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The corridor of Deck four was now a gaping maw of twisted metal and scorched plating, looked like a scene ripped from the deepest pits of hell. Everything was singed black by plasma energy, the very air thick and acrid with the reek of ozone, a stench that clung even in the sections where emergency ventilation stubbornly fought to circulate cleaner air. Amidst the ruin, a grim tableau unfolded: Urthean Engineers and Fara’s team, their faces smudged with soot and determination, worked with a silent, frantic diligence to clear the catastrophic debris and repair the utterly annihilated plasma conduits. Fara, her usual boisterous energy replaced by a low, almost stunned whistle, surveyed the decimated deck four corridor. The sheer scale of the destruction was breathtakingly awful, a testament to the raw, untamed power of the plasma discharge. Her mixed crew, a testament to inter-species cooperation even in disaster, worked alongside Urthean volunteers on repairs and cleanup. "We're damn lucky no one was standing here," she muttered, the words barely a whisper against the cacophony of work, her engineering tricorder already scanning, its beam cutting through the gloom. It registered only a few baffling errors, stubbornly detecting nothing truly unusual amidst the chaos. "Bah, I'm not finding anything," she grumbled, a frustrated growl escaping her, the lack of explanation for such widespread damage gnawing at her. It brought up bad memories of a more serious disaster over a year ago, this was just on a smaller scale. “Are you having any luck?” Fara said, trying to keep her mind off her own inner thoughts. O'mara, silently focused, made adjustments to her science tricorder, which emitted a familiar trill. "Maybe, I'm not sure," she murmured quietly. "Ugh, this is pissing me off," Fara complained, readjusting her own tricorder. "I've tried everything I can think of that would cause an overload like this, but I am completely at a loss." Michelle simply hummed in response, completely absorbed in her own work. Fara, realizing Michelle was just being polite, sighed, closed her tricorder, and decided to give O'mara space. O'mara retrieved a hand scanner and ran it over a pile of ruptured conduit that crewmen were loading onto a cart. "Did you notice any strange interference when you were running your scans?" she asked. "Yeah, but that's nothing too unusual," Fara replied, kicking a chunk of debris before picking it up and tossing it onto the cart. "Plasma explosions can cause some interference from time to time." "Tricorder," O'mara said, her voice taut with a new kind of urgency, placing her own device on the cart with a decisive thump. The air crackled with unspoken tension. Fara, her usual boisterous energy subdued by the unsettling discovery, handed over her tricorder, her brows furrowed. "You got a hunch?" she asked, her voice hushed, a rare hint of apprehension in her tone. "Maybe, but I need your opinion on it," O'mara replied, her eyes gleaming with focused intensity as she activated Fara's tricorder, setting it to run the exact same sweep as her own. "Just watch." Fara leaned in, her gaze fixed on the twin screens. A moment passed, then another, before both displays flickered simultaneously, a cascade of scrambled data and visual static. A beat later, it happened again, the glitching perfectly synchronized. "That's... some sort of radiation," Fara said, a tremor in her voice, her fur bristling slightly. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. "Yeah, and we're probably getting dosed with it," O'mara replied, her voice grim, a steely resolve replacing her usual scientific detachment. She looked up, her gaze sweeping across the oblivious crew members still working in the affected area. "Everyone out of here!" Fara barked, her voice cutting through the hum of repairs, imbued with sudden, primal authority. "Report to Sickbay immediately! We've got unknown radiation in this section! I don't know about you, but I don't want to get dosed anymore than I have to be," she said, turning to O'mara, her eyes wide with concern. "I agree," O'mara said, already grabbing both tricorders, her mind racing, calculating possibilities. "I might have enough to work with!" * * * The Lost and Damned Pt. 2 IDP 2025 Episode: 24A, Special 24 Written by: Vakash Edited by: Ashen Hugo * * * Later: “How bad is it?” Harry asked, his voice tight with concern, his gaze fixed on Okan. “Well, about a dozen crewmembers, including Ms. Phoenix and O’mara, have been significantly irradiated,” Okan replied, his expression grave. “The good news is that it looks like the half-life of this new element is rather short. Isolation for no more than about six hours, top, with proper decon methods. I’d recommend the same for any devices they may have.” “Can I at least speak to them?” Harry pressed a desperate edge to his voice. “Of course, follow me,” Okan said, turning and leading him to the back of sickbay where a small gangway led down to the auxiliary part that held the decontamination chambers. Okan had several set up in the area to deal with the near dozen crew members who’d be in isolation. “They’ll be able to hear you through the comms in the chambers.” "How are you two holding up in there?" Harry asked, his voice echoing slightly through the comms. "Just fine, sir," O'mara replied, a hint of impatience in her tone. "Though I can't wait to get out of here and pore over those readings." "Well, hopefully, one of your staff will have something concrete for you while you're… insulated," Harry said, correcting himself mid-sentence. "I already spoke to Ensign Riggs; he's working on it now," O'mara confirmed, her voice sounding a touch more at ease. "Excellent. Chief?" Harry prompted, turning his attention. "Yes, Captain," Fara's voice crackled through, a slight sigh accompanying it. "Are you doing, okay?" Harry inquired. "Yeah, we're just sitting around trying to keep each other entertained. Not much you can really do in an empty room in your underwear," Fara quipped, a faint chuckle in her voice. "Please tell me Kurtzman is getting that mess cleaned up." "He is, and the repairs are almost completed as well," Harry assured her. "I'll try to keep the ship in one piece until you get out of there." Fara's full, hearty chuckle filled the comms. "That would be much appreciated, sir." “Very well then, return to duty, both of you as soon as you are able.” “Yes, sir.” Both of them responded as Harry closed the channel. Omara chuckled, her laughter echoing off the walls of the isolation chamber. “Well, that was rather more pleasant than I expected it to be. I thought he’d be in his usual hurry like he usually is.” Fara leaned back on the wall and took a deep breath. “He is, he’s just being less pushy. I wish we had some cards or something, this is so damn boring, no offence to you, it’s been nice catching up.” O’mara nodded. “I agree, at least it’s a cozy temperature in here.” Fara nodded and yawned, stretched and tried to keep from getting too relaxed, although she kept her eyes closed as she leaned against the wall. “Almost too cozy, I want to grab a nap.” “So, back to what we were talking about before the captain interrupted us.” O’mara said, her gaze steady on Fara. “What have you been up to at night?” “What do you mean?” Fara asked, opening an eye, a hint of caution in her voice. “Well, I tried to come by after your shift and just spend some time with you a few times and see how you were doing, and you weren’t home. The computer said you were set to private on your com channel.” O’mara smirked, adding a bit of playfulness to her words. “You normally didn’t do that unless you had a guest or you were out. A very particular kind of guest, perhaps?” Her gaze sharpened slightly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Perhaps I prefer not to be disturbed,” Fara countered, her eyes wide with a hint of panic. “I’ve been trying to better balance my home and work life lately. You understand how it is—sometimes you just need your own space and privacy.” She shifted, a subtle discomfort in her posture, her ears almost imperceptibly flattening. “Most evenings, I’m just out late at Leeta’s, having beers with Claudia or Knackt.” It wasn’t entirely false, but it served as a convenient excuse. O’mara’s smirk remained, unwavering, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Oh, I do know. And sometimes, that ‘space’ involves someone else’s quarters, doesn’t it? Especially when they happen to be rather… commanding. And notoriously private themselves, wouldn't you say?” She paused, letting the implication hang in the air, a silent challenge in her eyes. “Just saying, Chief, some secrets are harder to keep on a starship than others. Especially when they radiate a certain… glow.” Fara snarled, a low, guttural sound escaping her throat, and clenched her fists, her fur bristling. “Who told you? Was it Claudia? I swear I’ll beat her senselessly! I don’t care if she’s a head taller than me or if it gets me tossed in the brig and demoted.” Fara flushed a furious crimson beneath her fur. “Nobody did, Fara!” O’mara squawked, holding up her taloned hands in a placating gesture, though her smirk never quite faded. “It’s just not that hard to figure out if one knows you well enough. That, and you are so goddamn chipper in the mornings, it’s practically blinding. You’re obviously sleeping well and relaxed, you were only like that when… when, well, Nikolai visited.” O’mara’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of genuine affection replacing the teasing. Fara suddenly looked away as if the name had physically slapped her. She turned away on the small bench, and she started to sob quietly. “Fara… I’m sorry.” O’mara said as she seemed to quiet down and gently touched her on her shoulder. “It's ok.” Fara sniffed after a moment, her mood of rage quickly shifting to melancholy. “It’s true, I have to live with it every day.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, thick with unshed tears. “It’s been months, O’mara. Months with Harry, and… and I love being with him. I really do. He’s kind, and he’s gentle, and he makes me laugh. He makes me feel… happy. Sometimes.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “But then, out of nowhere, it’s like a punch to the gut. A memory, a scent, a turn of phrase, and all I can think about is Nikolai. How much I miss him. How much it still hurts.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging soot across her cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I feel so strongly for Harry, but this… this wound from Nikolai, it just lingers. It’s always there, a phantom limb that aches, even when I’m holding onto something so real and good with Harry.” She finally turned back, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. “Am I broken, Michelle? Can I love two people at once, even when one is gone?” Michelle pulled her friend close, holding her tightly in a fierce, comforting embrace. “I don’t think you are broken, Fara. I think you are doing the best you can with what you’ve been given, and that’s all anyone can really do in this life.” Fara sniffed and returned the hug, burying her face in O’mara’s shoulder. “When did you become such a rock, Michelle?” “Look an Owlbear dead in the eye, Chief,” O’mara chuckled softly, her voice a low rumble. “You find a lot of strength you never knew you had in moments like that. And you, Fara, you’ve faced down far worse than an Owlbear. You’ll find your way through this too.” * * * “Komissar,” Corvis began, his voice a low, precise instrument, as he gestured at the holographic star map shimmering above the command table. “Their course appears to be taking them directly through the plasma fields located several thousand Kilometers ahead on their present course.” Hex, her helmet’s visor a dark, unreadable mirror, tilted her head slightly. “That’s… unnecessarily reckless, even for them.” “I assume it’s a calculated risk to drastically cut down on travel time,” Corvis replied, a hint of disdain creeping into her tone. He tapped a point on the map, his fingers tracing the projected trajectory. “Our estimation is they’ll pass through a relatively clear area of space within the Urthaen Empire after exiting the Badlands, only to re-enter the Badlands here, deep within the disputed zone where the anomaly is in contact with it again.” “They will undoubtedly be relying on their Keldryian cloaking device,” Hex surmised, her voice a low rumble from the helmet’s speaker. “To avoid drawing any further attention to themselves in such volatile territory.” “Which will make it hard for us to track them.” “Indeed.” Corvis noticed the visor wasn’t currently displaying anything, that was usually more worrying than when she was feeling particularly angry. He cleared his throat, a slight edge of warning in his voice. “If we attempt to follow them directly into those plasma fields, Komissar, I cannot guarantee our own stealth. The highly charged plasma particles within that field are known to accumulate on hull plating and would most certainly become visible on our shield harmonics, even at minimal power. Not to mention other possible risks of navigating such a phenomenon. I don’t think you want to be stranded out here because of a natural phenomenon that could damage our vessel.” “How long will they be in there?” Hex asked. “Only three days at their present course and speed.” Hex’s visor flickered, displaying a clear, angry frown. A long, exasperated sigh escaped her helmet speaker. “Very well. We will divert. Prepare to intercept them on the other side. Let them think we’ve lost interest in them, for now.” “Kommisar.” Corvis said. “There is one other possibility, there is a rather large cluster of interstellar dust on the other side of the plasma field.” He said studying the map intently. “It could provide a bit more cover for them but be a bit riskier. It could also save them some time on their overall journey.” Hex drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “How much time?” “At least a month.” Hex thought for another moment. “I’m definitely not chasing them in there. Where would they exit?” “Approximately at coordinates 318 Mark 16 in approximately two weeks.” Corvis replied. “Providing they don’t have any problems navigating that dust cloud.” “Helm divert around the Plasma field and take us to coordinates 318 mark 16, Warp two.” Hex ordered waking down to her command seat. “Disappointing, but it will give me time to think of something… sinister, next time.” she cackled and sat down in the command chair. “We’ll intercept them before they reenter the badlands, just when they feel we might have lost interest.” * * * Harry winced as he received another shot from Doctor Okan. He scowled as he rubbed the injection sight as Okan put away his tools. “Does it have to feel like I'm getting bit by something every time?” Harry muttered. “The dose you require is quite substantial, I can lower it, but your symptoms may manifest.” Okan said without looking up, packing his gear away. “Now sit still, I need to get some readings.” Harry sighed and patiently waited as Okan got his readings. “There that’s it, for now.” Okan said, closing his tricorder. “You don’t have any new symptoms to report, do you?” “I’m not sleeping that great.” Harry muttered. “It’s been better since the injections.” “Interesting, has there been some change in your routine?” Doctor Okan asked. Harry had a feeling he knew what it was, but he wasn’t going to admit it to Okan even with Doctor Patient confidentiality. Letting it slip that not having Fara with him at nights had only allowed the nightmares to slowly get more persistent, albeit less intense. “Well obviously” He said, getting up out of his chair and pacing around the ready room. “We’ve been on yellow alert for a few days, my ships already shot up just starting out this little journey.” "Perhaps," Okan pressed, his gaze sharpening slightly, "but the shift in your sleep patterns seems rather specific. Are you perhaps experiencing any… emotional distress that might be contributing to these restless nights, Captain?" He paused, observing Harry closely. "Sometimes, the mind can be a powerful force in both healing and hindering." “None more than usual.” Harry lied. Okan sighed resignedly. “Well then I can either up the dose, or you can figure it out on your own.” “I guess I’ll have to deal with it.” Harry said, turning to look out the viewport. “Thank you, Doctor.” Okan left and Harry peered out at the swirling, streaking orange blur of warp space in the Badlands and then suddenly the ship dropped out of Warp. “Captain,” Rivas’ voice came in over the comm. “We’re approaching Plasma feilds.” “Understood I’ll be there in a moment.” Harry replied. * * * Harry arrived back on the Bridge; he was down two of his best people and they were getting ready to enter the first major environmental challenge of the Badlands. He was surprised to see Kurtzman at Fara’s station. He rarely ventured out of Engineering but apparently he felt the need to be on the bridge in Fara’s absence. The badger seemed to be preoccupied with something and was switching between his main and wall console. “Problem commander.” “Just some last-minute adjustments to our shields, nothing to worry about sir.” Kurtzman said plainly and steadfastly focused on his work. “That’s good to know.” Harry said. “If there is a problem, I’m sure you will have an explanation then.” Kurtzman looked up from his work. “I am not anticipating any problems, sir.” Harry nodded and went to sit in the command chair. “Jakar any sign of your shadow?” Harry asked. “None as of yet, if they had any sense, they won’t follow us in there.” Jakar muttered looking at the swirling vortexes of super heated plasma growing larger on the viewer. “Thirty seconds until we enter the field.” Ensign Kyle reported from the helm. “Captain.” Kurtzman spoke up. “Shield adjustments are complete, it should be a smooth ride, using the algorithms from the attack modes adaptive matrix we should be able to repulse any errant discharges.” “That’s a relief.” Harry said, any break at this moment was a relief. “Good work, Commander.” “Ten Seconds.” Kyle announced. Harry saw Rivas brace himself against his console, but Harry had a bit more faith in his ship than the others did. “Five seconds.” “Nice and easy helm.” Harry said keeping his cool. “Contact.” The ship only slightly shifted as its shields came in contact with the plasma without any other alarms or distress. “Well done, Commander.” Harry said to Kurtzman, who humbly nodded in response. “It was something Chief Phoenix and I discussed; I just carried out what she wanted done when she got put in decon.” Kurtzman said. “I can’t take all the credit.” “We can only hope,” Harry replied, leaning back in his command chair, the hum of the ship now a steady, reassuring thrum. The viewscreen showed the swirling orange and red of the plasma field, but the ship moved through it with an almost unsettling calm. “Any long-range scans, Jakar? Anything out there besides super-heated gas?” Jakar adjusted his console; his brow furrowed in concentration. “Negative, Captain. The plasma field is too dense to penetrate with any meaningful accuracy. Our sensors are practically blind beyond a few kilometers. It’s like trying to see through a storm with a single candle.” Harry nodded, a faint sigh escaping him. “Understood. We’ll maintain course and speed. Kurtzman, keep an eye on those shield harmonics. Anything unusual, anything at all, you report it immediately.” “Aye, Captain,” Kurtzman responded, his eyes glued to his readings, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple despite the cool temperature of the bridge. The successful traversal of the initial plasma barrier had been a relief, but the deeper they went, the more unpredictable the environment became. The next few hours passed with a quiet, almost suffocating tension. The ship rode the turbulent plasma waves, a silent ghost amidst the cosmic storm, each thrum of the engines a heartbeat in the void. Harry tried to focus on his PADD, reviewing mission parameters, his thumb idly stroking the smooth surface of the device, but his mind kept drifting. He thought of Fara, isolated in sickbay, and the sterile, lonely feel of the decontamination chamber. Then his thoughts flickered to Okan’s earlier questions about his sleep. He knew, deep down, what was causing his restless nights. It wasn’t just the yellow alert, or the ship being shot up. It was the absence of Fara beside him, the quiet void in his quarters at night. He just couldn't bring himself to admit it. Not to Okan, whose keen eyes seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed facade. Not to anyone. He was occasionally interrupted by Lt. Perry, who would materialize at his side with a stack of his usual daily paperwork, his quiet presence a brief anchor in the swirling chaos of Harry’s thoughts. Harry would sign his name with a practiced flourish, reviewing the duty roster and other reports coming to him from across his small ship, his mind grappling with the mundane while his senses remained attuned to the ship’s subtle tremors. Occasionally, Ensign Kyle would have the ship do an evasive maneuver, a flick of his wrist sending them artfully around a sudden flare in the plasma field, but so far, the ride had been fairly smooth, almost deceptively so. As the end of his shift neared, his thoughts drifted to Jack Land. Jack would be practically unbearable now if he was at the helm, no doubt pacing and complaining about the trip being too quiet, wanting to go back to getting shot at like they had earlier. Yet, Harry conceded, he wouldn’t have been too bad. Jack, for all his boisterousness, had a natural instinct for piloting, and the turbulent plasma fields outside, for all their danger, would have at least kept his attention. Ensign Kyle, on the other hand, was always rather cool and focused on his duty, a steady hand at the helm, never complaining, not needing too much prompting to act. He knew all the Raptor’s tactical maneuvers by heart, a quiet virtuoso of evasive patterns and attack vectors. He had even been working with Jakar from time to time in the simulator on the holodeck, a silent, almost symbiotic partnership developing as they synchronized their efforts for combat encounters. Kyle was good. Solid. Dependent. Always on time, always prepared. Jack was his friend. A natural pilot, usually reliable most of the time, with a spark of unpredictable brilliance. Harry was glad he had two great helmsmen who had served under him. He just wished he had them both instead of one now. The thought settled heavily in his stomach, a dull ache of responsibility and longing for the missing pieces of his crew. * * * Fara settled into the chair across from Harry, the aroma of her hot supper steaming invitingly. "So, what'd I miss so far?" Harry looked up from the data-pad he was reading, a warm smile spreading across his face as he saw her. "Not a lot, our mystery attacker didn't seem too thrilled to follow us into the plasma fields." He leaned back slightly, a sense of quiet relief in his posture now that she was out of isolation. "You think we'll probably run into them again?" "Probably," Harry confirmed, remembering Amelia's earlier assessment in his ready room. "I'm hoping now that I've got you and O'mara back, you two can figure out some sort of solution." "Not until I get food first," Fara snapped good-naturedly, already digging into her meal with gusto. "I missed two meals and that stupid chamber, and believe me, O'mara isn't very fun either when she gets hungry." She took a large, satisfying bite, her ears wiggling slightly as she chewed. "Well, you don't have to right away," Harry assured her, watching her eat with an amused expression. "I need to," Fara said matter-of-factly, swallowing her mouthful. "We did kick around some ideas in there," she added, glancing up at a digital wall chronometer. "We're going to put our heads together in about fifty minutes and try to get some answers for you." She paused again, taking a big drink from her glass of tea, then set it down with a decisive thump. Her expression hardened slightly, a familiar glint of determination in her eyes. "I'm not going to put up with some jerk out there tearing our ship up with their little toy." The "our" resonated deeply with Harry, a small but significant shift from the "my" she used to use. It was nice to know that this one point of contention had softened over the last few years. Harry's smile widened. "Riggs has been working his tail off with the scans you two had; he was able to get some thorough findings from what you started." He tapped the datapad he'd been reading. "I was reviewing them now, but I'm pretty much done with them." He slid the device across the table to Fara. She picked it up, her attention instantly drawn to the screen. She glanced at it, then slowly started more diligently scrolling through the data, a low hum of contemplation escaping her. "Yeah, this is good. This is a very good start." Her eyes scanned line after line of technical data, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "This is more than just a 'toy,' Captain. This is advanced, even for what we’ve encountered so far. It’s definitely not Urthean, I know those energy readings by heart. Whoever's behind this has some serious tech." She looked up, her gaze meeting Harry's, a flicker of excitement in her eyes despite the gravity of the situation. "We'll get them, Harry. Just you wait." “Captain, Chief.” They heard Jakar’s voice and turned to him standing there also with his own data-pad. “I am glad you're here. If you don’t mind, I would like to discuss some modifications I would like to make to our weapons systems.” Fara seemed annoyed to be interrupted but sighed and went back to eating her food. “Of course, pull up a chair.” Harry said. “We were discussing something along those lines as well.” Fara quickly shot him with daggers, she didn’t want the brief time they had together to be interrupted, and he simply returned the stare coolly in a way that said. Duty first, always. Fara rolled her eyes and sighed. “Am I interrupting something?” Jakar said, picking up on the subtle interchange. “No.” Harry replied. “Very well.” Jakar said unperturbed. “From what little I could ascertain from our readings from the battle, even using the adaptive weapons array they were still able to prevent our phasers from fully penetrating their shields. Our phasers were equally as ineffective against their shielding; we only seem to have done minimal damage at most.” Harry’s expression turned into a grim frown. “So, we were being toyed with.” “Sir?” “Nothing.” Harry said. “Do you have any suggestions?” “Indeed, Captain,” Jakar said, pulling up a chair and settling in, his datapad now displaying intricate schematics. “While the adaptive array is effective against most known energy signatures, this opponent’s shielding operates on a frequency we haven’t encountered before. My proposal involves recalibrating our phaser arrays to generate a multi-frequency pulse, oscillating rapidly between a broad spectrum of known and theoretical shield harmonics. The idea is to overwhelm their adaptive capabilities by hitting them with too many variables at once. It’s akin to trying to swat a swarm of insects with a single fly swatter – if you swing enough times in enough directions, you’re bound to hit something.” He gestured to the schematics. “It will require significant power fluctuations and could strain the conduits, but the potential for shield penetration is far greater.” “A risky solution, we’re a bit too far out to burn out our phaser arrays and expect them to be repaired.” Harry mused. “The phaser cannons would be better suited for it; they can handle the heavier charge and the overall draw in power wouldn’t be as significant.” “But they’d have to be directly in front of us.” Harry said, then rapping his knuckle on the table. “Let alone be able to see them.” Jakar ground his teeth and finally relented. “Yes.” “We need to remove that advantage.” Harry said. “We’ve got the pieces; we just need to look at this from a different angle. They have a way to jam our sensors, and they have some way to maintain that even within the badlands.” “I don’t think it’s a cloaking device.” Jakar said. “It’s different whatever it is.” “Well, we can’t exactly post people on the hull and have them tell us where it is.” Fara mused. “No…. but we have someone on board who can see them, who doesn’t need a computer to do it. “The Alderi?” Jakar asked. Harry nodded. “No.” Jakar said gruffly. “Why?” Harry asked. “Do you want them to get the drop on us again?” “I don’t trust her.” “Jakar, she’s the one who tried to warn us the attack was coming.” Harry said. Jakar leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms and stared at the table in front of him. “It removes their advantage over us.” Fara added. Jakar merely growled, not a denial, it usually meant that he saw some reason in it. “I’ll talk to her.” Harry said. “It’s important we do everything we can to not fail this mission and get these Urtheans to safety. Jakar go ahead and make your modifications to the cannons, it may work. I’d rather not lose the phaser strips if I don’t have too.” “Thank you, sir.” Jakar said. “I will get right on it. If you’ll excuse me.” Fara noticed she’d finished her meal, and she glanced at the chronometer. “Well, it was nice while it lasted, Harry.” She said quietly with a small smile after Jakar left. “I have work to do.” “It was.” He said, smiling at her. “I’ll see you on the bridge, later then.” “Yeah.” Fara said. “Have a good night, I’m going to be up a bit late.” Harry sighed heavily as she dropped her tray in the recycler and left the mess. “Computer, Locate Cremen Amelia.” “CREWMEN AMELIA IS IN STELLAR CARTOGRAPHY.” “Inform her to stay there, I will be on my way to see her.” Harry said, gathering his own tray, standing up and heading to deposit it in the recycler. “ACKNOWLEDGED.” * * * “Can I help you, Captain?” Amelia asked, her green eyes, bright with intelligence, meeting Harry’s. Quinna had been dismissed, leaving the hum of the astro-metrics lab’s equipment to fill the tense quiet between them. “I want to know the extent of what exactly it is you can do,” Harry said, his voice a low rumble, devoid of its usual casual cadence. He strolled around the central holographic table, never breaking eye contact. “As far as your abilities. I feel you have been possibly a bit more modest than you have cared to let on.” Amelia’s brow furrowed, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. “What do you mean?” “You seem to have picked up on how to work our technology fairly quickly for someone not trained in it,” Harry continued, tapping a finger against his chin. “Faster than even the most gifted of minds in all of Starfleet. I told you I read your reports on your progress; you demonstrate an almost frightening ability to adapt, one that’s almost… ‘supernatural.’” He paused, a challenging glint in his eyes. Amelia said nothing, trying to keep her face expressionless but friendly, her tail giving an almost imperceptible twitch. “Am I wrong?” Harry pressed, raising a brow. Amelia went to speak, but Harry held up a finger to stop her. “Before you answer. I want you to hear me out first.” Amelia politely nodded, her attention fixed on him. “Trust is a two-way street,” Harry stated, his voice gaining a steely edge. “I want to help you get home. You offered to help me figure out my little problem. However, there are things in here.” He tapped his head. “I don’t want people to know. Secrets. Things I don’t want other people to know. Everyone has them, I’m sure even you do.” Amelia nodded politely, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. “So, what I’m proposing, since you are going to see my hand, I want to see yours,” Harry concluded, his gaze piercing. “What are you not telling me about you? Because I assure you, if you don’t, this… arrangement… is going to become difficult, and I have enough difficulties as it is right now.” Harry paused to let that sink in. Amelia pursed her lips deep in thought, her tail swishing almost imperceptibly behind her. “Why do you want to know, Captain?” she asked, her voice calm, a challenge subtly woven into the question. “Because you said I have an unknown enemy out there somewhere who currently has me on my back foot, and I don’t like being on my back foot,” Harry mused, circling the holographic table like a predator assessing its prey. “I know, for the most part, what every person on this crew can do for me and what gifts they have to offer.” He rapped the holo-table with his knuckle, the sound sharp in the quiet lab. “If you have something you’re hiding that can help us, get these Urtheans to safety, I need to know what it is. And make no mistake, Crewman, I need to know. Not for idle curiosity, but for the lives on this ship.” “I want them to get home, Captain,” Amelia said, a resigned sigh escaping her. Her green eyes, usually so keen and observant, held a newfound seriousness. “Alright. Grab that data-pad over there.” She pointed to a device on a nearby console. “And smash it to pieces.” “Why?” Harry said, picking it up, intrigued but also a little put out. He held the data-pad, turning it over in his hands, as if expecting a trick. “You’ll see,” Amelia replied, a glint of mischief, or perhaps quiet confidence, in her eyes. Harry shrugged, a familiar twitch of his eyebrow. “Very well. you’d better have something genuinely impressive to show me, or I shall be rather cross.” He slammed the datapad down onto the edge of the central table with a sharp crack that echoed through the lab, splintering the screen. Then, with a decisive, almost theatrical stomp, he brought his boot down, grinding the shattered casing and isolinear boards into a pile of glass shards and broken plastic. He looked up at her quizzically, a silent “What now?” in his intense gaze. “I hope you really have something to show me, Crewmen, or else this is going to look quite silly. And I do not do silly.” Amelia simply walked over to the wreckage, her movements graceful and unhurried. As she approached, the jewel on her headband began to glow with a soft, ethereal light, mirroring the sudden luminescence in her emerald eyes. The scattered pieces of the data-pad began to tremble, then slowly, miraculously, lifted from the floor. They sorted themselves in mid-air, glass from plastic, circuits from casing, each fragment orienting itself with uncanny precision. A small, sleek toolkit, previously unseen, seemed to materialize from the folds of her uniform, opening silently in the air. Tools, tiny and intricate, floated out, hovering like diligent sprites. Amelia held out her outstretched hands, her fingers making quick, separate motions, like a conductor orchestrating an invisible symphony. Her gaze was distant, as if in a deep trance, manipulating and controlling every piece, meticulously reassembling the device. In what seemed like only a few scant moments, the tools returned to the kit, which snapped shut and vanished, and the datapad gently drifted down to the table, fully repaired and in one piece, not even a hairline scratch marring its surface. It hummed softly, as if it had never been broken. Harry stared, his jaw slack. His usual quick wit and cutting remarks seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a profound, almost childlike wonder. He bent down, picking up the data-pad, turning it over and over, examining it with a forensic intensity. The screen was perfect, the casing pristine. It was as if the destruction had never happened. “Well, I’ll be… That’s… that’s utterly impossible!” he finally managed, his voice a disbelieving whisper, tinged with a raw intellectual curiosity that momentarily eclipsed all else. He looked from the perfectly restored data-pad to Amelia, his eyes wide, a flicker of genuine awe in their depths. “How did you… What in the name of all that’s reasonable was that? It defies every known principle of… matter!” “I was trained to be an Artificer, not… whatever the Black Stars made me to be,” Amelia said, a note of disgust and weariness in her voice, as if the very words "Black Stars" tasted sour on her tongue now. She gestured vaguely with a hand that still seemed to hum with residual energy. “Among my people, we are what drives and creates technology on my world. Our abilities give us a better, more intuitive understanding of machines and technology. It’s what I was trained to do, what I should have been doing if I hadn’t been taken from my home.” She took a deep, shaky breath, her gaze drifting to some unseen point beyond the lab’s walls. “I ask you to keep this close to your heart, Captain. We’re not supposed to tell outsiders. It’s… it’s a sacred trust, one that’s been broken.” Harry slowly straightened, the wonder in his eyes giving way to a more calculating, though still fascinating, expression. “That’s… a pretty big secret to keep. A monumental secret, in fact. What else can you do? Is there more to this ‘Artificer’ ability than… molecular reconstruction?” Amelia met his gaze, a quiet resolve settling on her features. “I can communicate with a machine as easily as you can standing here before me,” she stated, her voice even, devoid of any embellishment. “It’s a connection, a resonance. I can sense its health, its flaws, its potential. And, when necessary, I can… persuade it.” A subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air around them seemed to confirm her words, a whisper of unseen energy. Harry’s mind raced, connecting the dots. The enemy vessel, their inability to track it, the inexplicable cloaking. “If the time came,” he said, his voice low, urgent, “could you use that ability to allow the Raptor to see that enemy vessel? To cut through whatever… ‘jamming’ they’re using?” “I can,” Amelia confirmed, her eyes bright with a newfound confidence. She had already discussed this possibility with Eve, and together they had conceived a plausible strategy. But revealing Eve’s existence to Harry? Not yet. Not until the time was right. Harry smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile that transformed his stern features. She could sense, even through the remnants of his skepticism, that at least one of the many emotional and practical gaps between them had been bridged a little more. “I’m sorry to put you on the spot, Crewman,” he said, the apology sounding oddly sincere from him. “I know, Captain,” Amelia replied, a small, knowing smile returning to her lips, a shared understanding passing between them. “It’s your job. And frankly,” she added, a hint of mischievousness creeping back into her tone, “I like a good challenge when I find one.” “And have you found anything, any clues that might lead you home?” Harry asked, his gaze softening slightly as he returned to the matter of her original objective. “Not yet, Captain,” Amelia admitted, a faint sigh escaping her. “I’ve been pouring over the sensor logs every night before I go to bed, running every permutation, every theoretical warp signature. This area of space is quite vast, immense even. I doubt I’ll get lucky finding it right away. It’s like searching for a single grain of sand on a thousand beaches.” “You might,” Harry said reassuringly, a rare display of optimism from him. He gestured broadly at the holographic star map, which now shimmered with the chaotic beauty of the Badlands. “Hell, even the Confederation is not entirely sure what’s in here. Half the fun is finding out. And who knows, perhaps your abilities will unlock something we’ve completely overlooked.” He looked at her, a speculative glint in his eyes. “Thank you.” “When would you like to help me with your other problem?” Jenny asked. “Right.” Harry said, wanting desperately to make that tremor go away in his hand and his own need for answers boiling inside him. “How about tonight, in my quarters. Do I need to do anything to prepare.” “Just relax as much as you can.” Amelia replied. “What time?” “18:00.” “That will be fine, I’ll see you then Captain.” * * * Later: It was later Harry paced his quarters, his eyes occasionally darting to the occasional flash in front of the window where the plasma fields coming in through his portholes. He was questioning his reasoning, but he was hoping that possibly whatever aid she could provide for him might help him from getting stuck by Doctor Okan repeatedly for the foreseeable future. He didn’t like some of the side effects of it as it was, he noticed it was making his thoughts a little muddy at times, that he really couldn’t stand. Amelia arrived precisely at 18:00, her usual serene demeanor, masking any nervousness she might have felt. Harry, still pacing, stopped abruptly as the chime of the door echoed through his quarters. “Come in,” he called, his voice a little rougher than usual. Amelia stepped inside, her gaze sweeping around the familiar, yet somehow different, space. Harry’s quarters, usually meticulously neat, showed subtle signs of his recent distress: a PADD left open on his desk, a discarded uniform tunic draped over a chair, a faint scent of stale coffee clinging to the air. “Good evening, Captain,” she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper against the hum of the ship. Harry merely nodded, gesturing to the small seating area. “Have a seat, Crewman.” He sat opposite her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly. “So,” he began, his voice low, “what exactly are we doing here?” Amelia’s eyes, usually so bright with curiosity, seemed to darken slightly, taking on a faraway quality. “We are going to delve into your mind, Captain,” she replied, her voice steady. “Unlike, how we met, I’m not going to force my way in, you have to let me into your mind.” Harry scoffed, a short, humorless sound. “Trust. Right.” Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, after a few quiet moments he had it mostly quelled. Amelia simply smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Relax, Captain. That is the first step.” She extended her hand, palm up. “Hold my hand. We will create a link. It will allow me to… perceive what troubles you. Harry hesitated; his gaze fixed on her outstretched hand. It was a small, delicate hand, yet it exuded a strange, quiet strength. He took a deep breath, the scent of ozone and the distant hum of the ship filling his senses. He took her hand, his larger one enveloping hers. Her skin was surprisingly warm, and a faint tingle, like static electricity, ran up his arm. As their hands connected, the jewel on Amelia’s headband began to glow, a soft, pulsing light that filled the quarters with an ethereal shimmer. Her eyes, already distant, seemed to deepen into pools of emerald light, reflecting the glow. Harry felt a strange sensation, like a gentle current flowing from her hand into his mind, a subtle intrusion that was both unsettling and strangely calming. Then, the visions began. Not images exactly, but impressions, feelings, echoes of his past. He saw flashes of a desolate landscape, twisted metal and smoldering ruins, the acrid stench of burning circuitry filling his nostrils. He felt a profound sense of loss, a gnawing emptiness in his gut, followed by a surge of overwhelming rage. Then, the images shifted: a face, contorted in fear, a desperate cry, a sudden, blinding flash of light, and then… darkness. He gasped, a choked sound escaping his throat, his grip tightening on Amelia’s hand. He tried to pull away, but her grip, surprisingly firm, held him. “Breathe, Captain,” Amelia’s voice resonated in his mind, calm and steady, cutting through the chaos. “Allow it to flow. Do not resist.” “What Am I Seeing?” “Only what you carry with you.” Amelia said reassuringly. “Focus on my voice.” She said, tightening his hand in a gesture that felt distant yet immediately grounding. He drew ragged, desperate breaths, each one struggling against the suffocating weight of the visions. He forced himself to obey Amelia's silent command, to witness the relentless torrent of memories and emotions that surged through his mind. He saw himself as a younger, fresh-faced officer, his uniform crisp, his eyes bright with an almost naive optimism, eager to serve, to make a difference. Then came the insidious transformation: the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the growing detachment from the easy camaraderie of his peers, the nightmares that began to haunt his sleep like unwelcome specters. He felt the cold, creeping touch of fear, a primal terror that gnawed at the edges of his sanity, the agonizing anxiety of a threat he couldn't quite grasp, couldn't name, yet knew was always lurking. And beneath it all, a desperate, burning need to protect, to atone for sins he couldn't recall, yet felt deeply embedded in his very being. He saw the faces of his crew, etched with trust in him that was almost unbearable. He felt the crushing weight of responsibility, their lives held precariously in his hands, each decision a potential harbinger of life or death. The constant, relentless pressure to be strong, to be unflappable, to be the unyielding rock they all depended on, even as his own mind threatened to unravel, to shatter into a thousand pieces under the strain. Then, unexpectedly, a new set of images, softer and warmer, began to filter through the darkness: Fara's bright, infectious laughter, her teasing remarks that always managed to pierce through his customary reserve, the unexpected comfort of her mere presence. He felt a burgeoning warmth, a sense of quiet contentment that slowly, tentatively, began to push back against the encroaching shadows, a fragile beacon in the encroaching storm. Suddenly, the visions intensified, spiraling into a chaotic maelstrom of conflicting emotions that threatened to rip him apart. Love and grief, anger and fear, searing hope and crushing despair, they all collided within him, an overwhelming tempest of sensation. Images of Jack, his stalwart second-in-command; Jayna, with her sharp wit and unwavering loyalty; Nora, whose quiet strength had always been a comfort; his mother, her face loving and gentle—so many others, faces he recognized, yet couldn't quite place in the fragmented narrative of his past. He felt himself spiraling, accelerating, teetering precariously on the very edge of an unfathomable abyss, convinced he was about to plunge into the darkness forever. "No!" he thought, the word a desperate, silent plea torn from the depths of his soul. "Stop!" "They are only your own thoughts, your memories; look at them!" Amelia's voice, calm and steady, cut through the clamor in his mind. "Face them; don't turn away from them!" "Let me go! Let me go now!" Harry demanded, his voice hoarse, a raw rasp in the quiet chamber. He tugged against her grip, a desperate, animalistic struggle to escape the torment. Amelia’s grip softened, a subtle yielding that offered him a glimmer of release. The piercing light from her headband dimmed, its intensity receding like a fading star. The visions, once so vivid and all-consuming, began to recede, dissolving into a murky haze, then vanishing altogether. He was left gasping, his lungs burning, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He slumped back in his chair, utterly spent, drenched in sweat, his hand trembling uncontrollably as he finally released hers. "What... what was that?" he croaked, his voice raw and broken, barely a whisper. The air felt thick and heavy around him, charged with the lingering residue of his internal battle. Amelia, her own face pale and drawn, met his gaze, her emerald eyes clear and focused once more, reflecting a profound understanding. "Those were your nightmares, Captain," she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet solemnity. "Your past, your fears, your burdens. They are deeply rooted, almost a part of you now, interwoven into the very fabric of your being." She paused, a thoughtful expression creasing her brow as she considered his shattered state. "However, something's altered your mind somehow; they're manifesting around that manipulation like a bacterium in a wound, festering and growing, using it as a breeding ground for their malevolent energy. “ She sat quietly and considered his shattered state, the lingering tremors in his hands, and the haunted look in his eyes. He seemed diminished, a man weighed down by the invisible chains of his own history. "I thought this would be a more expedited process considering…" Harry began, his voice raspy, a stark contrast to his usual authoritative tone. "What I did last time…" Amelia interjected, cutting him off with a sharp intake of breath, clearly repulsed by her own actions. The memory of her, forceful entry into his mind when they met, an act of sheer will over his own and forbidden power. "Was forbidden. I forced my way in. I… I could have caused that damage by reopening a psychic wound that was previously healed." Her confession hung in the air, a heavy shroud settling between them. The earlier procedure, though seemingly effective in its immediate goal, had clearly come at a terrible cost, a price she now understood with chilling clarity. They sat across from each other for a few moments, the silence stretching, punctuated only by the distant hum of the ship's engines. The weight of her words, the revelation of the potential harm she had inflicted, sunk in. They avoided each other's gazes, the unspoken understanding of a shared, painful secret creating a palpable tension. Harry traced the rim of an unseen glass on the table, his knuckles white, processing the information that had just been laid bare. "I am sorry, perhaps we shouldn’t…" Amelia began again, her voice softer this time, filled with regret and a hesitant desire to retract the painful truth she had just unveiled. She seemed to consider ending the session or at least deferring further exploration of his fractured psyche. "No… “What’s done is done," Harry said, his voice regaining a sliver of its usual resolve, though tinged with a weariness that went bone deep. He looked up, finally meeting her eyes, a flicker of something akin to relief, or perhaps just acceptance, in their depths. "At least it’s the answer." The admission was stark, a desperate clinging to any form of understanding, even if that understanding revealed a deeper wound than he had ever imagined. The chaos within him, the torment of his nightmares, now had a name, a source, and perhaps, a path towards eventual healing, however long and arduous it might prove to be. “Now what do we do to fix it?” Amelia stood up. “We’ll have to try again in a day or so. I suggest, in that time you.” She trailed off trying to pick her words carefully. “Spend some time with your friend, I think just being in her presence for any amount of time would help. I understand you can’t as of late, but it would be good for the both of you to just be in each other's presence for whatever amount of time you two can manage.” She stepped out of the room.. Harry glanced at the chronometer on his master display in his quarters and saw that Fara should be off duty. “Computer, Locate Commander Phoenix.” “COMMANDER PHOENIX IS IN HER QUARTERS." “Computer open a Channel.” The computer acknowledged his request. After a few moments Fara finally responded, her voice sounding a little tired. “Yes?” “Would you care to join me in a… visual inspection of the power relays on Deck Three?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, but a subtle warmth crept into it. He knew full well the computer was monitoring all channels, and he certainly didn't want any further whispers about his relationship with his Chief Engineer. “Wait, what?” Fara replied, a mixed tone of intrigue and blatant confusion in her voice. “A visual inspection? Now? Sir, it’s… past my shift, and Kurtzman just cleared Deck Four, I’m pretty sure the relays on Deck Three are fine. Why… are you serious?” Harry sighed internally. He hadn’t quite mastered the art of subtly proposing a clandestine rendezvous. He tried again, adding a note of veiled suggestion to his tone. “Just meet me by Hatch 7J. In uniform, of course. In thirty minutes. I just noticed “something” when we were in that junction when we were hiding from the terrorists months ago. Bring an engineering kit.” He paused, letting the words hang, then added, softer, more deliberately, “I think we both need to do this. And it won't take that long.” There was a longer pause at Fara’s end, a moment of processing. Harry could almost hear the gears turning in her head. Then, a faint chuckle, a slow dawning of understanding in her voice. “Ah. Hatch 7J. Right. A kit. Got it, Captain.” The slight emphasis on "kit" and the almost imperceptible shift in her tone conveyed that she had finally caught his drift. A ‘visual inspection’ of power relays was their code for a quiet, private moment away from prying eyes and monitoring systems. Her voice, though still professional, held a hidden layer of amusement and affection. “Thirty minutes, Captain,” Fara confirmed, her voice a little more subdued now, a hint of genuine fatigue seeping through. “See you there.” The channel closed, leaving Harry in the quiet of his quarters, the lingering scent of ozone from Amelia’s presence still faints in the air. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The past few hours had been a rollercoaster of revelations and unsettling introspection. He glanced at the chronometer again, then at the discarded uniform tunic on his chair. He had just enough time. He moved to his sonic shower, letting the warm mist soothe his tired muscles, trying to wash away the lingering unease of his session with Amelia. Her words echoed in his mind: “Those were your nightmares, Captain. Your past, your fears, your burdens. They are deeply rooted… however, something’s altered your mind somehow; they’re manifesting around that manipulation like a bacteria in a wound, festering and growing, using it as a breeding ground for their malevolent energy.” The idea of his mind being “manipulated” was unsettling, more so than the nightmares themselves. It implied an external force, a deliberate act. He wondered who, or what, could have done such a thing, and more importantly, why. He pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the simple act of cleaning himself. He had thirty minutes to be somewhere, and he needed to be present for Fara. He emerged from the shower feeling marginally better, the warmth and steam having relaxed some of the tension in his shoulders. He dressed quickly, opting for a clean, fresh uniform. He grabbed a PADD from his desk, intending to review some engineering schematics to make their “visual inspection” seem more plausible, but his eyes kept straying to the unmarred surface of the datapad Amelia had repaired. It was a tangible proof of her extraordinary abilities, a stark reminder of the unknown forces at play in his life. He decided against bringing the PADD; it would only distract him. He had an engineering kit replicated but with some modifications, to store a small bottle of wine and something to snack on and two collapsable cups. It was and ingenious, it would be nice to just be with each other again without the whole ship interfering. Thirty minutes later, Captain Harry arrived at Hatch 7J. The corridor, typically bustling, was now eerily quiet, save for the low thrum of the ship’s internal systems, a sound so constant it had become a comforting drone. Emergency lights, spaced far apart, cast long, dancing shadows that stretched and contorted with every slight sway of the ship. Fara, the Chief Engineer, was already there, leaning against the cold, bulkheaded wall. Her engineering kit, a worn but well-maintained bag, was slung casually over her shoulder. Despite the subtle fatigue etched around her eyes, a faint, amused smile played on her lips, and she had clearly taken the time to change into a fresh uniform. “Evening, Captain,” she greeted him, pushing off the wall with a graceful ease as he approached. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret. “Ready for our… ‘inspection’?” The mischievous glint in her eyes confirmed her understanding of the true nature of their rendezvous. Harry returned her a small, genuine smile, a rare sight for a man burdened with the weight of command. “As I’ll ever be, Chief.” He moved to the hatch mechanism, his fingers deftly keying in the sequence. With a soft hiss of displaced air, the wall panel slid back, revealing the narrow, dark entrance to the maintenance tube. “After you, Chief,” Harry offered, gesturing politely. Fara, still intrigued by his unusual invitation, smiled warmly. Without hesitation, she knelt and crawled ahead into the cramped tube, her movements fluid and practiced. Harry followed close behind, the hatch sliding shut with a soft click, plunging them into a cozy, intimate darkness illuminated only by the faint glow of the led strip lights in the walls. They crawled in comfortable silence for a few moments, the confined space somehow amplifying their unspoken camaraderie. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of recycled oxygen and something metallic. Finally, they reached a small alcove, a forgotten nook they had once used months ago as a makeshift escape route. Fara stretched out with a sigh of relief, the space just large enough for them to sit comfortably and set her kit on the floor with a soft thud. “Okay, we’re here,” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the small space. “So, what do you have in mind, Captain?” Harry crawled out of the tube, his joints creaking faintly, and stood up, placing his own kit on the small, built-in workspace. He turned to face her, a gentle smile on his face. “I thought we could enjoy some time together,” he began, his gaze warm, “under the pretense of work, if anyone asked.” He then opened his kit, revealing its unexpected contents: not tools or spare parts, but a chilled bottle of the finest wine from Termia, a selection of artisanal cheeses, and thinly sliced cured meats. “I brought refreshments.” Fara seemed genuinely flattered, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. “That’s what this is all about?” she asked, a genuine laugh escaping her lips. Harry opened the bottle with a practiced hand, the cork eased out with soft pop, and filled two collapsible cups. “I thought it would brighten both our spirits,”, “since we can’t even have a quiet meal in the mess without everyone wanting our attention.” He smiled, handing her a cup filled with amber liquid. “And we have been very busy for a while, and it has been a long trying day.” Fara took a slow, appreciative sip of the wine, her eyes closing momentarily as she savored the taste. A soft, contented sigh escaped her. “You know,” she said, her voice laced with amusement, “a part of me genuinely thought you were actually going to make me work.” “Nah,” Harry said with a disarming grin, shaking his head. He handed her a small plate piled high with finger-food cheeses and meats. “I was thinking this area might be problematic from time to time and we’d have to continue to monitor it.” Fara chuckled as she munched on her food. “Oh yeah probably going to have to rip that whole trunk out over there and redo it, for. Reasons.” She gestured to one of the various panels in the wall. They both laughed at that. “Did you happen to find anything working with O’mara?” Harry asked. “Yeah, their weapons are Polaron based. That’s why they were tearing us up pretty bad.” Fara said. “Anything we can do about it?” “O’mara’s working on something, she said she thinks she can reconfigure the shields to handle them.” Fara said holding her cup out for more wine which Harry obliged. “Excellent,” Harry said, a sense of quiet relief washing over him. “That’s good news. And what about your other problem?” he asked, his voice softening, a subtle shift in his demeanor that always occurred when he broached the subject of Nikolai. Fara’s cheerful expression faltered slightly, a shadow passing over her features. She looked down at her half-eaten food, her ears drooping almost imperceptibly. “It’s… it’s still there,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “The ache. The missing him. Even when I’m with you, even when I’m happy, it’s just… always there. Like a phantom limb.” She looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Do you… do you think it’ll ever go away, Harry?” Harry reached across the small space, his gaze piercing, a strange mix of deep empathy and almost intellectual curiosity in his eyes. He gently took her hand, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles on her knuckles. "Fara," he began, his voice a low rumble, devoid of his usual commanding tone, "I don't have a neat, tidy answer for you. Life can’t be repaired like a starship. It doesn't always have a logical solution. I can relate, I'll admit. I feel the same way about Jayna." He paused, his eyes drifting to some unseen point beyond the bulkhead, a flicker of profound personal history crossing his features. "And I think," he continued, a quiet conviction entering his voice, "that both Nikolai and Jayna, wherever they are now, would want nothing more than for us to find happiness, to find joy, in whatever form it presents itself. The pain… it won't ever truly disappear, Fara. That's a romantic fallacy. Life doesn't work that way. But you don't honour their memory by clinging to misery. All you can do, all any of us can do, is to keep living. To really live. To grab hold of the good things, the unexpected moments of peace, and to build something new, even with the ghosts by our side. That's the real fight, isn't it? Not just against enemies, but against the despair that tries to convince us we're broken beyond repair." Fara leaned her head against his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her. “You always know what to say, Harry,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She squeezed his hand gently. “Thank you. I… I needed to hear that.” They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the quiet intimacy of the cramped space, the soft hum of the ship and a gentle lullaby around them. The wine, warm and comforting, seemed to soften the sharp edges of the day, blurring the line between duty and personal solace. Harry took another sip, his gaze drifting to the faint gleam of the LED strip lights in the wall, then back to Fara. “So,” he began, a small smile playing on his lips, “about those power relays on Deck Three. Are we really going to have to rip that whole trunk out?” Fara chuckled, her shoulders shaking slightly with amusement. “For… reasons, Captain. Absolutely. It’ll require extensive ‘visual inspection’ over the next few weeks, I imagine. Perhaps even some ‘hands-on troubleshooting’ in the same problematic area.” She winked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s a persistent issue, you see. Requires… ongoing monitoring.” Harry laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound that filled the small alcove. “Ongoing monitoring, indeed, Chief. I think I can clear up your schedule for that. We wouldn’t want the ship to… short out, now, would we?” He leaned back against the cool bulkhead, a sense of peace settling over him that he hadn’t felt in days. The tremor in his hand, though still present, felt less pronounced, almost a distant echo. The quiet presence of Fara, her warmth beside him, was a balm to his troubled mind. For now, the nightmares, the burdens of command, all seemed to recede into the periphery. In this small, hidden corner of the ship, with the scent of wine and the soft comfort of shared laughter, there was only them, two people finding solace in each other amidst the vast, unpredictable expanse of the Badlands. “To ongoing monitoring,” Fara said, raising her cup in a silent toast. Harry clinked his cup against hers, the soft clink echoing faintly in the quiet space. “To ongoing monitoring, Chief.” * * * Jakar was doing his regular late-night patrol, along deck four just making sure everyone was keeping the peace, and more importantly keeping the corridors clear. It had become routine the last few days since the little incident between the Marines and their urthean passengers. Jakar always did it alone, he knew he could handle himself and he knew a single individual would draw more respect from their Urthean passengers than a team of individuals. Most everyone had settled down in their respective berths for the night save for a few of the Urthean’s helping the crew coming off their shift and talking amongst themselves. He then notice someone fall instep with him from behind him. “Gel Fenrix.” He said not even breaking his gaze. “Is there something I can do to help you?” “I figured you could use some assistance.” “I don’t need assistance but if you wish to help me keep the peace you may it makes no difference to me.” Jakar said, continuing at his pace. “I’ve noticed in my time here that Kazan isn’t the only person of note among my people on this vessel. What brings you here?” Jakar shifted his gaze to her and saw her grinning mischievously, her canine teeth glinting in the dim light that simulated nighttime on the ship. “I’ve been meaning to ask for some time now, but you are a hard one to track down and speak one on one with.” Jakar turned his gaze forward and said nothing. “I don’t have anything to discuss, I have my duty here, that is all.” “I’m sure your time among us has proven quite valuable in your encounters with the Empire.” Fenrix said. “You could say that.” Jakar said continuing forward his pace not changing his expression revealing nothing, his arms clasped behind his back. “What business do you have with me?” “Kazan has spoken a lot of you, he’s said you’ve been quite helpful to him helping him fit in on the station since he arrived.” Jakar grunted and nodded in surprise. “I’m hoping maybe you might help in our little integration of our crews by possibly finding a way to ease tension between us and our neighbors.” Fenrix said. “Kazan suggested perhaps a little contest as it were if you catch my drift.” Jakar stopped and thought about it. “I am not sure if the captain would support such a thing.” “He would if he understood it would help ease tensions.” Fenrix said not backing down. “It’s just a little fun, nothing wrong with a bit of good-natured sparring, it will definitely help and you know it would. It would definitely improve morale among my people and help them build trust with yours.” “Perhaps but a lot of your crew have augments, that’s not exactly fair.” Jakar said adamantly. “And you know as well as I do that, we have an inhibitor that can be installed at the base of our neck for such things. We may need to replicate a few, I don’t want to see anyone seriously hurt, I just want to see a bit more amicability between my people and Hughes.. Men as it were. They seem to be the only ones who are still trying to acclimate to us being on the vessel. Things are quiet now but for how long?” Jakar looked her over, if she was trying to obfuscate something she wasn’t really demonstrating it by her demeanor or body posture if anything she was demonstrating absolute resolve in trying to find a solution to a problem that worried her. “I would suggest you bring it up with the Captain and the Major.” Jakar said. “If you wish, you can have him ask me and I will do what I can.” Jakar said thoughtfully. “With the current situation being as it is, I want to find solutions to end any potential problems on board when we have so many potential external threats out there.” Jakar gestured to the space surrounding them. “Thank you.” Fenrix said relieved. Jakar nodded and started to leave. “Jerico.” She spoke. Jakar stopped. “Please don’t use that name.” “I’m sorry, Jakar. If you would, would you preside over it. I think if anyone could be trusted to see the matches are fair, it would be you.” Jakar mulled it over. “If it’s permitted, I’ll consider it.” “Thank you.” Fenrix said gratefully. * * * The next day. The bridge of the Raptor was a scene of controlled chaos, with every console displaying flickering lights and urgent data. The dense interstellar dust cloud loomed ahead, an inky black void that swallowed distant stars, growing steadily larger. Harry, with a grim expression, watched its approach, a silent battle raging within him. His crew moved with focused determination, meticulously preparing the ship for its departure from the plasma storm. He wished they could bypass this next uncertain phase, yearning for the comfort of open space, but this perilous route was the most direct way to keep their critical mission swift and clean. A deep frown creased his brow as he considered the implications: their elusive attacker, a phantom menace, could still be out there, patiently waiting for them to emerge from the dust cloud. A dull rumble, a deep, resonant thrum, vibrated through the deck plates, a sound that would have alarmed a less experienced crew. Harry's sharp gaze flickered to Fara, who remained unperturbed at her station. He noticed Rivas and O’mara also glanced warily around. "What was that, Chief?" he asked, his voice cutting through the bridge's low hum. Fara, without looking up from her console, her fingers dancing across the controls, replied calmly, "Just reconfiguring the plasma vents, Captain. It's nothing to be concerned with." Her unwavering confidence was a balm to the underlying tension, a quiet assurance that, despite the daunting challenges ahead, the ship and its crew were capable hands. "I see," Harry said. "Not a sound my ship makes every day." Fara glanced up at him with a mischievous smirk. "You better get used to it; we’re going to be doing it every time that messes out their changes. Are you feeling a bit jumpy, Captain?" "No," Harry said assertively. "Hardly. Go back to your adjustments, Chief." "Yes, sir," Fara said, trying to hide her amusement. “Captain we’ll be leaving the plasma field soon, I already have our sensors readjusted.” Omara spoke up from her station. “I won’t know how effective they’ll really be when we get into that cloud.” “We’ll slow down to one quarter impulse till we get an idea what we’re dealing with.” Harry said. “Fara can you adjust our deflector output to 150% just to give us a bit more of a push if needed.” “Sure, but that isn’t going to stop us from hitting any rogue planets or anything that sized.” Fara said. “I’m aware Chief, but I think we could detect that through the gravimetric distortions way before that happens, I’m more concerned with smaller objects that could cripple us if we run into them.” Harry replied. “You want more power, you got it.” Fara said, inputting commands. A steady hum from far below them resonated throughout the ship as the main deflector increased its output. “Ok team, lets see what’s in there.” Harry said, settling back into his chair as the massive dark cloud of dust now filled the entire viewer, highlighted by the plasma discharges around them. “Steady as she goes.” Harry said to the Ensign Kyle at the helm. “Aye, sir.” A few tense moments passed as they breached the thick morass of interstellar dust, but the transition was smooth. Harry figured the boost in deflector power possibly had something to do with it. Using his command console, he activated the ships forward lights just so he could at least see something. The viewer reflected the ellipsoid shape of the deflector field pushing away the thick interstellar dust. “Hoping to see something sir?” Rivas chuckled from ops. “Hey, every little bit helps.” Harry shrugged. “O’mara how are those sensors looking.” “Well we’ve at least got a quarter of a light year ahead of us. I suppose that’s more than enough to give us time to react if we find anything.” “It’s more than enough, helm drop to half impulse. It’ll just add a day or two to our travel time and give us a bit more of a buffer.” Harry ordered. “Wouldn’t you agree Gel?” Harry said over his shoulder to Fenrix. The Urthean commander who seemed a bit at ease standing at the auxiliary console watching her own readouts, straightened her posture. “I think being a bit cautious would play into our favor, captain.” Harry only nodded and kept his eyes on the viewer TRYING to stay ready for anything. * * * Down in Stellar Cartography. Amelia scowled, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on her console. Her advanced navigation instruments, usually a symphony of precise data and holographic projections, were utterly useless amidst the chaotic, blinding interference. Ghost signals, erratic and meaningless, flared across her display, mocking her with their spurious activity. She glanced at the holographic map, a faint blue lattice attempting to render their surroundings, and frowned. The ship's projected course was a mere whisper of a line, barely visible, as they threaded a treacherous, narrow path through the dense dust cloud. Every twitch of the ship, every distant, muffled thrum, was amplified by the oppressive silence of the void outside, a silence broken only by the whirring of her console. "Is there a problem, Crewman?" Quinna inquired, her voice a low, even tone that cut through Amelia's building frustration. Quinna's brow subtly arched, a silent observation of Amelia's barely contained irritation. Her posture was, as always, meticulously composed of a stark contrast to Amelia’s restless energy. Amelia exhaled sharply, a huff of air. "Yeah, there's a problem! What are we supposed to do when there’s literally nothing to do? We’re staring at a wall of dust created by the deflector field, crying out loud!" Her voice, usually brimming with exuberance, now carried a distinct edge of her usual impulsive energy. "It’s like trying to navigate a cloud of cosmic lint blindfolded, except the lint is actively trying to scramble our systems!" She gestured wildly at the flickering, unhelpful readouts on her console, the ghost signals dancing like malevolent spirits. "My instruments are useless we can barely even see beyond the hull of our ship with the external cameras.” Quinna cocked her head slightly, an almost imperceptible smile touching the corners of her lips, a brief flash of amusement in her usually stoic demeanor. "I plan to meditate, Crewman," she stated calmly, her gaze distant, as if already contemplating inner peace. "However, you have options. You can attend to any upkeep duties for your equipment. A thorough diagnostic, perhaps, or a recalibration of your sub-processors might prove fruitful in this downtime." She paused, then continued, "Otherwise, you may engage in mild entertainment, provided it doesn't distract from your primary instrumentation." Her eyes flickered to Amelia's console. "Perhaps a logical puzzle from the ship's database, or even a brief analysis of the ghost signals; while erroneous and clearly a product of the interference, they still present an interesting, albeit chaotic, pattern. One might even learn something about the nature of this particular deflector field's emissions." “I suppose I could check those signals,” Amelia conceded, a hint of resignation in her voice. “I’ve already completed all the diagnostic work this morning; it doesn't really need to be done again.” She ran a hand through her short, practical hair, the lingering fatigue of an early shift still clinging to her. The hum of the ship’s systems was a constant companion, a testament to the endless vigilance required to maintain a vessel this size in deep space. Quinna, ever the picture of unwavering discipline, did not even glance from her console. Her fingers danced across the holographic interface, an intricate ballet of data streams and status reports. “I have given you your options, crewman. Just stay alert, that’s all I advise.” Her tone was calm, devoid of any discernible emotion, a trait Amelia had come to both respect and occasionally chafe against. The senior officer’s focus was absolute, her dedication to duty an almost tangible force. With a sigh that was barely audible even to herself, Amelia moved to another console, the cool metal of the control panel a familiar comfort. Her assigned task, at least for the next few hours, was to investigate some of the persistent "sensor ghosts" that had been plaguing their scans of the uncharted sector. These anomalies, faint and fleeting, were usually dismissed as cosmic dust or minor energy fluctuations, but a gut feeling, a prickle of unease, suggested otherwise. As her fingers hovered over the console's surface, preparing to initiate a deeper scan, a jolt, sharp and unexpected, coursed through her. Her hand hesitated, just above the console's surface, suspended in a moment of disquiet. In her mind's eye, there were flashes, fragmented and disorienting. Faces, distorted by time and distance, flickered into existence – people she may have known, or perhaps only dreamed of. An urgent, piercing alert, a siren song of impending doom, echoed in the silent chambers of her memory. For a moment, the vastness of the starship dissolved, replaced by a much smaller, more terrifying reality. She found herself as a child, small and vulnerable, calling out for her mother in a strange but not unfamiliar corridor. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burnt metal. Everything was shaking, a violent tremor that threatened to tear her world apart. There was fire, an inferno of orange and red consuming everything she held dear, and… “Crewman!” Quinna’s sharp, commanding voice cut through Amelia’s hazy vision, jarring her back to the present. The metallic tang of fear was sharp on Amelia’s tongue, a stark contrast to the usual recycled air of the Raptor. Quinna’s strong, steady hand gently shook Amelia’s shoulder—a firm, grounding presence after her waking nightmare. “Crewman, are you okay? What is wrong?” For once, Quinna’s voice held a tremor of genuine concern, her stoic facade momentarily cracking like ice under a sudden warmth. The Raptor’s eldritch hum, usually a comforting thrum against the soles of her boots, now throbbed with an unspoken question, mirroring Amelia’s own violently racing heart. Amelia stared blankly, her eyes wide and unfocused, seeing something far beyond Quinna, even beyond the reinforced hull of the Raptor. The dust choaked void outside seemed to ripple with an unseen energy, a silent symphony playing only for her. “There’s something out there,” she muttered, her voice raspy, a mere whisper against the drone of the ship. “And it’s calling to me.” A shiver ran down her spine, not of cold, but of an ancient, cosmic dread mixed with an irresistible pull. Quinna eyed her cautiously; her brows furrowed in a mixture of concern and professional assessment. She was a woman of logic and strict protocols, and Amelia's current state did not fit neatly into any known category. “Perhaps you should go to sickbay?” she said patiently, her voice softening just a fraction. “You’ve been through a lot lately, Crewman. Stress can play tricks on the mind.” “No… you don’t understand,” Amelia replied, her focus slowly returning as she looked at Quinna, the ghostly images of her dream slowly receding, replaced by the familiar, if stark, reality of the bridge. Her eyes, still wide, now held a spark of desperate conviction. “There is something out there; that’s why I’m on this ship. The captain… he understood. He said if I happened to find anything that might help me find my way home, I need to let him know immediately. Whatever it is, there is something out there calling me, and it’s somewhere ahead of us!” She pointed a trembling finger towards the front of the ship. The call was weak but growing stronger, a silent song weaving through the fabric of the cosmos, beckoning her forward into the unknown. It was a promise, a threat, and destiny all rolled into one echoing whisper across the void.