowledgment of their shared secret, even as they continued their walk. “Th… this looks fine, Chief.” He handed the datapad back to her, a gesture that was both professional and subtly dismissive of her playful advances in front of others. “Now go terrorize someone else.”
Fara’s grin widened, a delightful, almost predatory expression. She saluted with the dat-apad, a theatrical flourish that drew no undue attention. “Yes, sir!” she said, her voice a little louder, a little more formal, as she sauntered away, her tail flicking from side to side in a rhythm only Harry truly understood. Harry continued onward down the corridor running his own checklists of things to do before they disembarked.
“Captain!” Doctor Okan’s voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the ambient hum of the busy corridors, jolting Harry from his contemplation of the ship’s departure checklists. Harry turned, spotting his Chief Medical Officer, a harried expression etched on his face, making his way through the throng with a series of muttered apologies. “I’m glad I caught up to you.”
“What can I do for you, Doctor?” Harry asked, his tone even, though a subtle flicker of impatience crossed his features. He had a hundred other things to attend to before they disembarked, each one feeling more pressing than the last.
“I have a small problem, Captain, a rather significant one for our current mission parameters.” Doctor Okan said, his voice tight with barely suppressed frustration, as he thrust a data-pad into Harry’s hand. He looked obviously perturbed, his brow deeply furrowed, a vein throbbing faintly at his temple. “Somebody—and I’m still trying to figure out who, despite my best efforts—screwed up and allocated my reserve supply stores for a few additional items I need in order to treat our Urthean passengers. Items I specifically requested and had approved weeks ago.”
Harry took the datapad, his eyes scanning the report. The details coalesced, and he recalled signing off on it and approving it early in the week. A faint memory stirred—a quick glance, a pen stroke, amidst a towering stack of similar requests that blurred into a singular, bureaucratic haze.
“It normally wouldn’t be an issue,” Okan continued, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it even more askew. “But since I’ve been working side by side with Doctor Yevrin—their own medical specialist, you know, a very particular individual—I can’t emphasize enough how much we will need these items. Their physiology has some… unique requirements, and our standard medical supplies simply won’t cut it for some of the more common ailments they’re susceptible to on a prolonged journey through the Badlands.”
“I’m aware,” Harry said, looking up from the datapad, his gaze sharp, immediately grasping the gravity of the situation. “What is in the space now, if not your medical supplies?”
“Additional Part’s stores for Repairs!” Okan huffed, throwing his hands up slightly in exasperation, his voice rising in pitch. “I spoke to Commander Phoenix about it, naturally, and she claimed absolute ignorance, apologized profusely for the complication, and then, without offering any concrete solution, simply told me to come talk to you. As if I didn’t already know to come to the Captain for an issue of this magnitude! That space is specifically allocated for Medical Storage, Captain, as per Starfleet regulations. There is not to be anything else placed there. It’s clearly marked in the manifest, prominently, in bold red letters!”
“I’m aware of the regulations, Doctor,” Harry said, his voice firm, projecting an unwavering authority that cut through Okan’s agitated protests. He knew the strict protocols for medical stores – they were paramount to crew and passenger safety. “Given the sheer volume of cargo and personnel moving on and off the ship these past few days, it could have been some station crew, or even a temporary loading team, who got a bit lazy or confused with the schematics. Regardless, it needs to be rectified immediately. This is not a request.” He looked directly at Okan, his eyes boring into the CMO’s. “Have it removed immediately and stowed elsewhere. Find an available auxiliary storage bay, or even a section of one of the main cargo holds if necessary, but those medical supplies will be in their designated location before we disembark. If anyone—anyone—has a problem with that, they can speak to me directly. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Captain.” Okan said, a visible wave of profound relief washing over his features, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension drained from him. He nodded emphatically, a genuine smile replacing his earlier harried expression.
“In fact, Doctor, I’ll help you.” Harry said, handing the data-pad back to Okan, his gaze sweeping the corridor until he spotted a group of ensigns passing at a junction, looking eager to escape the pre-launch frenzy. “You three, ensigns, come here!”
The three young crewmen—a female Altairian with luminous blue eyes, a male Catarian whose ears twitched nervously, and a stocky Male Dorelian—looked around a bit perturbed at being singled out, but their expressions quickly morphed into rigid attention as they realized it was their Captain calling upon them. They hurried over, their movements sharp and precise.
“Are you three doing anything important at the moment?” Harry snapped authoritatively, his voice cutting through the noise.
“We had just completed our shift, Sir.” The Catarian, Ensign Kimmitz, suddenly blurted out, his voice slightly higher than usual, as the other two looked terrified, clearly expecting a dressing-down for stating the obvious.
“Names.” Harry said, his tone still sharp, but with a hint of amusement in his eyes that only Okan seemed to catch.
“I’m Kimmitz, Sir. This is Grundle and Palova.” The Catarian replied, trying to regain his composure.
“Excellent, Computer.” Harry said, tapping his badge with a decisive motion. “Grant two hours leave time to Ensigns Kimmitz, Grundle, and Palova, apply to the start of their next shift and update the duty roster.”
“DUTY ROSTER UPDATED CAPTAIN.” The ship’s computer replied curtly, its synthesized voice echoing through the corridor.
“Now, I want you three to help Doctor Okan get his reserve storage area cleared out. The quicker you get it done, the more free time you’ll have before your next rotation. Understood?” Harry’s gaze was firm, yet the unspoken incentive was clear.
The three young officers, now visibly less terrified and more motivated by the prospect of unexpected free time, nodded vigorously then replied. “Yes, Sir!” in unison, their voices ringing with renewed enthusiasm.
“Thank you, Captain. I believe I can handle it from here. Come with me, you three.” Doctor Okan said, his voice laced with triumph as he turned, a renewed sense of purpose in his stride, already mentally assembling a plan of attack for the storage bay with his eager, albeit newly conscripted, crew. He led the three junior officers away, disappearing into the bustling flow of the corridor.
Harry turned to leave and jumped at the suddenly white form that was in his vision that as it cleared, formed into Kazan.
“Sorry to interrupt you, Captain,” the white-furred Urthean Tailor said with a slight smile, his blue optics glowing faintly. “Though, in my humble experience, true apologies are often just promises of future transgressions. Still, I just wanted to reiterate my gratitude for allowing me this… unique vantage point to assist my people.”
Harry bit back his annoyance, his mind racing through a thousand pressing calculations, yet he forced himself to maintain a semblance of professional candor with this civilian. Kazan had been undeniably instrumental, practically finishing the complex arrangements that Terri-Lu had merely started months ago. He was the acting liaison, the oil in the ponderous machine of interspecies cooperation. Harry couldn't shake the suspicion, though, that Kazan's true motive might be less about genuine aid and more about the lucrative opportunities for his wares – opportunities he had certainly seized. Harry knew precious little of the man beyond the whispered rumors: a former assassin for the Empire, granted asylum, now quietly maintaining his quaint little shop on the Promenade. Harry tolerated his presence, but every interaction left an unpleasant, crawling sensation on his skin.
“What you’ve done has been… remarkably efficient, Mr. Kazan,” Harry said, his voice clipped, betraying none of his internal reservations. He didn't offer praise lightly, especially not to someone he couldn't quite categorize. “It seemed prudent that you should see this… peculiar venture through to its conclusion with the rest of us. After all, you’ve put so much effort into the initial complications.”
“Indeed.” Kazan said with a satisfied nod, his luminous eyes seeming to pierce Harry’s own, as if sensing the captain’s discomfort, perhaps even delighting in it. “Logic often dictates the most fascinating paths, wouldn't you agree, Captain? And I, for one, am quite looking forward to spending some more time with my own people. To observe. To learn. To see what fascinating new tapestry we might weave from the threads of this… rather dramatic undertaking. A truly novel experience, wouldn't you say? To build something new from the ashes of the old, with just a hint of chaos to keep things interesting.”
Harry’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He didn’t have time for philosophical meandering or thinly veiled provocations. “Mr. Kazan,” he began, his voice flat, a clear note of dismissal underlying his words. “Is there anything tangible you require while you’re here? Because, as you can plainly see, I have… pressing duties I need to attend to that require my immediate and undivided attention.” He gestured vaguely down the corridor, a clear and unambiguous attempt to extricate himself.
“Not currently, no, Captain. My preparations are quite complete,” Kazan replied, his smile unwavering, a knowing glint in his eye. “A tailor always prepares for every eventuality, even the most improbable. But rest assured, should a need arise, I will endeavor to use the proper channels. I wouldn't dream of interrupting your… pressing duties without due cause. Though, one does wonder, in a situation such as this, what truly constitutes 'due cause.' A fascinating dilemma, wouldn't you agree?” He paused, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment too long. “Have a good day, Captain. And safe travels. May your journey be as... enlightening as it promises to be.”
Kazan continued on his way, making his way through the crowd, his white fur a striking contrast to the darker hues of the crew uniforms. Harry did as well, stopping at a turbo-lift, finding a bit of solace in his ready room was starting to seem like a really good idea. The lift signaled it noticed he was standing there and after a few moments the lift opened and he saw Commander Rivas inside. They exchanged pleasantries and Harry requested the lift to go to deck one.
“Busy morning huh?” Rivas asked.
“That’s an understatement.” Harry said. “What have you been up to?”
“Getting the Marines and the Urtheans settled on Deck Four.”
“How’s that going?”
“How do you think it’s going?” Rivas replied.
Harry sighed as the lift slid to a halt and they stepped out into Deck one that was a lot less busier than the rest of the ship.
“To put it bluntly it’s like keeping a bunch of hungry predators right next to a bunch of defenseless prey.” Rivas sighed. “But I don’t think the Urtheans are predators, in this instance..”
“Please tell me Hughes has it under control.” Harry said.
“Yes, he’s drilling the hell out of them so they don’t have a reason to be antagonistic.” Rivas said. “I mean these are people who aren’t really trained to be ‘diplomatic’.”
“I’m well aware of that but it wouldn’t hurt them to learn.” Harry replied as he approached his ready room with Rivas in tow. They stepped inside and Rivas took the seat opposite of Harry’s desk as Harry went to his replicator. “Do you want anything Commander?”
“Thanks, but no. I’m waiting to see what the rest of the day has in store.” Rivas said, smiling.
Harry chuckled and went to the replicator and had it make a Cherry Fizz soda water with ice in a rather large glass he then settled in his chair. Harry,, took another long sip of his Cherry Fizz, the tartness a welcome distraction from the mounting pressures. He glanced at the time readout on his desk console. Only a few more hours until launch. He still had a final check comm with Starfleet Command for any last-minute updates – though he didn't expect any. Their mission was deliberately low-profile.
Rivas leaned back, letting his gaze drift around the Captain’s ready room. It was sparse, functional, reflecting Harry’s no-nonsense approach to command, yet there were subtle personal touches – a small, worn leather-bound book on a shelf, its spine cracked with age, a framed commendation tucked almost modestly behind a data slate. There were a few framed pictures on his desk, but it didn’t take much deduction to know who they were of, a subtle reminder of his Captain’s humanity despite the picture of detachment he wore like a finely crafted mask. Rivas mused, the quiet of the ready room allowing his thoughts to roam, the distant hum of the warp core a steady counterpoint to his internal monologue.
“You’re quiet, Commander,” Harry said, setting his glass down with a soft click, his voice sharp, almost accusatory. “Something else bothering you, or just enjoying the rare and utterly temporary peace?”
Rivas blinked, pulled from his thoughts, a slight startle in his posture. He crossed one leg over the other, a casual grace in his movement. “Just… considering the variables, Captain. It’s quite the undertaking, isn’t it?” He gestured vaguely with a hand, encompassing the ship, the mission, the very fabric of their current reality. “Packing this many souls, and this much… cargo, into the Raptor. It’s a patrol vessel, not a bloody transport. And then the destination… or rather, the journey through it. The Badlands.” A hint of a smirk touched his lips.
Harry nodded slowly, leaning back further into his chair, a shadow crossing his face, his expression now more thoughtful than terse. “Indeed. Starfleet’s stretching us thin. Like a piece of old, brittle gum. But… it is a necessary risk. For both our peoples, if this alliance, this fragile hope, is to truly take root.” He paused, his gaze distant, as if seeing beyond the confines of the ship. “Think about it, Don. If all goes well, The Kilagra Star Empire, with Starfleet’s help, possibly the larger Urthean Empire itself, might have better things to do than constantly cause trouble on our border. A lasting peace, or at least a stable détente, a mutual exasperation perhaps, could stem from this one merciful errand. Think of the paperwork that would save us all.”
Don seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, the weight of Harry’s words settling over him. He ran a hand over his chin, a familiar gesture. “I will admit, as of late, my perspective on Urtheans has changed a little.” He shifted in his chair, a new vulnerability in his posture, a confession in his tone. “I know you read my debriefing, but… I feel like I owe Orlax something, at least to her own people. She saved me and O’mara. She didn’t have to. Not after everything.” He frowned, the memory of their “adventure” a stark reminder, before forcing his regret away and replacing it with grim determination. “What little I learned of her life, she deserved way better than she was treated. A victim of circumstance, of a war she had no hand in starting. A pawn in a game of empires. And frankly,” he added, a glint in his eye, “she was too interesting a character to let simply vanish into history.”
“Sometimes, Commander,” Harry said after a brief, understanding pause, his voice softening, a hint of genuine empathy entering his tone, “we find allies in the most unlikely places. In the dust. In the wreckage. In the very heart of a war.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “And sometimes, those alliances, the ones that truly matter, are forged not in formal treaties or diplomatic dinners, but in the most unexpected and terrifying of fires.” His expression was grave now, hinting at unseen depths.
“You certainly have a lot of hope for the future and a flair for the dramatic, Captain,” Rivas said with a grin, a confident, easy posture in his chair, almost as if he were enjoying the philosophical turn in their conversation. “Makes a First Officer’s job more interesting, at least.”
“I wasn’t trying to be dramatic, Commander,” Harry scolded him, a frown quickly forming on his face, though there was a flicker of something almost akin to amusement in his eyes. “It’s simply the truth. Now, is there anything in particular we need to go over? Any more impending disasters I should be aware of, or have we covered the major ones?”
Rivas chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “No, Captain, not that I’m aware of at the moment. The crew’s nervous, as expected, but that’s understandable given our… unique itinerary. Some are a bit more optimistic, though. O’mara, for instance, is practically a-twitter at what we might find crossing the Badlands. She’s been down in sensor systems making sure every one of our arrays is in top form, humming like a finely tuned instrument. I think she wants to be the first to find something new out there, I suppose.” He paused, a thoughtful expression replacing his grin.
Harry’s frown eased, replaced by a wry, mischievous grin that danced across his features. “Our crew is good, Commander. We’ve come a long way from being a motley collection of brilliant minds and stubborn wills. The Raptor is just as unique and special as any of her crew, perhaps even more so, and for the most part she’s treated us well. She’s a loyal beast when you treat her right.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his gaze sharp and direct. “We’ll get these Urtheans home, Commander. We will. Or we’ll die trying. Or is that a bit too dramatic for you?” He raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes, daring Rivas to disagree.
Rivas met his gaze, his own grin widening, a genuine warmth radiating from him. “Only if you don’t let me get the last word in, Captain.”
Harry rolled his eyes, took a sip of his drink, and asked, "Anything else, Commander? Any other profound observations or impending philosophical crises before we plunge into the unknown?"
Rivas chuckled, a low, comfortable sound. He stood up, adjusting the collar of his uniform. "Nothing that comes to mind, sir. Just the usual pre-launch jitters, amplified by a few dozen extra passengers and a trip through the galactic equivalent of a blender."
"Good," Harry said, already reaching for his desk terminal. "Unless some horrible emergency occurs—and I mean 'horrible,' Rivas, not just a misplaced wrench or a particularly stubborn comms relay—I wish to not be disturbed. I have a few things I need to go over before my last little call to Fleet HQ." He activated the terminal with a decisive motion, the screen flaring to life.
"Got it, Captain," Rivas said, heading for the ready room door. "I'll be on the bridge. Try not to miss me too much."
Harry merely grunted in agreement, already engrossed in the information scrolling across his terminal. Rivas left the ready room, the soft hiss of the door closing behind him leaving Harry to his final preparations and the hum of the ship preparing for its most unusual journey. He got so lost in his work that the comm’s chime almost didn’t rouse him from his concentration. He hit a button on his desk. “Yes?”
“Incoming message Starfleet command.” Lt. Perry replied. “Admiral Conroy, Sir.”
“I’ve been expecting it, put it through Lieutenant." Harry replied.
“Aye, Sir.”
The emblem of the Confederation appeared on his terminal and he acknowledged the transmission clicking a button on his desk and then leaned back in his chair as Admiral Conroy’s image materialized on the holographic screen.
“Captain Martinez.” She spoke, her voice holding a steady, almost comforting authority, like a seasoned navigator steering through uncharted territory. “I hope I’m finding you well.”
“As well as can be expected, Admiral.” Harry said with a confident, almost wry smile, a hint of intellectual amusement playing on his lips. “We’re just finishing up our final checks right now. You know, ticking off the boxes, ensuring the ship behaves itself.”
“Good.” The elder avian female leaned forward towards her terminal, her talons interlaced, her gaze sharp and assessing. “I hope you understand what a tremendous undertaking this is. I think though with all you’ve been through, I think you can more than handle it, or at least try to handle it a bit better than the Nebulon incident.” She paused, a dry, knowing smile gracing her beak, a glint in her sharp eyes. “Though, considering your recent… adventures… I’m sure a simple diplomatic escort mission, even through the Badlands, is practically a shore leave for you. A nice, quiet jaunt, perhaps a chance to finally organize those quantum mechanics treatises you keep meaning to read.”
Harry chuckled, a dry sound that held a touch of exasperation. “I wouldn’t go that far, Admiral. The Badlands tend to have their own unique way of making even the calmest journey… memorable. A bit like a particularly stubborn paradox, really. But yes, I’ve certainly faced worse. And with Gel Fenrix cooperating on the Urthean side, and our crews working together, I think we can make this work. It’s going to be trying, no doubt, given the sheer volume of personnel and supplies, but the extra hands will actually help with the day-to-day tasks. We’ve even managed to find enough meaningful work to keep everyone, including Commander Phoenix’s people, occupied, which should cut down on idle anxieties. Not to mention the unique challenges we might encounter in the Badlands, which are almost guaranteed. I suppose the universe simply abhors a vacuum of interesting problems.”
Conroy nodded approvingly, her head feathers ruffling slightly, a subtle sign of satisfaction. “Indeed, Captain. I’m glad you’re at least embracing this endeavor with a positive attitude. I must admit, you did not seem thrilled at first when this mission was proposed. I recall a rather… spirited discussion with Fleet Command about the Raptor’s suitability. Almost as if you’d rather face down a Urthean armada than a diplomatic luncheon.”
“Considering what I’ve been through lately, Admiral,” Harry replied, a faint, almost weary smile touching his lips, as if contemplating the absurdities of existence, “let’s just say navigating a nebula, even an unpredictable one, is less daunting than dealing with most the other challenges I have had as of late. Despite my initial… hesitation, I’ve actually enjoyed the unique challenges this whole project has presented. It’s a different kind of problem-solving, and it forces a certain level of improvisation that keeps things interesting.”
Conroy’s gaze softened slightly, a genuine warmth in her eyes. “I want you to know, Harry, that I knew your mentor, Admiral Kramer, very well. He often spoke of you when you were going through the academy. He mentioned you seemed to struggle with the finer points of diplomacy, preferring direct action and a more… expedient approach to problem-solving. He always said you had a brilliant mind, but a distinct lack of patience for anything less than empirical data or a direct confrontation.” She paused, her voice laced with genuine warmth. “He’d be very proud of you right now, Captain, taking on such a sensitive diplomatic affair. Even more so if you complete it successfully. He always believed in your potential, even when you were determined to be as stubborn as a durasteel bulkhead. And believe me, he used that particular comparison quite often.”
Harry chuckled. “Is that comparison an actual quote?”
Conroy smiled. “Indeed. A rather frequent one, actually.”
Harry’s smile grew, a genuine warmth spreading across his face at the mention of his old mentor. “It’s all part of the job, isn’t it, sir? Adapting to whatever the galaxy throws at you. Sometimes, it throws a logical conundrum. Sometimes, it throws a giant, angry space amoeba. One simply applies the appropriate methodology, and, if necessary, a very strong cup of coffee.”
“Excellent, Captain. I wish you and your crew Godspeed, and a speedy and safe return.” Conroy smiled, a final, approving nod. “Farewell.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” Harry replied, and the monitor cut out, the lingering image of Conroy’s steady, reassuring presence fading into the hum of the ship. He finished his beverage, the taste of cherry fizz still sharp on his tongue, and then, with a decisive movement, placed the glass in the disintegrator. He took one long, deep breath, a conscious effort to center himself, to transition from the intellectual sparring with the Admiral to the raw mechanics of departure. The unique, almost alien hum of the Raptor settling into its pre-launch rhythms was a familiar comfort, a complex symphony of controlled power.
Harry headed for the Bridge, his stride purposeful, a man moving towards his inevitable destiny. As he stepped across the corridor, the port side aft entrance to the bridge hissed open, revealing a space that, unlike the frenetic energy of the rest of the ship, was quiet and orderly, a testament to the discipline of the crew.
Gel Fenrix was already there, a poised and statuesque figure standing at the aft support console, her movements precise as she directed her own people. She nodded at him, a subtle acknowledgment of his presence, her large, intelligent eyes meeting his for a brief moment before returning to her duties. Her crew, distinct from the Raptor's personnel, were provided simple, single-color uniforms denoting their positions – Fenrix’s own a striking red, the same color as Harry’s uniform, with a combadge affixed to her breast like everyone else. The Urthean crew still wore their traditional rank emblems attached to their shoulders for their own internal reference, a small concession to their ingrained hierarchy. They knew they had to ultimately defer to the Raptor’s crew in all matters, yet they maintained their own sense of order and discipline, a silent pact born of shared necessity.
Lieutenant Perry, ever diligent, was likewise engrossed in her preflight duties at the navigation console, her fingers dancing across the controls with a focused intensity. Fara, a whirlwind of controlled chaos, was at her engineering station, going over some preflight engineering matters with Lieutenant Kurtzman. As Harry passed her station on his way to the Captain’s chair, she looked up, offering a quick, warm smile and a quiet, respectful “Sir” before returning to her conversation, already anticipating the unique demands this journey would place on her beloved engines.
“Commander Rivas, I take it, we're ready to launch?” Harry asked.
“Ready as we can be, sir.” Rivas reported his eyes on his own console in operations. “Waiting on a few stragglers to check in, shouldn’t be more than a few moments.”
“Captain, my people are at their ready positions.” Gel Fenrix spoke up. “We are ready.”
“Good.” Harry nodded approvingly before taking his seat.
“Chief?”
“Engines are a Go captain, green across the board.” Fara said, settling into her chair.
He glanced over his other shoulder at Jakar and the older Echidna simply just nodded at him, a solemn indication that the ships weapons were primed and ready for anything. He quickly hit the com switch on his chair.
“Doctor Okan, did you get your situation squared away?”
“Yes I did, thank you Captain for all your help.” Okan replied.
“Captain.” Lt. Perry spoke up from the back. “All hands reporting in, the gangway has been closed and sealed.
“Excellent, Chief, bring us to full power and disengage the umbilical's.” Harry ordered as he toggled the ship wide com switch. He gave the ships engines a moment or two to power up as the familiar hum oscillated for the deck and the deflector dish powered on. “All hands, this is the Captain.” Harry's voice, a fusion of sharp, almost impatient intellect and a stirring, unwavering resolve, cut through the ship's comm system. "This is not a moment for idle speculation or, dare I say, excessive tidiness. We are on the cusp of entering the Badlands. A region, for those of you who prefer stark reality to comforting euphemisms, that is less a 'challenge' and more an active attempt to constantly test the limits of both a starship and its crew every day that we are traveling through it.”
He paused for a moment letting that sink in. "We have our Urthean counterparts with us on this journey, our mission, stripped down to its bare, exhilarating bones, is to see them safely to their destination. Through the aforementioned cosmic blender."
"I've heard the concerns. The 'what ifs,' the 'but how.' And to that, I say: we are Starfleet! We don't just navigate the stars; we conquer the unknown! We don't just face adversity; we overcome it! The Raptor is more than just a collection of bulkheads and plasma conduits; she is an extension of our will, our courage, our unyielding determination!"
His voice swelled with conviction. "You, the crew, are the finest I have ever had the privilege to command. Your skills are unparalleled, your bravery,unquestionable. We have faced down threats that would make lesser beings tremble, and we have emerged victorious. This mission, this plunge into the Badlands, is simply the next frontier! The next test of our mettle! And we will not just pass this test; we will excel!"
"Yes, there will be danger," Harry conceded. "There will be moments of doubt. There will be times when the odds seem stacked against us. But remember this: we are not alone. We have our Urthean allies, and together, our combined knowledge and strength will be our greatest weapon."
He leaned back into the captain's voice ringing with the iconic spirit of exploration and leadership. "We are going where few have dared to before, not in this way, not for this purpose. We are building bridges, forging alliances, and proving that the galaxy is not just a place of conflict, but a place of boundless possibility! I know it will be taxing to work together but, together is the only way we will accomplish our goal. We embark not just on a journey, but on a testament to cooperation and resilience. I expect each of you to uphold the highest standards of Starfleet, to adapt, to innovate, and to support one another, as well as our Urthean guests. This mission is critical, and its success relies on our collective effort and unwavering discipline. Let's make this journey a success, together. Martinez, out.” he toggled off the ship wide com.
“Lt. Perry, clear us from launch from Station Control.”
“We’ve already been cleared, Sir. They have started to open the bay doors.”
“Excellent.” Harry said “Commander, if you would take care of the docking clamps. Mr. Kyle take us out.”
The ship shuddered as the hardpoints disconnected and it was now free to move under its own power. Ensign Kyle brought the ship slowly around so they could face the slowly opening hangar doors revealing the vast darkness of space beyond. Once the lights signaled it was cleared.
“Helm, take us out one half impulse once we’re clear of star base set course for the Badlands, warp six.”

* * *


A few hours later, the Raptor emerged from warp space, the familiar streaking stars snapping back into pinprick points of light, revealing the colossal, swirling mass of the Badlands nebula ahead.
Harry glanced over to Fara, who was already running diagnostics at her station. "The engines have been configured, Captain, and the warp manifolds adjusted. We'll only have a maximum speed of warp five in there, but it should be mostly smooth sailing." She paused, then added, "I suggest going in at no more than half impulse."
"Why's that?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fara shrugged, a subtle ripple of her fur betraying a slight unease. "It could be a little rough. I've heard that popping in and out of there is never the same experience twice."
"Very well. Ensign, you heard the Chief Engineer. Ahead half impulse." Harry said, his voice calm and steady.
"Aye, sir." Ensign Kyle responded, his fingers already moving to execute the command.
"It's a valid concern," Gel Fenrix offered from the auxiliary station in the back, her melodic voice cutting through the bridge hum. "I myself have flown in and out of it several times. There's always some sort of challenge; it's rarely smooth."
The swirling, multi-hued mass of the Badlands slowly grew larger on the main viewer, its chaotic beauty eclipsing all the surrounding stars until it filled the entire screen. It wasn't just a nebula; it was a cosmic maelstrom, a swirling tempest of gas and energy that seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of its own. Tendrils of scarlet and bruised purple stretched out, hinting at unseen forces at play within its depths.
"Captain, I'm detecting a rather dense concentration of interstellar matter directly ahead," O'mara reported calmly from her sensor station, her voice even despite the unfolding visual. Her fingers, usually a blur across her console, paused momentarily, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's quite dense. I recommend shields."
"Jakar." Harry's voice was a low growl, a primal instinct kicking in. He tensed slightly in his command chair, his gaze fixed on the menacing beauty on the viewscreen.
"Shields are up, Captain," Jakar replied instantly, his voice a low rumble, the subtle thrum of the ship's energy conduits confirming the activation. A faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, enveloped the Raptor.
"Is it anything we should be concerned with, Commander O'mara?" Harry asked, his gaze still fixed on the anomaly ahead, a knot tightening in his stomach. The term "dense concentration" from O'mara, usually so precise, felt disturbingly vague.
"No, Captain. I'm not detecting anything like a ship or a planetoid, nothing that massive. It's just a lot of dust." O'mara replied, her fingers still dancing across her console, confirming her readings, her tone tinged with a slight annoyance at the implied doubt. The certainty in her voice was absolute, and Harry knew she didn't molt when she was absolutely certain.
“Ten seconds till contact.” Ensign Kyle reported, his voice a fraction higher than usual, but steady, his hand already braced on the flight controls, his eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching nebula.
Harry quickly flipped the comms buttons. “This is the Captain, all hands brace for impact, we’re about to enter the Badlands.” He said, his voice ringing with a steely resolve that belied the rising tension on the bridge. He settled back into his seat, gripping the armrests, his knuckles white.
“Five seconds.” Kyle said, his hand steady at the controls, his gaze flickering between the viewscreen and the readouts on the flight controls, anticipating the inevitable.
Everyone else on the bridge did the same, their faces grim, a collective breath held. O’mara braced her arms against her console, Fenrix stood statuesque, her eyes narrowed, and even the usually ebullient Fara had a look of grim determination on her face.
“Two… One..”
Suddenly the Raptor shuddered violently, a sickening groan reverberating through its very bones. The ship pitched upward with a gut-wrenching lurch, throwing several crew members against their consoles. Then, as if caught in the grip of an unseen, colossal hand, it yawed and rolled violently, sending loose equipment clattering across the deck. Lights flickered erratically, plunging parts of the bridge into momentary darkness, and a system overhead sparked with a sharp flash, the scent of ozone stinging the air as it overloaded. The red alert, a strident, piercing wail, suddenly blared, adding to the cacophony, and the power systems raced to compensate, struggling to maintain equilibrium. Kyle fought desperately at the controls, his muscles straining as he wrestled with the ship's erratic flight through the chaotic mess of interstellar dust and unseen energies. For what felt like an eternity, the Raptor was a toy in the grip of an invisible monster, tossed and battered. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over.
A stunned silence fell over the bridge, broken only by the hum of the ship's struggling systems and the ragged breaths of the crew.
“Damage Report!” Harry snapped, his voice tight, but unwavering. He gave his crew a few moments, the seconds stretching into an agonizing wait as they reached out to the rest of the ship, assessing the chaos that had just unfolded.
“Just some system disruptions, no hull breaches, damage control teams are on it.” Fara replied, her voice slightly strained, but already regaining her usual composure as she rattled off the initial assessment, her fingers flying across her console.
“It was a nasty blow, but our shields are intact.” Jakar reported, his voice, a low rumble of satisfaction, a testament to the Raptor's resilience and his own meticulous preparations.
“No Casualties." Rivas reported a visible wave of relief washing over his features. "A few injuries but that seems to be all, it’s nothing sickbay can’t deal with it. Mostly falls it looks like."
“And you are sure that was just a bunch of dust?” Harry said to O’mara, his gaze sharp, a lingering doubt in his tone. The impact had felt far more substantial than mere particles. “Felt like we collided with something.”
“I said it was very dense, my sensors don’t show anything out there close or nearby that would endanger the ship.” O’mara said, a slight annoyance in her voice at the persistent questioning, but her candor remained absolute.
“Very well, I just wasn’t expecting… that.” Harry muttered, a wry half-smile touching his lips. They had entered the Badlands, and it had already proven its reputation with vengeance. He noticed Fenrix had remained standing all through it and her face had a smile of glib amusement at watching their reaction to it.
“I told you Captain, it’s never the same twice.” Fenrix said with some mirth.
“Any of your people hurt?”
“Our cybernetic enhancements make such things trivial. Nothing to report.” Fenrix said. “However, Captain, your concern is noted and appreciated.”
“Very well, resume course Mr. Kyle.” Harry said, adjusting his uniform while looking at the now flickering view screen showing nothing but an endless sea of swirling interstellar mass glowing with a dull glow much like a lava lamp in the dark. “Mr. Rivas cancel red alert, you have the Con. I’ll be in my ready room.”
"Aye, sir," Rivas acknowledged, his voice echoing the subdued tension that still lingered on the bridge. Harry exited the bridge, the subtle whir of the door closing behind him a welcome sound. The corridor, at least on deck one, was vacant and quiet only the hum of the ships systems filling it. After a few steps he entered his ready room, the familiar scent of synth-wood and recycled air a small comfort. He sat heavily in his chair, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment. That had been quite the entrance. He wasn't surprised, of course. The Badlands had a notorious reputation, and he'd expected something, but the sheer physicality of it had been jarring. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the faint tremor that still lingered in his muscles.
He glared at his hand as it shook, he tried to make it stop, but it still kept up its faint flutter.
This was new. This was unwanted, he’d never had the shakes before and now here on the brink of this new mission he’s trembling like a nervous damn cadet. He hit the com switch on his desk.
“Doctor Okan, if you don’t have anything pressing, could you come to my ready room please.”
“Of course, Captain.” Okan replied sharply, his voice holding that familiar blend of brisk professionalism and underlying concern, already anticipating the various ailments his captain might be trying to dismiss. “What seems to be the problem, now?”
“Feeling a little under the weather.” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, affecting a casualness he didn't feel, his gaze fixed on a distant point on the ceiling. He just wanted Okan to bring a medical kit so if he needed treatment, it could be done in private. “I just want to make sure it’s nothing serious. You know, a quick once-over, for… scientific curiosity.”
“Understood, Captain.” Okan retorted, a dry chuckle in his voice. “I’ll be along shortly.”

* * *

Unbeknownst to the Raptor's crew and its numerous passengers, another vessel, sleek and predatory, maintained a silent vigil from a calculated distance. Its hull, a sinister, unreflective black, suggested a craft designed for stealth and malevolence. With four forward-facing pylons that arced with aggressive intent, it resembled a monstrous, lunging spider, its very form conveying a purpose far removed from peace. With a controlled burst from its impulse engines, it seamlessly melted into the swirling, chaotic tapestry of the Badlands, its trajectory mirroring the Raptor's, a silent hunter pursuing its unsuspecting quarry deeper into the perilous nebula.

* * *

After a few minutes, his door chime went off, and Harry called him in. As expected, Okan had brought a medical kit, a bulky tricorder, and a suspicious-looking bottle of what Harry privately suspected was either swamp water or something far worse. “You said you are feeling off, Captain?” Okan said pleasantly, but his eyes were already scanning Harry’s posture, looking for any subtle tell.
“I’m not feeling anything, it’s this.” Harry said, pushing himself up from his desk and holding up his right hand, letting Okan see it tremor. It wasn't violent, but it was there, a persistent, infuriating flutter. "It's rather… impolite for a hand to do that. Rather untidy, wouldn't you say?"
Okan looked at his hand, then at Harry’s face, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He grabbed his medical tricorder and made a slow, deliberate scan. “You aren’t experiencing any undue stress, hallucinations, are you, Captain?”
“No more than usual, and no,” Harry replied, a faint, almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes at the last two. “When did it start?” Okan asked as he made his scans, his brow furrowed in concentration, the tricorder humming softly as it collected data.
“Just after that love tap when we entered the Badlands.” Harry said, flexing his fingers, as if he could simply command the tremor to cease.
“Ah, I see.” Okan said, a thoughtful hum escaping him as he mused over the readings on his tricorder. He tapped a few more controls, the display cycling through a series of complex biological readouts. “Well, that certainly explains a few things. Not entirely, of course. The brain, Captain, is a wonderfully chaotic piece of biological machinery. Full of surprises, even for those of us who spend our lives poking at it.”
“Why is my hand doing that?” Harry said with annoyance, no one directed at the doctor, but rather at the offending tremor itself. "It's… inconvenient. And frankly, it’s a little embarrassing. A Captain shouldn't be… vibrating."
“Well, Captain,” Okan began, lowering his tricorder and looking directly at Harry, his expression a mix of professional assessment and a deeply empathetic understanding. “If you have been put through a rather rough time as of late – and let’s, be frank, ‘rough’ is an understatement in your case, bordering on 'cataclysmic' – then even with the time off, it still takes wounds, especially ones to the mind, to heal. The body, you see, often keeps the score that the mind attempts to dismiss.”
“The mind?” Harry said dismissively, a scoff escaping him. “I’m fine. I passed my screening with Doctor Modorro. Perfectly fit for duty, a paragon of mental fortitude, if I recall her exact words.” Harry said with a mirthful grin. “Or perhaps that was my own self-assessment.”
“You passed, yes, but you were exhibiting some flags of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder during your screening,” Okan stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. He picked up his data-pad, scrolling through a file. “I’ve reviewed your tests, Captain. Doctor Modorro, bless her meticulous soul, told me to keep a very close eye on you because it was only a matter of time before it manifested. The mind, Captain, is not so easily fooled by a stoic facade and quick wit. It eventually demands its due. Tell me, have you been having any nightmares? Reliving past traumatic events? Any flashes of… unpleasant memories intruding upon your waking hours?”
Harry scowled, leaning back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re just dreams, Doctor. A rather inefficient way for the subconscious to organize its daily filing, I suppose.” He shifted, a fleeting, almost imperceptible glance towards a framed photo on his desk, the faint image of Jayna smiling, dressed in a casual dress as if she’d taken it while on leave somewhere. Okan, ever observant, caught it.
“Indeed, Captain, and that’s a healthy approach to it, or at least a practical one,” Okan said, his tone softening, a hint of genuine concern now in his voice. “But how have you been dealing with your loss of Captain De’Sol? Grief, Captain, is a messy business. It rarely follows a neat, linear trajectory, despite our best efforts to categorize and contain it.”
“I’m dealing with it,” Harry said flatly, his voice clipped, a protective barrier snapping into place. “One day at a time. What else am I supposed to do?” He glanced again at Jayna’s photo on his desk, a brief, almost imperceptible tremor in his lip, though it quickly vanished.
“Have you been keeping up with your routines and your hobbies, Captain?” Okan pressed gently, his medical instincts overriding Harry’s dismissiveness. “Self-care, Captain, is not a weakness. It is a strategic necessity, especially for those of us burdened with… the weight of command.”
“Yes, damn it, Doctor, I’m fine! I’m not losing it,” Harry laughed, a short, humorless burst. He brought his trembling hand up again, gesturing at it with frustrated intensity. “I just want ‘that’ to go away. The crew doesn’t need to see their Captain having the shakes! It projects an air of… uncertainty. And a Captain who projects uncertainty is a Captain who quickly finds himself without a bridge, or worse, without a ship.”
“That is good, Captain, keep up the good work,” Okan said approvingly, a subtle smile touching his lips. He opened his medical kit, selecting a small, hypo-injector and a vial of shimmering, pale blue liquid. “You are right, it is unseemly for the captain to be showing a sign of weakness of this sort. Fortunately, we will keep it between us, as long as you continue to take things ‘one day at a time’ and contact me if you have any further… unpredictable biological phenomena.” He paused, prepping the hypo. “This will help with the physical manifestations of the stress, Captain. It’s a mild neuro-stabilizer. Nothing that will dull your razor-sharp intellect, I assure you, merely a gentle nudge to remind your nervous system that it’s allowed to relax a bit. Think of it as a logical re-calibration for your internal chronometer. A simple, elegant solution to a rather… stubborn biological quirk.” He extended the hypo.
“Wait.” Harry said uncertainly, his eyes narrowing as he eyed the vial with a healthy dose of suspicion. “What is that stuff you mixed in there from that bottle? It looks like… well, it looks like something you’d find bubbling in a swamp, not in a Starfleet medical kit.”
“What, this?” Okan said with a shrug, holding up the suspicious bottle with a flourish. The liquid inside was a viscous, pale green, with tiny, almost imperceptible motes swirling within it. “Just a certain mix of some things I picked up during my time on Termia that will have you feeling right as rain. A local concoction, you see. Rather effective, if a bit… aesthetically challenged. We will of course need to re-administer it every twenty-four hours until the manifestations stop. I assure you it will help, despite its appearance. It has a rather impressive efficacy rate against neural tremors. I will have to administer this into your jugular; there might be just a little pinch.”
Harry sighed, a sound of resigned skepticism. “Just a little pinch, you say. Your doctor and your 'little pinches.' They always feel remarkably… un-little. Very well, Doctor. Just… no singing while you do it.” He lifted his head, stealing himself.
Okan chuckled. “No singing, Captain. Though I do have a rather delightful repertoire of opera from home, should the occasion ever arise.” He injected the hypo with practiced ease, and Harry winced slightly, rubbing the spot on his neck.
Okan put his medical kit away, the movements precise and efficient. Harry felt a subtle tension he’d been feeling the last few days slowly ease away, a gentle wave of calm washing over him, and his hand quickly stopped trembling, settling into a steady stillness.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Harry said, a genuine note of relief in his voice. “Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable. Though I still think it looks like pond scum.”
“I would suggest,” Okan said kindly, a twinkle in his eye as he closed the medical kit, “staying away from alcohol, synthetic or otherwise, while under the effects of my treatment. It could potentially undo any relief it is providing now. And might, I warn you, lead to some rather… unforeseen cognitive side effects.”
Harry scoffed, a faint smile on his lips. “Trust me, Doctor, if that’s the price I have to pay to not shake like a frightened pup, I’ll take it. One less variable to contend with in this… rather chaotic journey we’ve embarked upon. Besides,” he added, a familiar spark returning to his eyes as he gestured towards the swirling mass outside his view ports “who needs their sense dulled when there's a whole lot of unknown just waiting to make itself apparent out there?”
Okan smiled and nodded, Harry never was a bothersome patient. He tended to follow doctors’ orders and if said he was going to do something he tended to stick to it. “My Office is always open for you sir. Let me know if you experience any side effects.” Okan gave a final, knowing nod, a hint of genuine affection in his gaze, and then turned, heading for the door.
“Indeed, Doctor,” Harry replied, a quiet humor in his voice, watching Okan depart. The door shut, leaving Harry in the renewed quiet of his ready room, the hum of the ship now a steady, reassuring presence. He looked at his hand, flexing it, feeling the solid, unwavering steadiness. The tremor was gone. For now. He leaned back in his chair, a profound weariness settling over him, but also a quiet sense of readiness. He reached into his desk and pulled out one of his books. For now, he could just sit here and relax, read a little and hope the alert didn’t sound. If the bridge needed him, he would be there for them, but they seemed to be doing just fine on their own right now.
* * *
A week later.
The initial tension of the Badlands' entrance had given way to a fragile, uneasy routine aboard the Raptor. Captain Harry Martinez, the pragmatist, recognized the volatile mix of species and temperaments crammed into his ship. He had conceived of a novel solution to proactively address potential conflicts before they escalated: a private, informal "Captain's Mess Room." One of the unused labs on Deck 2, conveniently located near the main crew mess, had been repurposed for this very reason. It was a space designed for candid, off-the-record discussions, where the three senior officers—representing the Raptor's core crew, Major Hughes's Marine contingent, and the Urthean refugees under Fenrix's command—could meet face-to-face, away from the prying ears and formal protocols of the bridge. Harry had noticed that his companions were very tense and quiet, neither speaking except for a customary greeting and their orders to the ship's steward.
Harry's sigh was barely audible, a weary exhalation that vanished into the recycled air of the mess hall. He rubbed a hand over his temples, feeling the faint tremor that had only just subsided after Okan's injection. This was exactly the kind of "inter-species cooperation" he had anticipated and dreaded.
"Let's try this again, shall we?" Harry said his voice was deceptively calm, but with an underlying steel that brooked no dissent. "Fenrix, you stated your men were 'assaulted.' Major Hughes, you stated your men 'ran through' them. Let's define these terms clearly. Fenrix, what exactly transpired from your perspective? Were weapons drawn? Was there any intent to harm beyond what occurred?"
Fenrix's eyes, usually pools of serene intelligence, were narrowed into furious slits. "They were physically pushed aside, Captain! Shoved! My men were simply trying to find a bit of open space, and your Marines, like a stampede of enraged duran, deliberately barreled into them. It was a clear act of aggression!" Her arms, usually held with graceful composure, twitched with suppressed anger. "One of my people, a former scholar, now simply a refugee, was knocked off his feet! He sustained bruises! This is not how an alliance is forged, Captain, with one side trampling over the other!"
Hughes, surprisingly, remained silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on some point beyond Fenrix's head. Harry turned to him. "Major? Is there anything you wish to add to that description of 'running through' them?"
Hughes finally spoke, his voice clipped and precise. "My men were maintaining their physical readiness, sir. The corridor on Deck 4 is a designated running path during certain hours. The Urtheans were informed, repeatedly, by verbal commands and even by the ship's automated warning system that cycles through standard alerts. They were asked to move. They did not. My men did not deviate from their routine, Captain. If they were pushed, it was a consequence of their refusal to comply with a standing order and clear the designated path. We are trained in efficiency, sir, and that includes maintaining our physical conditioning. We cannot allow unauthorized loitering to impede operational readiness."
"Operational readiness?" Fenrix scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Is that what you call it? Brute force? Intimidation?"
"It is adherence to protocol, Fenrix," Hughes countered, his voice rising slightly, a flicker of his own exasperation finally breaking through his military stoicism. "Something your people seem to struggle with. Your 'loitering' created a hazard!"
"Silence!" Harry's voice cracked like a whip, cutting through their rising animosity. He slammed his hand lightly on the table, the ceramic mug rattling. "Both of you are missing the point. We are in a confined space. We are carrying a critically important cargo of people, not just supplies. And we are about to enter a region of space that will test every single one of us. We cannot afford internal squabbles over designated running paths and loitering. Lives are at stake, gentlemen. More lives than either of you seem to be fully appreciating right now."
He leaned forward, his gaze intense, sweeping from Fenrix to Hughes. "Fenrix, I understand your people's frustration. Being confined, feeling 'in the way,' it’s a natural reaction. But the corridors are not recreational areas. They are essential transit routes, and on Deck 4, they are specifically utilized for physical training. Major Hughes, your men are upholding Starfleet regulations regarding physical fitness. However, the application of those regulations needs to be tempered with diplomacy and an understanding of the extraordinary circumstances we are under."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "Fenrix, you mentioned 'lingering in the hold.' Why isn't the main crew mess hall being used? It's larger, and as I said, it’s open to all personnel for relaxation, not just eating. There are other spaces available during off-duty hours, limited as they are, but they are there for exactly this reason: to provide space and reduce tensions."
Fenrix bristled, but the anger in her eyes had softened, replaced by a grudging acknowledgment. "My people feel... observed there, Captain. Too many unfamiliar faces, too many stares. They are not accustomed to such close proximity with other species, especially those who were, until recently, our enemies. The holds, while cramped, offered a sense of privacy, a small corner where they could simply be without scrutiny. We Urthean’s care to discuss things among our comrades in small groups away from others, it’s just our way. It was a misguided attempt to avoid conflict, ironically."
"And that 'misguided attempt' resulted in exactly what we are trying to avoid," Harry stated, his voice firm but not unkind. "We’ve tried to design this for collaboration, Fenrix, not segregation. And the safety of every soul on board depends on every other soul on board. Major Hughes, your men are highly trained. They are capable of making situational assessments. While adhering to protocol is vital, so is exercising judgment. A verbal warning followed by a deliberate impact is not judgment; it's a provocation, regardless of who was in the wrong first."
Hughes stiffened. "Sir, with all due respect, my men did warn them. Repeatedly. And a delay in their routine affects the entire unit's readiness. We are on a combat footing, Captain."
"We are on a diplomatic footing, Major, with a combat capability," Harry corrected, his voice sharp. "And that distinction is paramount. You are Marines, yes, but you are Starfleet Marines. You are trained to protect, to defend, and yes, to adapt. Fenrix, I will ensure stricter monitoring of the common areas, and perhaps we can designate specific 'quiet zones' within the mess or try to set up auxiliary lounges for your people. But in return, your people must adhere to the ship's established protocols for movement and designated activity zones. This is not open space. This is a highly confined, highly dangerous mission. We cannot operate as two separate entities vying for territory. We are one crew now, for better or worse. And if that means a few less sprints for the Marines, or a few more visible faces for the Urtheans, then that is the compromise we make."
He looked at Fenrix. "You said you would reprimand your people. Will you ensure they understand the gravity of violating these basic rules of shipboard conduct? And that persistent disregard will be met with the same disciplinary actions as any Starfleet crewman?"
Fenrix inclined her head slowly. "I will impress upon them the necessity, Captain. My people are pragmatic. They understand the consequences. And I will make it clear that if they choose to ignore these directives, their safety, and perhaps even their place on this vessel, will be jeopardized. They seek asylum, not conflict, despite their ingrained tendencies. This is... an adjustment for them, as it is for your crew."
"And Major Hughes," Harry continued, turning his gaze back to the Marine, his voice softening slightly, "your men are highly disciplined. I expect them to maintain that discipline, even when provoked. A warning is one thing. A physical interaction, even a 'running through,' should be the absolute last resort, and only in a genuine emergency. Not for a missed stride in a morning run. Find ways to work around these situations, not through them. Can I rely on that?"
Hughes hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a reluctant understanding in his eyes. "Yes, sir. My apologies if my men overreacted. We will adjust our training routes or timings to minimize future confrontations. And I will remind them of the diplomatic imperative."
Harry nodded, a faint flicker of relief crossing his face. "Good. Because if I hear of another 'altercation,' I will be assigning both of you to joint, twenty-four-hour supervision of Deck 4's corridor, ensuring no one 'loiters' and no one 'runs through' them with undue enthusiasm. Is that clear?"
Both Hughes and Fenrix visibly flinched at the prospect, the unspoken threat of shared, tedious duty far more effective than any formal reprimand.
"Crystal clear, Captain," Hughes said, his voice grim.
"Understood," Fenrix added, a rare and almost imperceptible shudder rippling through her fur.
Harry leaned back, picking up his coffee mug. "Excellent. Now, perhaps we can discuss something more productive. Like, for instance, the projected plasma storm patterns ahead of us. Unless, of course, you two would prefer to continue this enlightening discussion on pedestrian traffic control?"
He took a long sip of his coffee, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as Hughes and Fenrix exchanged a look of shared exasperation, their personal grievances momentarily eclipsed by the greater, more immediate threat of a captain's "encouragement" of cooperation
“I have a few crew members who might be able to help your navigator and science officer with helping us get through that field. I was hoping it wouldn’t be active but here we are.” Fenrix sighed.
“Good get them to my people right away.” Harry said.
* * *
Ladema Hex sat on the bridge of the Reaver, her gloved fingertips drumming a pixelated on her helmet's plexi-steel visor. A pixelated frown showing her current mood. The eerie taping of the metallic tips of her gloves only demonstrating that it wasn’t sadness but annoyance. The rhythmic Tap Tap Tap Tap filled the tense silence until her first officer, Corvis, cleared his throat.
"Kommisar," he began.
"What?" Hex's voice, laced with annoyance, crackled from the speaker.
"We've been following this vessel for some time," Corvis said, gesturing to the Raptor as it cruised ahead of them on the warp screen. "I am simply wondering if it..."
"Corvis, that is my call, not yours," Hex hissed, resuming her insistent tapping.
"Understood."
"Have we at least determined what they are doing?" Hex asked, almost bored.
"They have several Urthean life signs on board and appear to be on a course towards the Kilagra Urthean Empire. Our sources suggest it may be some sort of diplomatic mission," Corvis reported, consulting an integrated data device on his arm.
Hex cackled, sitting up, her digitized visor face shifting to one of malice. "So that's what it is! I wondered why he was suddenly taking such a dangerous trip! That suddenly makes this way more interesting; why didn't you say so sooner?"
"It's taken some time; our people haven't successfully infiltrated Starfleet Command," Corvis replied. "It took some time just to get the information from when you originally requested it."
"Then it was worth the wait," Hex said. "It'd be a shame if such a gesture were to fail. Perhaps we should make it a bit more interesting. Charge weapons and bring us into attack range."
* * *
Meanwhile, Amelia, on board the Raptor, was sipping tea and monitoring her sensors for scientific anomalies. With Lt. Quinna briefly out of the room, she enjoyed the quiet. Suddenly, her psionic senses, not the ship's electronics, detected something approaching from far behind—a deep, burning malice focused entirely on their ship.
She tried to pinpoint the source, sensing other minds just beyond her range. Having learned to filter out the ship's crew, she knew these minds were external. Hitting her comm badge, she called, "Amelia to Bridge!"
"This is the Bridge, what is it?" Lt. Perry responded.
"There's something approaching from behind the ship; I can sense it. Something dangerous!" Amelia urged.
* * *
Hex's ship drew closer, its four pylons arcing forward, weapons glowing with a deadly charge.
"We're almost in range," her Tactical officer reported.
"Excellent!" Hex chuckled. "I want to give them a real good kicking!"
* * *
"Crewman, if there is an issue, you need to report to your commanding officer, not the bridge," Perry said patiently.
Amelia snarled, cutting the channel with a tap of her comm badge. Thinking quickly, she placed her paw on the console and reached out to Eve psionically.
Eve, we are in great danger! There is an enemy rapidly approaching; raise our shields!
I do not detect any vessels approaching, Eve replied in her mind.
It's there, trust me! I can see it the same way I can speak to you! We are in great danger if you don't act!
* * *
Meanwhile on the bridge.
Harry, on the verge of questioning Lieutenant Perry about Amelia's peculiar communication, was violently interrupted. The piercing wail of the Red Alert klaxon tore through the bridge, and before he could process the sound, the deck lurched with sickening violence as enemy weapons fire slammed into the Raptor's shields, sending a jarring tremor through the vessel.
"Take us out of warp! Evasive maneuvers!" Harry snapped, his voice cutting through the sudden chaos. "Jakar, return fire!"
Jakar wrestled with his controls, frustration evident. "I can't get a lock, sir!" he yelled as the Raptor was hammered again, pitching and shaking.
"Helm, execute rapid evasive maneuvers! Keep them guessing whoever they are!" Harry barked.
"Aye!" Ensign Kyle grunted, his muscles straining as he forced the ship into a dizzying series of wild pitches, yaws, and rolls, throwing the crew against their consoles and making it impossible for their attackers to gain a steady bead.
"Jakar, fire blindly if you have to!" Harry roared, his command chair vibrating with the impacts. "All phasers!"
"Firing phasers!" Jakar snapped, his console emitting the familiar guttural barking noise as the Raptor's energy weapons unleashed retaliatory fury into the void. A few bolts hit home, causing glancing damage.
“Two hits, minimum damage!” Jakar reported.
"Can you get a lock on those hits?" Harry suggested.
"Just barely!" Jakar reported, jumping to the same conclusion and quickly keying his targeting sensors to lock onto the concentration of phased ions on the enemy vessel's shields. "Returning fire!"-----Two phaser beams fired from arrays on the top and bottom of the bow, both striking Hex's ship's shields. Hex's vessel quickly peeled away, but not without a parting shot from its aft torpedo launcher as it disappeared into the swirling gases.
The torpedo found its mark, striking the underside of the Raptor as it spun and twisted, trying to evade.
* * *
The torpedo hit the Raptor with a sickening THUMP, sending a violent shudder through the entire ship. Harry gritted his teeth, the impact rattling his bones even through his reinforced command chair. The Raptor’s shields, thankfully, held, but the sheer force of the detonation was undeniable.
From the engineering station, he heard Fara, the Chief Engineer, let out a colorful curse. "Harry, that torpedo did something to our power systems!" she yelled, her voice tight with a mix of frustration and urgency. "I'm getting strange power readings in deck 4, section J through M! It's all over the place!"
"Any idea what's causing it?!" Harry demanded, his gaze flicking to the main viewer, which still showed the swirling, chaotic beauty of the Badlands, mercifully clear of any visible enemy.
"Inconclusive!" Fara shouted back, her fingers already a blur across her console, trying to diagnose the problem. "Shit, the power systems are going critical! We're looking at a Major EPS overload!" The sound of sizzling power conduits and strained machinery filled the bridge, a terrifying symphony of impending disaster.
Suddenly, with a deafening CRUMP, the ship shuddered again, more violently this time, as a section of the power grid below them exploded. Lights flickered erratically across the bridge, plunging it into momentary, disorienting darkness before emergency power kicked in, bathing everything in a stark red glow. The acrid scent of ozone and burning circuitry wafted through the air.
"Fara, get people on that and figure out what caused it!" Harry snapped, his voice sharp with command, his primary concern immediately shifting to the safety of his passengers and crew. "And try to contain it before it spreads!"
"Damage control teams are already dispatched!" Fara reported, her voice strained but efficient, already working the internal comms. "I suggest trying to not get shot again until we figure out what happened, sir!"
"We're working on it!" Harry grunted in acknowledgement, his mind already racing, trying to anticipate the next move from their unseen aggressor. He knew Fara was right; taking another hit in their current state could be catastrophic.
Just then, the ship shuddered once more, a series of rapid, concussive blows hammering the Raptor's shields. It was clear the enemy was relentless. "Jakar," Harry barked to his Tactical Officer, "those weapons ports have got to be radiating some sort of heat, right?!" Even if they couldn't see the ship, its energy output had to leave a thermal signature.
"Of course, Captain!" Jakar grunted back, already shifting his sensor focus.
"O'mara," Harry continued, turning his attention to his Sensors Officer, "do a quick rapid scan for any thermal spikes out there – any that are localized and moving swiftly!" He needed a target, any target.
"I'm on it, sir," O'mara replied, spinning her chair and activating her long-range sensor scope, her brow furrowed in intense concentration.
"Incoming torpedo!" Jakar suddenly announced, his voice tight with urgency.
Before Harry could even issue an order, everything on the bridge blurred. Ensign Kyle, at the helm, executed a rapid Aileron roll, throwing the massive ship into a dizzying, stomach-churning spin. The distortion caused by the G-diffusers, designed to mitigate G-forces, still wasn't enough. Harry had to clench his jaw, fighting down the sudden surge of nausea. It had been a long time since anyone had pulled a maneuver like that, and his tolerance had clearly diminished. Around the bridge, he could see other crew members, faces pale, fighting their own queasiness.
"Excellent work, Ensign," Harry managed to commend, trying to muffle a burp that threatened to escape. "A little warning next time, though."
Even as Ensign Kyle, gasping and clearly winded, confirmed his breathtaking evasive maneuver, a triumphant shout cut through the bridge's lingering chaos. "Jakar, I got a lock on those weapons ports! Sending the information now!" It was O'mara, her voice ringing with the thrill of discovery, having pinpointed the invisible assailant's vulnerable points.
The Raptor continued to groan under the relentless barrage. Energy weapons hammered their shields again and again, each impact a jarring tremor. A vital conduit overhead burst in a shower of brilliant sparks, raining down scorched bits of circuitry onto the bridge deck, adding to the acrid scent of ozone and the growing cacophony of alarms. Yet, amidst the escalating chaos, a fierce, unyielding sense of purpose settled over the crew. They were bruised, their ship rattling, but their spirit was utterly unbowed.
"They're directly behind us," Jakar reported, his voice grim but resolute.
"Jakar, all weapons and a full spread of torpedoes!" Harry barked, his voice a steel wire of command. "Everyone hold on! Helm, Martinez maneuver theta 1!" He braced himself, knuckles white as he gripped his command chair.
Kyle, with preternatural speed, keyed in the complex coordinates. The Raptor surged forward with a sudden, violent acceleration, then, with a stomach-lurching pitch, literally flipped onto its back. The G-forces pressed the crew hard into their seats, but the audacious maneuver bought them precious seconds.
"Weapons locked!" Jakar roared, his console flashing green.
"FIRE!" Harry's single word was a guttural command, unleashed into the void.
On the main viewer, a devastating spread of torpedoes lanced out from the Raptor's newly exposed underside, impacting the unseen vessel's shields with blinding flashes. Simultaneously, pulse phasers, cutting through the swirling nebula, struck the enemy ship directly, briefly highlighting its form. Caught entirely off guard by the Raptor's impossible flip and subsequent counter-attack, the assailant reeled. Visible plasma leaks erupted from its hull, a clear sign of severe damage, and it rapidly veered off, disappearing into the chaotic gases of the Badlands.
"Where are they?" Harry demanded, his chest heaving, the adrenaline still coursing through him.
"They appear to be moving off, as much plasma as they are leaking, we might have hit one of their engines," O'mara reported, her voice still laced with exhilaration. The enemy, whoever they were, had been decisively rebuffed.

* * *

Hex's ship had returned to hanging back, meticulously resuming their course to follow the Raptor once again. A silent, simmering fury replaced her earlier amusement, now compounded by a burning intrigue as to how their quarry had not only detected their approach but managed to deliver such a damaging counter-attack.
"Damage Report," she said coolly, her voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying an unmistakable edge.
Corvis, ever efficient, accessed the diagnostics on his arm-mounted display. "Our shields are fluctuating at 50%, Kommisar, a direct result of that unexpected phaser barrage," he reported, his voice crisp. "Engine number four is significantly damaged, leaking plasma at a rate of 12 liters per minute, and is currently offline. The primary plasma conduit in that section has ruptured, causing a cascade failure in its power transfer couplings. Damage control teams are working to reroute power and isolate the breach, but repairs will take at least three standard hours under optimal conditions, potentially longer with the prevailing nebular interference." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the grim readouts. "Minor structural integrity breaches are detected across the aft ventral plating, but nothing critical. All other systems report green, though our cloaking device is showing minor fluctuations due to the power drain from the damaged engine. Overall, a recoverable but certainly inconvenient situation, Kommisar. Nothing we can't handle given time and resources."
"What about them?" Hex interjected, her patience clearly wearing thin for her own ship's woes.
"Our weapons had the expected effect against their defenses. Sensors show they have experienced a serious overload where our torpedo struck their shields, causing a severe localized energy bleed-off," Corvis reported, shifting the holographic display to show a faint, reddish plume trailing from the Raptor's underside. "Their main deflector dish is showing minor stress fractures, consistent with the impact, and their long-range sensor arrays seem to be operating at reduced capacity in the affected area. It appears we compromised their ability to detect us, at least temporarily."
Hex’s digitized frown deepened. "Any idea how they knew we were coming in the first place? Their sensors should have been utterly useless against our stealth profile."
Corvis shook his head, a rare display of uncertainty. "Unknown, our ship wasn’t exhibiting any additional energy signatures until we engaged in combat and our thermal and gravitic signatures were minimal. It defies conventional sensor detection. There are no known Starfleet technologies capable of piercing our current stealth capabilities, especially not at that range and without a prior lock."
"Fascinating," Hex mused, a chilling lilt entering her voice as she leaned back in her command chair, the metallic clicks of her gloved claws resonating in the tense silence. "A rather inconvenient mystery. I'm intrigued."
"I think we did enough for now," Hex chuckled, the sound distorted by her helmet's speaker, a predatory amusement in her tone. "They're clearly wounded, and their 'luck' won't hold out forever. Resume following them for now. Let's see what other surprises this little 'diplomatic mission' has in store for us. Perhaps their unusual 'detection system' will reveal itself again, and we can… dissect it more thoroughly."
"As you wish,," Corvis said, a subtle tension in his shoulders easing as he nodded to the helmsman, the thought of further tactical analysis a welcome reprieve from the unusual encounter.
* * *
The ship had fallen silent, and after a minute, then several, then a dozen, Harry finally spoke, "Helm, return to our normal course. I think they've broken off the attack."
"Aye," Kyle gasped, his muscles taut and exhausted from the rapid, complicated evasive maneuvers he'd pulled the Raptor through.
"I'm not sure if that's wise, Sir," Jakar warned. "They could still be out there."
"They are, but they aren't shooting. I'm not dropping our shields yet," Harry said wearily. "O'mara, why aren't all those fancy sensors seeing them?"
"I have no idea. Whatever that vessel is, it has to be coated with something they can't detect, or it's reflecting them," O'mara replied with frustration.
Harry pondered this for a moment. "Well, whoever they are, they've stopped shooting for the moment. We'll have to try to figure the rest out as we go." He continued, "Fara, get down there and see what caused that explosion. O'mara, go with her. I want a thorough report. If it's some sort of new weapon we haven't encountered yet, I want to know what we're dealing with. If we can find something, at least it's a start."
"Aye, Sir," they both said in unison, leaving the bridge.
Harry quickly turned to Gel Fenrix. "Please tell me your people are okay."
"No casualties," Fenrix reported. "Just a few injuries from the rapid maneuvers, nothing severe."
Harry let out a relieved sigh, trying to clear his mind as he rose from the Captain's chair. "Commander Rivas, go to Yellow Alert, and mute it here, please."
Rivas nodded and complied. Harry stretched, trying to recall what had caught his attention prior to the attack. "Lt. Perry, what was that conversation you were having before our attack?"
"It's the Alderi woman, in Stellar Cartography. She was demanding to speak to you," Lt. Perry said frankly, clearly annoyed. "I told her if she had a concern, she needed to tell her superior officer and not bother you with it."
"Not incorrect," Harry said, popping his neck. "But you are aware that our new crewman has some unusual abilities, and maybe she had a reason. What did she say?"
Lt. Perry's confidence looked a little shaken. "She said we were in danger and something was approaching the ship."
Harry nodded. "Have her come to the conference room immediately. I want to have a little chat with her."
Perry only nodded, looking a bit shamed, even though Harry hadn't disciplined her. "Don't worry about it," Harry said reassuringly. "I have trouble grappling with it myself, but considering what happened..."
"Aye, sir," Perry said, nodding.
"Jakar, Rivas?" Harry asked. "Any idea how our shields activated?"
"No clue. From what I can tell, the computer did it itself," Rivas said.
"I concur," Jakar added. "I was given no order to do so."
Harry shrugged. "Well, I guess we should just chalk it up to one of the Raptor's more fortunate glitches."
"I suppose so, it was quite lucky," Rivas said. "I'll have a chat with Miss Rydel and see if I can find out anything else."
"Excellent. You have the conn, Mr. Rivas, while I go talk to our special passenger."
* * *
Amelia entered the conference room, her steps precise and silent as a hunting cat. Harry stood at the far end of the long table, his back to her, staring out at the swirling chaos of the Badlands beyond the viewport. The hum of the ship was a low thrum against the tension in the room, a stark counterpoint to the recent violence.
“Have a seat, Crewman,” he said, without turning, his voice clipped, almost brittle. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a command, devoid of the usual pleasantries.
Amelia moved to the nearest chair, settling with a fluid grace that seemed at odds with the rigid lines of the Starfleet furniture. She folded her hands in her lap, her large, feline eyes fixed on the back of his head, waiting.
Harry finally turned, his expression unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of professional detachment. His gaze, however, held a flicker of something she couldn't quite decipher – suspicion, yes, but something else, a reluctant curiosity.
“First,” he began, his voice flat, devoid of warmth, “I want to thank you for your… warning.” He paused, the word hanging in the air, weighted with unspoken questions. “Apparently, someone, or the ship itself, took you seriously and activated our shields just in time.” His eyes bored into hers, a silent challenge. “Care to elaborate on that rather timely coincidence, Crewman?”
Amelia’s internal alarm bells screamed. Did he know? Every instinct honed by years of careful concealment urged her to deny, to deflect. But there was something in his gaze, a glint of the intellectually demanding, slightly exasperated brilliance she’d come to associate with him. A blunt denial might only pique his interest further.
“The ship is just a ship, Captain,” she said, her voice a low purr, innocent, almost childlike in its simplicity. She tilted her head slightly, a subtle, disarming gesture.
A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped Harry, a dry, weary sound. He walked to the replicator, summoning a glass of what looked suspiciously like highly caffeinated tea. “Oh, I could tell you some stories, Crewman. This vessel, the Raptor, she’s less a ‘ship’ and more a particularly cantankerous, brilliant, and occasionally rebellious old cat with a penchant for dramatics. She sometimes does things on her own accord, always has. It’s just one of her… quirks, I suppose.” He took a long sip, his gaze never leaving hers, assessing. He was testing her, seeing if she’d bite.
Amelia felt a surge of amusement, a genuine smile touching her lips, though she quickly suppressed it. He truly believed it. The Captain, a man who scoffed at anything less than empirical data, was attributing a near-miraculous save to a ship’s ‘quirk.’ It was, in its own way, almost endearing. “I suppose so!” she responded, a playful lilt in her voice, letting out a soft, genuine laugh. It was a risky move, but she sensed it was the right one. Let him cling to his comfortable, logical explanations.
Harry’s brow, surprisingly, relaxed fractionally. He took another sip of his tea, then set the glass down with a precise click. “So,” he said, the amusement still clinging to the edges of his voice, “perhaps you can tell me what exactly you ‘sensed out there’ before the shields activated?” He leaned against the table, arms crossed, his gaze sharp, expectant. He wasn’t going to let this go.
Amelia's playful facade dropped instantly, replaced by a grim earnestness. This was the moment. She had to offer enough to satisfy him, but not too much to expose her deepest secrets. “There are a few dozen individuals on that ship, Captain,” she began, her voice low, grave. “But one person on that ship… one individual… they radiate such a profound, burning malice, such a focused hatred directed entirely at you. It’s like a psychic scream, so intense it almost obscures their identity from me, a distorting field around their very presence.” She frowned, genuinely troubled. “I will admit, my empathic training is basic at best, rudimentary, really, so I can’t tell you much beyond that. But whoever they are, Captain… they really, truly, don’t like you.” She met his gaze directly, her large eyes filled with a raw, almost childlike honesty.
Harry’s expression hardened, but not with distrust. A flicker of something else appeared, a cold, intellectual calculation. His mind, she could practically hear it whirring, sifting through past encounters, cataloging enemies, searching for a name to match the profound hatred she described. He rubbed his chin, a gesture of deep thought. “Hatred, you say?” he mused, almost to himself. “So deep it obscures identity. Fascinating. And inconvenient.” He looked at her again, his gaze suddenly piercing. “I suppose I only barely understand your special talents, I trust you are being honest with me.” He said sitting down across from her.
“I only know what I felt, Captain,” Amelia replied, her voice steady now, gaining confidence. “And what happened after. It was an imminent threat. The ship… the Raptor… she felt it too, in her own way, perhaps. A mutual understanding of danger.” She was deliberately blurring the lines, offering him an out, a path to belief that allowed him to maintain his scientific worldview.
Harry let out a slow breath, a sound that was half sigh, half grudging acceptance. He looked from her to the viewports, then back to her again. His initial apprehension, that knot of unease, began to loosen, replaced by a new, more unsettling sensation: the recognition of a profound and utterly inexplicable asset. His eyes held a new glint, one of intellectual intrigue rather than outright suspicion.
“Well,” he said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips, a very rare and very private expression, “I am at a loss then. ‘Knowing’ is not precisely a standard Starfleet metric. But,” he added, a subtle shift in his posture, a hint of something akin to admiration entering his gaze, “given the rather explosive corroboration of your… intuition… I suppose we shall have to make an exception. Crewman Amelia,” he said, his voice now imbued with a quiet, decisive authority, “from this moment forward, when you feel a ‘dissonant note’ in the Badlands, or sense a ‘psychic scream,’ I expect you to report it immediately, directly to the bridge. Understood?”
Amelia smiled and nodded, the genuine warmth in her eyes reflecting the relief she felt. “Of course, sir. I know what we’re doing is important. And… and I trust you’ll listen.” The last part was spoken softly, almost a question, but it hung in the air, a delicate challenge.
Harry met her gaze, and for the first time, the intellectual curiosity in his eyes was tempered with a spark of genuine respect. “Indeed, Crewman. Indeed. I am grateful for what you did. I’ll make sure in the future if you sense them coming, you will be heard out, without bureaucratic interference.” He paused, a flicker of something close to self-reproach in his own eyes. “If you hadn’t acted, the damage could have been more severe, and there could have been a loss of life.” Harry’s smile softened, becoming more genuine. “Also, it speaks a lot for your character; you have my thanks. It takes a certain kind of… conviction, to stand by an unconventional truth. I appreciate that.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Amelia said, a flush of pleasure warming her cheeks. The tension that had coiled within her for so long, that pervasive sense of being perpetually under scrutiny, began to unravel.
“If things calm down a bit, perhaps I’ll consider what we discussed in our original deal,” Harry said, a subtle, almost playful lift of an eyebrow. “That’s all for now. If you sense them coming again, let us know. You can return to duty, Crewman.” His voice held a new cadence, less a command and more a mutual understanding.
“Thank you, Captain,” Amelia said, getting up and leaving the conference room. A subtle lightness entered her step. “And I will. You can rely on that.” She turned at the door, offering him another small, genuine smile before she exited, the trust in her eyes a palpable thing. Harry watched her go, a rare, thoughtful expression on his face, before turning to the Badlands swirling beyond the viewport.