“Captain Fontana.”

“Captain Walton.”  Geronimo slid into the chair opposite her and gave her ready room a look.  “Not bad.”

She rolled her eyes, “It’s not your office, but it’ll do in a pinch.”  She added, “Sir.”

“You invited me here, Walton.  I suppose you had a reason?”  He said it flatly, making it clear he wasn’t annoyed.  Just curious.

Wren smiled, “I met you in your house last time.  I figured it was your turn to come to mine.  You don’t call unless you have something for us.”  She gave him an expectant look.

Fontana shook his head, “Not an ounce of subtlety in you, Captain.  Yes, I do.”  He handed over a PADD, “The local Task Group operating within the Janoor system is being retasked with another mission.  There’s been some…turnover in their command structure with everything that happened on Frontier Day.  They’ve asked us for assistance with the system.  You’re familiar with the system.”

The Mackenzie CO read the file as she spoke, “We’re much more than familiar, Captain Fontana.  You’ve read the mission reports.  We lost good people.”

He replied, “I know the losses you and your crew endured.  Those that are left on Janoor III know you and your record.  To send in a new crew that’s never set foot on the planet…we’d be starting from behind the starting line…or probably off in the rough somewhere.”  He sat forward, “The point is…we need you and yours, Captain.”

Walton had skimmed the rest of the file and glanced up, “I don’t see mention of the Olympic here.”

Fontana nodded, “The Olympic is being tasked elsewhere in the Deneb system.  There’s plenty of medical needs across the system…and they will be in high demand.”  He put up his hands, “I know you enjoy working with Captain Crawford, but Deneb has needs, and they need the Olympic.”

Wren narrowed her eyes at his mention of ‘enjoy’ and thought she caught a corner of his mouth arch into a mild smile for half a second.  She was tempted to ask him what he knew but also suspected he’d asked it that way to get a confirmation out of her.  Fontana wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t a fool.  She sighed and accepted the loss, “Who am I to argue with the Task Force Commander, sir.”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at her, “You would be – several times in your previous Task Forces, Groups, and Units…I’m rather surprised at the lack of it.”  He stood, “But, who am I to argue with the Captain of the Mackenzie.”  He was smiling broadly now, and she rolled her eyes again.

“We’ll just agree not to argue today, sir.”  He gave her a nod and left her ready room.  When the door closed, she muttered, “That man knows how to annoy the hell out of me.”  She sent a message to Park.  

They were going back to Janoor.

“It’s not the same place.  Most of the citizens in the capital resettled and never returned.  What we’re dealing with is the remaining population forming a government.”  Charlie Hargraves sat at the briefing room table, PADD in hand.  The senior staff filled the remaining chairs along with Hasar.  No longer a Gul, he had taken on an advisory role.

Park was reading through the report the Diplomatic Officer had put together as they traveled back to the Janoor system.  “They sound…pissed.”

Charlie replied, “They are – they’re responsible for putting a Federation colony back together again, and they’re still raw from the loss of life just a month ago.  They’re frustrated at the attitude the Task Group gave them.  It is worth noting that one of the captains was confirmed as a Changeling during the Frontier Day events.  The ships endured the effects of the attack – part of the anger is that Janoor III briefly faced the fury of the Borg in Federation clothing until things were controlled.  There had been no answer to their pleas as the attack occurred.  For the people, it was like they were facing a third invasion…and this time it was the Borg.”

Wren sighed, “I can only imagine their fury.  What did they have to sacrifice?”

Longfellow ran down the report, “It was an orbital bombardment mostly, and they lost two hundred in the initial attack.  Then they transported down.”

The XO whispered as she read along, “Shit.”

Henry agreed, “That is an accurate description.  Survivors used the shelters they had built after the Dominion attack.  Those caught in the streets suffered.  They lost three hundred until the Borg Queen was destroyed.”

Walton picked up where Longfellow had left off, “Part of why we’re being sent in…is that we’re a friendly face.  The Task Group was nearly forcibly removed from the planet by the people of Janoor III.  They could only keep working with a tenuous agreement with the provisional government..and even then, the crew was isolated from the population for their safety.”

The group turned as Charlie stood and tapped at the display, “We’re coming in as infrastructure support and governmental advising.  Our job is to get the remaining cities repaired and working.  The remains of the capital have been cleared.  We’re also being asked to assist in building a memorial there – the provisional government has some ideas.”  He paused momentarily and let the details sink in before continuing, “It’s important to note here that they asked for us.  The Mack was here the last time and did good work in their eyes.  They’re not sold on continued Federation membership, and considerable voices demand a secession vote.”  The screen changed to news coverage from the planet, “Three political parties are vying for power in the elections.  Straya is a liberal group that wants to open communication with Cardassia, Romulans, Federations…anyone and everyone they think can help.  Gully is the more conservative group that wants to lock down and walk away from the Federation…and just about everyone else.  There’s suspicion that Romulan separatists may have some influence over this group, but nothing concrete.  Loka is the smallest group, but they’re walking the middle line, trying to bring a moderate voice to the masses.  They’ve had limited success.”  He tapped the display off and returned to his seat, “Not to mention there are suspicions that some Dominion elements are still on the planet and the disconnected nature of the other cities…there’s no cohesive group working together.”

Walton cracked, “So we’re the ones smashing everyone together with glue?”  She sat forward, “There is a lot of work to be done here.  Each of you will pair up.  Security and Tactical together.  Medical and Science.  Engineering and Operations.  Work with your teams, and keep Charlie in the loop as you go.  Slow and steady is better than trying to beat some time record in saving the planet.”

The group broke and paired off to work on their arrival plans, leaving Wren and Park alone.  The XO spoke first, “You ready to go back?”

Walton scoffed and pushed off the back of her chair, “I don’t think any of us is ready, Park.  We went face-to-face with The Dominion.  We won, but it was an empty victory.”  She locked eyes with her XO, “Are you ready to go back?”

Seoyeon didn’t answer.  She chewed on her lower lip while her thoughts swam in uneven lanes.  She landed on, “I’m not ready to face the failure…I’m ready to put some in the win column this time around.”  She shrugged at her captain’s pointed look, “Part of serving in Starfleet is accepting that you can’t win ‘em all.  You told me that once…or twice…”

Wren chuckled, “Or fifteen, but who’s counting?”  There was only so much you could hold onto, she knew.  “We did the best we could the last time we were here…and we will keep doing our best.  These people deserve nothing less.”

Park gestured to the door, “Lead on, my captain.”  She laughed as Walton stuck her tongue out before leading out the door.

“It was…unending.”  The woman kicked the power generator unit, “They didn’t stop.  Even after they came down here.  The phaser blasts…the torpedoes…it was like a spiteful god was ripping the planet apart.”  Huna Plos gestured to the four main power generator units that had been torn asunder.  “Lanea was a beautiful place…and now we can’t even power our homes.”  She kicked the unit harder, “Goddamn Dominion…Goddamn Borg…Goddamn Changelings.  We can’t catch a break.”

Okada listened to the older woman as she used her eyes to understand as she spoke.  It was worse than the reports from the Task Group had suggested.  The next largest city on the planet was devoid of basic infrastructure.  The power grid and supply were just one piece of the ongoing puzzle they were discovering.  Fresh water and sewer had been smashed into the ground.  She caught Carolyn Crawford’s worried glance.  The ensign had come to them from Starbase Bravo by way of the Mercy, and she was slowly making her home onboard the Mackenzie.  The Chief Engineer turned to the woman, “I know it looks and feels hopeless, Huna.  I wish I had better immediate news.  We will start on the power and get everyone else working on digging out the pipes.”  Plos gave them a thankful nod and wandered off to sit down.  She’d been working without much sleep.

Crawford crawled up and on top of the generators, “These are pretty old models, Chief.  I can work on manufacturing upgrades.  Increase the armor on them.”  She watched as Huna sat, hunched over her first hot meal in days.  “How do you do it, Chief?” She turned her eyes to Katsumi, “We saw things on the Mercy….but never such devastation like this.”

Okada leaned against the generators and thought.  She’d become a commander by accident after Harris had plucked her from Starbase Bravo.  She’d just kept succeeding at what they threw at her. Reflecting on her journey, she felt some solace that pride had not filled her boots as she walked the various paths.  “What choice do we have?  We can let the situation overwhelm us, surround us, and smother us…or stand tall with those around us.”

Carolyn had heard her father talk about the first Dominion war.  And how close victory and surrender danced with each other on the battlefield.  “What happens if we don’t win?”

Katsumi smiled faintly, “We fight like hell until the last gasp of breath from our lungs.  My great-grandfather was a general who came up the ranks.  He always had advice for us kids when we were moaning about the latest drama at school.  Much of it makes more sense now as an adult, to be fair.”  She chuckled, “Gramps Katsumi was nothing if not a sage and wise man.”

Crawford swallowed the fear that had crept up from her heart, “I wish I was there, Chief.  I’ve got some things to learn, I think.”

The Chief Engineer knowingly nodded, “We all come into it differently…but you’ll get there.”

“There’s a cult?”  Captain Wren Walton was incredulous and stared at her Diplomatic Officer, Charlie Hargraves, who looked annoyed at having to report such a thing.

“They believe the Dominion ship that crashed into the planet was a harbinger of the end of the Universe and the opening element in the ‘End Times.’  The leader says he survived the crash into the city and has been given visions to share with everyone.”  He handed over a PADD, “They’re using older scriptures from Janoor’s archives to correlate between the prophecies and the reality of today.  It’s… unfortunately been pretty effective.”

Walton frowned, “How effective?”  She answered her question as she read through the report, “Over 1,000 followers?  You can’t…this is nuts!”  She tossed the PADD back to Hargraves.

He agreed, “We assigned the scriptures and claims to a team to evaluate. They debunked them.  Trouble is…”

Wren finished, “…we’re coming up against an innate feeling and connection to history and an old reliable faith that’s helped them before.  A story as old as time.  It says they’ve not made any demands or movement…so what’s the problem?”

“We’ve got a few Janoor people undercover in the organization.  Recent intelligence from them suggests something is in the works – as soon as the Task Group left and we arrived, there was a rise in chatter about ‘taking action’ or something like that.  The folks we have inside are perceptive…and they’re not given to panic.”

Walton grumbled, “But they’re getting nervous now?”

“Two have requested to be extracted and placed in protective custody on the Mack.  The third is holding steady.”

She blinked, “Protective custody?  That’s…Charlie – we need to get out hands around this thing.”  Wren sat up in her chair in the ready room, “How long would it take to pull the two out?” He replied that it would take a few hours.  She gave the order, “Get them out and get them protected.  We need to talk to them as soon as possible.”  She dismissed him and sat back in her chair.  When the world came crashing down…what would she have done without reason or hope to hold onto?  She wasn’t sure of her answer.

“We’ve got most of the camp immunized, so that’s a win.”  Doctor Henry Longfellow tapped at his PADD, “Now we just need to get a look at the intensive care unit.”  He passed the device to Gabriela Castillo, and she followed him into the tent and down the rows of cots with Janoor III citizens in various stages of recovery.  The Chief Helm officer had been placed into medical assistance after the actual reality of the need became apparent.  Every available hand was in use.  They passed through a plastic wall and found an unfamiliar scene before them.

A priest of some kind stood over a bed; a wooden staff splattered with blue and red paint being waved over the injured party, smacking the bloodied and bruised body every so often, eliciting a moan or a pain-filled cry.  Castillo muttered, “What in the hell?”  The man turned his eyes wide and mouth uttering phrases.

“Do not disturb the will of Janoor!  This man is full of evil and must be cleansed!”  He smacked the body again harder and shouted more of his gibberish.

Longfellow clenched his fists and looked to the Janoor orderlies and doctors.  They had backed away and were visibly afraid of this man.  Henry complained, “Witch doctors went out of style long ago.  Get the hell away from that man, sir.”  He moved forward and was nearly struck by the swinging staff as the man cursed him in native Janoor.  The veteran doctor gave the odd man a long look, “Now, that was a mistake.”  He ducked another swing and slammed his right boot into the man’s knees, a satisfying crack followed by the yelp of pain and the body crashing into the floor with a lowing groan.  Henry snagged a hypospray off the counter and deftly pressed it against the man’s neck.  The man fell unconscious, and Longfellow turned to the Janoor staff, “What the hell happened in here?”

“He marched in here…and told us this man was an abomination.” The Janoor doctor spoke hesitantly, his eyes still wide and wet.  “He attacked us…pushed us away from him.”  A sigh, “We were always taught to respect the old ways, even if…they were like this.”

Henry scoffed, “Well, the old ways nearly killed this man.”  He worked on attaching the machinery and equipment back to the man as the monitors started alarming.  It took him ten minutes, but the man’s condition was improving.  While he worked, Castillo had rounded up a security team who had cuffed the still unconscious cleric and moved him out of the medical tent.  Longfellow completed his rounds through the rest of intensive care and made his notes.  He turned to her, “We need to ask around and find out how many more of these guys are around.  I’m not about to let them do that again to any of these people.”

“They cannot be serious.”  Captain Wren Walton sat at the head of the briefing room table. At the same time, Diplomatic Officer Charlie Hargraves leaned against the wall, watching his two cult escapees slowly nourish themselves from the grand selection the hospitality crew had assembled.

Charlie held up the PADD that held their exhaustively detailed reports, “They are and probably will be in their efforts to take over the Mack and throw her into the planet.  It’s not without precedent – the Devore attempted and nearly succeeded previously.”

The captain looked at the two they had rescued from within the cult within the last half hour.  One of them downed an entire glass of water and let out a long sigh as she recovered, “They know Federation and Starfleet Tech – they were studying and watching the Task Group forces when they were here.  We heard that some people on the inside at some point were feeding them information…but we were never able to get that verified.”  She accepted another water and drank hungrily.  She grinned sheepishly, “They don’t feed folks very well.”

Walton scoffed, “Hunger is a terrible motivator when the one giving it to you says he’s going to save the world…or end it, in this case.  Which leads me to ask…what the hell is the endgame here?”

The young man looked up from his plate, blinking.  He took a moment to think and then spoke, “He said the ones who followed him…the ones that were chosen…we would be taken up into the light and saved…that we would live forever and fly through the stars with him.”  He shrugged, “I knew he was cracked the minute he started talking.  If he crashes the Mackenzie, there’s no ship to pick us up.”  He returned to the slow process of reintroducing solid food to his body.

Hargraves hung on his words, his mind wandering.  The words he was using suggested a ship.  Then it hit him.  “He’s got a deal with somebody.  Whoever he’s working with…will give him a ship or come and pick him up in exchange for dropping the Mackenzie on Janoor.”  A chill ran down his back and into his toes as he finished speaking.  “Holy shit…who would have the balls to consider it?”

Wren held her hands, counting off her fingers one at a time, “You want the shortlist or the long list?  We’ve made our share of enemies, and plenty of folks don’t want us here in the first place.  Not to mention the usual suspects like The Syndicate, any minor Klingon house with nothing to lose…the Romulan Separatists, the Vulcan Fundamentalists…or your garden variety human maniac or scumbag.  Or pirates.  Or anybody with a grudge and some funding.”  She grumbled, “The Universe has a habit of finding ways to toss a black hole or two into our best-laid plans.” The door opened, and Commander Park Seoyeon entered the room, her face a mixture of annoyance and frustration.  Walton cracked, “You look like you have the best news of the day.”

She didn’t, “We’ve gotten reports of the Future of Janoor having taken over Morgan Township.  It’s a small town of about 1,000.  Our security officers report seeing from their vantage point that whoever in town didn’t profess belief in the group was forcibly thrown out and chased away.”  She glanced at her PADD, “The original group has grown from 1,000 to about 1,500.  They’re gaining followers.”  The XO grumbled, “Crackpots.”  Seoyeon added, “And the best news is that they’ve managed to take two of our shuttles and hold them at the township.”

Walton stared at her XO, “Next time, lead with that.”  She took a moment to process and walked through the logic of what was coming next, “I’m anticipating they’re going to take those two shuttles, stuff ‘em with people, and force their way onto the Mack.  We don’t dare shoot ‘em out of the sky, and they’ll be smart enough to raise their shields to keep us from yanking ’em out with transporters.”

Hargraves was working through the plot with her, “They get into the shuttle bay and storm the ship from there…they have to know we’ll shoot to stun, won’t they?”  He glanced at the XO and the CO, “They’re not going to get very far.”

Seoyeon shook her head, “No, something is missing.  Counseling did a work-up on their leader, suggesting a thoughtful, intelligent, and meticulous mind regarding planning and organization.”  She slid into a chair, “He’s going to have backup plans for whatever he’s thinking.”

Wren was chewing on her bottom lip, primarily out of nerves.  Not having enough information to prepare for whatever was coming next was her least favorite scenario.  “We’re going to have to…”

The communication channel sparked over the speaker in the room, “Bridge to Captain Walton…we have two shuttles that have launched from the planet and are en route to us…we don’t have flight plans or authorizations for them.”

Walton stood from her chair, “Go to yellow alert, Mr. Reede.  Have all senior staff report to the bridge.  We’re on our way.”  She stole a glance at the face of Hargraves.  There was a flash of panic, and she felt a similar feeling creeping over her nerves as she headed for the bridge.

Wren Walton stepped onto the bridge, “Report”.  She made her way to the command chair, and Chief Kondo De La Fontaine made his report.

“Two shuttles have just left the atmosphere and are on an intercept course with us.  Estimating arrival time in less than two minutes.”  He tapped at his console, “Sensors are reporting elevated power levels on both shuttles, but the readings are hard to quantify. Sensors are having difficulty determining exactly what it is…getting loads of static and interference.”

Park Seoyeon reported where she had sat at the science console, “The power levels are crescendoing pretty damned fast – this looks like they’re attempting to overload something.”  She was working her hands on the console as she spoke, the hair on the back of her neck slowly standing up.  Something wasn’t right. “Captain, I think…”

Kondo shouted from his console, “Shuttles are speeding up – intercept in less than ten seconds!”

Wren stood from her chair as the screen shifted to show the shuttles screaming towards the Mackenzie.  She didn’t have time to lower the shields as she’d intended.  A sudden, bright, and overwhelming burst of light and energy exploded on the screen from each shuttle.  The deck fell from underneath everyone, tossing and turning as multiple klaxons and alarms rang across the bridge.  Lights exploded in showers of sparks and fire, the bridge falling into brief darkness before the emergency lights flooded the chaotic scene.  The bridge sat at an awkward angle, and bodies were sprawled across the deck in varying positions of pain.

Wren groaned as she shifted to her feet.  Consoles flickered in the shadows of the emergency lighting.  She croaked out, “Report!”

Kondo had pulled himself back to his console.  He was coaxing information as he ran down the situation, “Main power is scattered across the ship – the inertial damping system has failed.  The gravity stabilizing system is malfunctioning, so we’re sitting at an angle.”  The others began to pick themselves off the floor.  

The Chief of Security, Seraphina Pearce, was first, “They’ve crashed into the shuttle bay…scattered reports that they’re armed and on the move.  I can’t lock down most of the ship…,” she tapped furiously at her half-working station, “I’ve managed to secure the battle bridge and engineering…but that’s all I can do from here.  Communication badges are online, but the rest of the system isn’t responding.  I can’t secure the bridge.”

Park hobbled over to one of the doors, “We can manually secure them, but it’ll be a permanent solution until we restore the system.”  She winced as she rubbed her leg, blood staining her uniform pants.

Wren sat in the center chair, “Pearce, get out there and coordinate the security response.  Kondo, go with her.  We’ll secure the bridge with myself, Park, Oscar, and Gabriella.  The rest of you, get out there and do your best to secure the ship.”

It took a few minutes and some work by the three remaining able-bodied officers, but each door was manually secured and locked out.  Wren turned to the shadow-filled bridge, thankful the emergency lights were holding.  “Let’s see what we can do from here to help.”

“Shit.”  Commander and Chief Engineer Katsumi Okada leaned heavily on the master situations display in the center of the Mackenzie’s Engineering.  The ship was leaning, making things challenging for the engineering crew.  Two crewmen had gone in search of magnetic boots while she tried to make sense of what they had done to her ship.  

One of her shift leads was grasping onto the table with one hand and tapping at the table, “Whatever it was – it was targeted to impact specific systems.  If I’m reading this right, we’re losing our orbit incrementally.  Without access or power to thrusters or impulse engines, we’ll eventually crash into the planet.”  He wiped the sweat on his forehead, “I think they knocked out the air cycling systems, too.  Damn.”

Okada tapped at her side of the console, “Bridge has locked us in – whoever it was, they’ve boarded the ship.”  She banged at the console as it flickered, then resolved, “If their goal was to send us into the planet, mission accomplished.  What are they sticking around for?”

Her new assistant chief, Carolyn Crawford, appeared, being helped by another crewman.  She gave a shrug when Okada gave her a questioning look, “Played pinball with a few pylons using my legs.  I’m good for now, Chief.”  She sat roughly in a nearby console, “They’ve got to have someone coming to pick them up; that much is clear.”  Crawford slapped the side of the console and grunted with approval, “The deal must be for something on the ship, on top of throwing us at the planet.  Something valuable.  Something…”

A new Klaxon alarm rang from the MSD, and Katsumi groaned, “That’s the security alarm on the quantum torpedo storage.  So that’s one thing they’re going to take.”  She tapped her badge and alerted Security Chief Pearce, who was as thrilled as she was, and closed the channel.  The Chief Engineer looked at the ship’s map, “We carry the latest and greatest of a bunch of crap.  Armory is certainly going to be a target.”  She was about to theorize on the next when the main engineering door thundered with an explosion but held.  Staring at the door for a beat, she growled, “Activate emergency boarding procedures.  Secure all weapons in hand.”  She walked to the door and went to work on activating the additional blast shield doors.  More explosions could be heard. Whatever else they wanted was in engineering.

“I always imagined myself as some kind of…super spy.” Henry Wyatt gave the Cardassian Advisor, Hasara, a look of amusement.  The former Gul scoffed, “Don’t laugh.  As long as you’ve lived, I’m sure you’ve been one a few times.”

Wyatt adjusted the phaser rifle, checking the corridor outside the quartermaster’s office and storage, “You know the rules of my life, Hasara.  Don’t interfere, don’t change…only observe, record, and witness.”

His partner in protection did the same to his phaser rifle, gripping it like it was his precious gift from a close relative.  Hasara could never understand the El Aurian way of life.  It seemed a rather boring existence just to watch the events of history play out with knowledge of what could happen without the ability to at least put a finger on the helm controls to send it in the right direction.  They had debated this previously, and Hasara always came to the same conclusion – Wyatt’s people were the biggest fools in the galaxy.  He said as much as he covered the other side of the corridor.

“You really want to get into a contest of calling each other’s species fools with evidence?  Cardassian history is full of it.”  He muttered, “That’s not the only thing you’re full of.”

Hasara chuckled, “I’ve made a study of the human’s predilection for idioms.  I understand that reference.  You’re not entirely wrong, to be clear.”  There was movement at the end of the hall, “Company calling, Quartermaster.”

Henry and Hasara switched places smoothly, and the Quartermaster got a look, “Looks like ten or so.”  He watched them shift and gather, “Thirteen total.  We need to take them.”  They quickly took up in tandem and began to push forward quickly, firing cover fire as they went.  The cult members were shocked and scattered as the intense fire came crashing around them.  Wyatt was thankful for his military training over the years and felt a kinship with the former Gul.  Both had lived lives they regretted and were trying to make amends in their lives today.  They sent four stunned cult members to the ground before they had to take cover in doorways.

Hasara counted the remaining, “Nine to go.  Five for me, four for you?”

Wyatt chuckled, “You think I’m going to give you five for yourself?  That’s cute.”

The Cardassian raised his eyebrows, “I’m not cute, Quartermaster.”

The El-Aurian groaned, “It’s a figure of speech, you grape.  Shall we stun the rest of the idiots?”

Hasara grinned widely, “I like that idea.  We’ll talk about how I am a grape later.”  Wyatt rolled his eyes and they both stepped out into the corridor.

“Bastards.”  Chief of Security Seraphina Pearce handcuffed the last of the five they'd stunned when they'd made it to torpedo control.  She was furious.  They'd already been surprised a month into her time on the USS Mackenzie.  Her security teams had worked to connect across the ship while she worked alongside the Tactical Chief, Kondo La Fontaine.

Kondo had passed feeling furious several decks ago.  Whoever was at the head of this cult had outsmarted the Mack and the crew.  Furious was a few color shades down the chart as he reported, “We're missing half our inventory.” He checked his phaser rifle out of habit, “They're taking them somewhere to someone.”  He motioned towards the uncleared hallway, and the two of them moved forward, cleaning the hallway junctions as De La Fontaine continued, “Not a mainstream enemy - they've got their own supplies.  I doubt the separatists from any of the factions would be crazy enough to take on an Excelsior II class.  Which leaves…”

Pearce finished the thought, “The goddamn Syndicate…or an offshoot.”

Kondo made the point, “Or a rouge operator trying to climb the Jefferies Tube of life.  You bring a supply of quantum torpedoes to the boss; you're certainly going to impress the hell out of them."  They cleared another corridor and made it to the turbolift.  “I wouldn't want to be in engineering right now.  Chief Katsumi isn't going to be happy with us falling into the planet.”

In the secured engineer room Carolyn Crawford, Assistant Chief of Engineering, was tapping at the console, “Our inertia speed is increasing as we get closer to the atmosphere.  Computer estimates we've got anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours.”  She shook her head as she saw her chief give her a tired look in her peripheral vision, “WIth half the ship being affected by…whatever they did…the computer is operating with a deficit.”

Chief Katsumi held her phaser rifle tightly as the doors to engineering glowed hot with the implements of destruction being employed by the cultists.  Crawford had been working to figure out what they had done to the Mack.  She was coming up empty, and time was ticking.  She wondered aloud, “What could they possibly want from us?"

Crawford was wondering the same thing.  Sure, their warp core was one of the more modern, but it wasn't something you could just…steal.  That took time, planning, and careful transportation.  She kept working at the console, thinking, “Nothing in here on its own is really useful on its own…plus you'd need hours to get anything of value out of here.”  She tapped a few more times until she turned to Katsumi, “They're not after equipment or something in here…I think they're after someone.”

The commander felt her mind catch up with her, “They're going to need someone to manage what they've stolen.” Frustrated, she threw her hands up, “They're coming for me.  I'm the highest ranked and highest rated engineer.”

Carolyn pushed herself up, activating her phaser rifle, “We're not going to let them take you…are we?”

Katsumi growled as she gestured for the teams to shift into defensive positions, saying, “That'll be the day.”

“We need to pinch them.”  Quartermaster Henry Wyatt whispered to Hasara, the Cardassian Advisor.  They were at the far end of the engineering corridor, spying on the small group of cultists who were working on the doors.

Hasara agreed with the El Aurian’s evaluation, “The only problem with that is we need a third to keep them from coming back down this hallway.”

Henry smiled slyly, “Or a fourth.”

“Now you’re just dreaming.”  The Cardassians scoffed and then spun at the sound of the turbolift down the hall they had secured and was about to fire when two steely-eyed Starfleet officers bounded around the corner, weapons raised.

Henry was smiling now, “Chief of Security Seraphina Pearce and Chief of Tactical Kondo De La Fontaine.  It’s nice to run into such well-trained and armed officers.”  He had managed to get in touch with them using his uniform badge.  They’d stunned and handcuffed their share on the way.  Wyatt gave them their instructions, and they affirmed. They were to be the goalies preventing the attack force from escaping.  Wyatt and Hasara quickly moved to their places in the side corridors.  They counted down on their watches and slipped around their respective corners.  Both men began to fire at the group of cultists, sending four spinning to the ground in surprise.  The remaining group turned to fire and inched backward until they found themselves under fire.  Four more hit the floor, stunned.  The last remaining cultist seemed to contemplate raising his weapon.  

Instead, he spat on the ground and threw his blaster in disgust, “You can fu…,” Pearce pulled the trigger on her phaser rifle, and the man joined the unconscious bodies on the floor.

Kondo went to work with her, handcuffing them, “You didn’t want him talking anymore?”

Seraphina finished with her last prisoner, “They’ve had the run of the ship, and they’re winning whatever this race is…I wanted to be able to control a little of this shitstorm.”  She tapped her badge, “Pearce to Chief Katsumi – we’ve cleared the deck.”

A moment later, the massive doors inched open, and a swarm of armed engineers slipped out, faces filled with relief on seeing their fellow crew.  The lithe form of the Chief Engineer stepped out from behind the group, a PADD in her hand.  “We think we know how they did what they did.”

Kondo accepted it and perused through the data, “This reads like an engineer from Starfleet planned this.  They knew how to hit and where to hit.”  He looked at Katsumi, “You’ve been doing this longer than I have, so you can tell me I’m wrong.”

She wasn’t sure, “Whoever’s brainchild this was…they knew enough.  They had our shield modulation and frequency systems locked – with up-to-date details.”  She shook her head, “Someone on this ship gave them this information.”

Pearce protested, “We cleared the entire crew after Frontier Day.  There’s no way.”

They remained silent until Henry Wyatt spoke up, “Someone could have made it aboard when we got here – we had transporters and shuttles working to shift people up and down…that’s how they got our shuttles to come after us here.”  He shook his head, “We would have to review sensor logs and scanning reports…but with the ship half functional…”

There was a whimper as Carolyn Crawford inched forward with a crutch, PADD in hand.  “It’s Brody Daltone.” Everyone’s eyes spun to stare at her.  The name meant nothing to any of them.  She grumbled, “He was a fellow engineering student at the academy a few years ahead of me.  He was smarter than the rest of us and never got tired of reminding us…” She held up the PADD, “The signal from the weapon that hit us…I dug into the readings.  It seemed familiar somehow…so I went down a Jefferies Tube or two and found my notes on his project in my old Academy logs.”

Katsumi asked the obvious, “Can you fix it?”

Crawford sighed, “Yes…but we’re going to have to restart the entire ship from top to bottom.  His concept for a weapon was that any ship hit would have to do a cold start – his goal was to take the ship out of any fight it was in.  That’s why we couldn’t put it back together in pieces.  He called it the ‘Humpty-Dumpty’ which was…dumb.  He tried to be all literary with it, but none of us had ever heard the story.” The Chief Engineer hobbled back into her engine room, tapping her badge to report what was about to happen to the bridge.  Someone asked what the short version of the story was, and Carolyn winced, “A guy…or an egg, depending on the version…falls off a wall, and nobody could put the poor bastard back together again.  In this case…we’re Humpty-Dumpty.”

Kondo stood, “Whatever the case, we will need to calculate how much air the ship will have…”

Crawford held up the PADD again, “We’ll have enough.  Gravity will be the biggest problem once we lose it and restore it..  God help Daltone if I find him.  Let’s get started.”

The USS Mackenzie died.

For ten minutes.

Ten minutes of no gravity.  Ten minutes of counting the seconds, they worried that the calculation about the remaining air had been wrong.  Floating and holding onto anything, fearing that the system wouldn’t return, they would all die from loss of air and then eventually burn up in the atmosphere as the Mack continued its descent into the planet.

The moments sluggishly passed from the bridge to the engine room to the corridors to the transporter rooms.  Each creak, each shift, each groan from the superstructure jolted the crew, multiplying the fear factor and strumming on nerves like a puppet master.  Panic attacks were dealt with as best as possible – groups had already sought out each other and gathered in the community.  No one was alone.

Ten minutes of staring at dead doors, nervously grasping handheld phasers, rifles, and whatever could be used in defense.  Watches clicked forward, the silence rebounding over and over.  

Nobody wanted to speak.  

Nobody wanted to admit the terror that was thrashing about just beneath the surface of most of the crew.

The clock ticked onwards.

Five minutes passed.  Eyes stared at walls.  Ears listened for the sound of the enemy.  The air began to smell stale.  New worries were born out of the old.  Breathing exercises had begun earlier by some.  Now, more lungs joined the chorus of slow and steady.  It was a symphony of life desperate to live.

The clocks ticked.  One minute remained.  On the bridge, the four officers were strapped into their chairs, waiting, watching.

Thirty seconds.  Captain Wren Walton gripped the arms of the command chair, her hands ready to fly across the darkened console.  At the helm, Gabriella Castillo similarly posed her hands.  The ship had continued to fall towards the planet.  She had one task – get them out of orbit and back in open space.

Ten seconds.

Five.

Four.

Every Starfleet body on the ship tensed and held their breath.

Two.

One.

The silence stretched past zero.  Nothing happened.

Wren growled, “Come on, Mack…you gotta live…”  She felt the edges of panic creeping towards her peace.  They needed a win.  They needed to get their ship back.  Damn it.  Suddenly, she felt the thrum of the warp core kick into existence.  And the dead starship rose from the dead with a start.  Consoles flickered on as the computer core booted quickly, and the lights blinked alive brightly.  Hands were on consoles as reports streamed into Communications Chief Oscar Reede.  Walton ordered, “Target all non-Starfleet signals and beam them all to the brig…now.”  Her XO, Commander Park, was ahead of her orders, muttering curses on each and every cultist life sign she found and transported.

Suddenly, the turbolift doors opened, and an unfamiliar voice ordered, “Hands off consoles, or I start killing.”  Brody Daltone stepped out, armed with twin phaser rifles.  “You really shit on my parade.”  He aimed at Reede, who was closest, and then at Wren, “I will kill you.”

They’d put their weapons at their sides in anticipation of the reset.  Walton cursed her loss of focus. She put her hands up, “What do you want?”  She glanced at her console and was relieved to see Gabriella had prevented further damage by pulling them quickly out of their spiral into the planet.

“I want you to put this ship into the ground where it belongs.  I’m expecting company, and they’re very particular about honoring deals.”  He inched his fingers closer to the triggers, “Having read what I could about each of you, I think I’m going to have to do it myself.”

Wren stared at him, “Who the hell are you?”

Suddenly, the other turbolift door flew open, and a streak flew out, a bright red whine of a phaser flying across the bridge and slamming into Brody Daltone, who stumbled in shock but remained standing, swinging his twin rifles over to where the shot had come from.  Reede didn’t think.  He didn’t speak.  He didn’t look at his captain.  He thought back to his days on the Academy Football team.  Jumping up from his station, he threw his body into the feet of Daltone, who finally crumpled to the ground, his phaser rifles crashing to the ground and sliding just out of reach.  The figure of Carolyn Crawford popped up and ran to where she slammed her foot into his chest, pointing the handheld phaser just inches from his nose.  “Give me a reason, you piece of shit.”

Dalton looked to the fiery gaze from Reede and then to the others who had now armed themselves with similar looks and weapons.  He fell to lay flat on the ground, a grin spreading, “They are going to be so pissed.  You’ve screwed with the wrong guy, Crawford.”

Carolyn checked the settings on her phaser and stepped back a few feet.

And shot Brody Daltone.  She turned to her captain and XO, “I do love me the stun feature on a phaser.  Good at shutting people up.”

Wren let a dry chuckle out, “Get him cuffed and secured.  Let’s…”

Castillo announced unevenly, “We have a heavy Syndicate cruiser dropping from warp at the edge of the sector.  They’re on an intercept course.  Three minutes.”

Walton scoffed, “It’s never dull in the Janoor System.  Red Alert, sound battle stations.  Alert our friends on the planet; we might need to wake up the planetary defenses.”  She turned to watch Kondo stepping onto the bridge, an amused look on his face.  She pointed to his station, “Let’s show ’em what happens when you decide to mess around with the Mack.”

“They’re hailing us.”  Oscar Reede had felt his jangled nerves bouncing around ever since the heavy Syndicate cruiser had been spotted.  There were pirates, and there were pirates…and then there was the Orion Syndicate.  Notoriously violent and empty of any values or honor, they’d built a reputation.  Enough of one that Starfleet had stepped up enforcement and patrol operations.  Which troubled Oscar as he sat at his communication station.  How desperate was this Syndicate member that they would try and down an Excelsior II class starship?

Captain Wren Walton stood, “Onscreen.”

A dark and seedy Syndicate bridge filled the viewscreen, and a lone Romulan woman stared back.  “Where is Brody Daltone?”

Wren jerked her thumb towards a station in the back of the bridge where the man was bound and gagged, “He appears to have failed your mission.  Captain…?”

“Captain Hensa Rigilia.  It appears he has failed to come through on our deal.  Our objective was to collect him and the supplies he was going to steal. I may not get my torpedoes, but we still wish to collect payment however possible.  We aim to collect. Him.”  Her face was impassive, but her words were below a growl.

Walton shook her head, “That’s not how law and order works, at least in the Federation. Captain Rigilia…I promise you, Mr. Daltone will see justice.” Rigiila didn’t respond right away.  She seemed to be considering the words of the Starfleet captain.  Wren kept an eye on Kondo’s console as he continued to scan and monitor the Syndicate ship.

The Romulan woman replied after taking her time to think, “I would be unwise to attempt to take it from you.  I’ve heard about the poor fools who tangle with ships like yours.  You would still…protect this idiot?”  She pointed right at Daltone, “He spoke much of himself…That should have been our first alert to his stupidity…but you know how pirates and Syndicate members talk about themselves.”

Walton wasn’t sure if the Romulan captain was trying to be her best friend, engage in flirtatious small talk, or a little of both.  It was odd finding yourself talking about the everyday troubles of a warp core in the Syndicate’s engines.  “I wouldn’t know, Captain Rigilia.”

A quiet smile passed over the lips of the Syndicate captain’s serene face, “You’d make one an incredible captain.  I could show you one day.”

Wren wasn’t usually speechless.  She opened her mouth and then closed it.  Twice.  It took her a moment but she found her voice, “I’ll respectfully decline, captain.”

Rigilia sat back in her chair, blowing a raspberry in annoyance, “All business, your Starfleet types.  A woman’s gotta try, you know.”  She leaned forward, her face twisting with a warning, “Remember this: we never forget in the Syndicate.  We meet again…it’ll be for keeps.  You’re pretty…but not pretty enough to spare.  Watch your back, Captain Walton.”  The channel closed, and Wren let out a long sigh.  It was one of confusion and relief.

Her XO sat next to her, a bemused, amused, and confused look on her face, “A Syndicate captain flirted with you, Wren…and tried to…recruit you?”

Walton shook her head in disbelief, “I think that may be the strangest thing in my career so far.”  She turned to her tactical chief, “Add her to the list of people we’ve pissed off.  What’s her course?”

De La Fontaine fought the amused smile that threatened to break his concentration, “She’s leaving.  I’ll track her as long as I can.”

Wren blew her own raspberry, “Good riddance.  The real problem still needs to be dealt with. Our cult problem.  Mr. Reede, any communication from Janoor III?”

Oscar turned to answer her, “Yes…and no.  The image of the Mack returning to orbit and heading back into space has had an effect.  The holdouts at the township are down to an estimated 500.  I’ve had messages from Janoor’s interim government that they intend to hold elections within three days.  Chief among the platforms is the issue of disinformation related to the forming and harm caused by the cult.”

The turbolift door opened, and their diplomatic officer, Charlie Hargraves, stalked in, “I’m sure you’ve heard…but elections in 72 hours is nuts.”

Walton replied, a wry smile decorating her face, “Be positive, Charlie.”

He blinked twice and restated, “I am positive that elections in 72 hours are nuts.”

The captain waved him off, “We don’t have to like it…we need to help them make it happen with the support of our equipment and diplomatic office.  Which means you, Charlie.”

Hargraves scoffed but relented, “I accept the things I cannot control…something about peace, love, and space whales.”  He was being sarcastic, yet he had a slight smile.  “I’ll do my duty, captain.”

She returned his smile, “That’s the spirit, Charlie.  Get the team up to speed and head down to Janoor.  We’ve got some patchwork to do.  And if they ask, yes…the leader has been captured but will face Federation JAG charges since he’s a former Starfleet Officer.” Hargraves stood at attention and then departed back the way he came.  Wren turned her attention back to the bridge, “Let’s get a damage report and get this idiot locked in a cell in the brig.  Our JAG officer will be very interested in talking to him.”

Park mused, “Interested is a word to use…especially with Murdoch.”  She put her hands up on the stare she earned from her captain, “I’ll handle it.”

Wren stood, heading for her ready room, “No hitting, spitting, or kicking.”

The XO rolled her eyes as she entered the turbolift, “Peace, love, and space whales?”

Walton gave her thumbs up as she passed through the doors to her sanctum.  Hargraves glared at Park, “That was my joke.”  The XO stuck out her tongue as the doors closed, leaving the Diplomatic officer on the bridge, eyes from the crew on him.  He sighed, knowing full well the two of them stranded him here intentionally, “Yes, I have the CONN.”  He flopped down in the center chair.

The midafternoon meeting was underway, and Charlie Hargraves was tired.  He spent his CONN time on the bridge gathering reporters from the diplomatic team on the ground as they worked to interface with the various groups.  Late last evening, he’d made his way down to the planet to continue working on pulling together an election in just two days.  He finished, “We’ve begun upgrading the election systems and manufacturing replacement units.  Chief Katsumi’s timetable is aggressive, and we’ll have the systems ready for deployment on the morning of the election.”  He yielded the floor to the Security Chief, Seraphina Pearce.

“We’ve set up security checkpoints in the city and townships.  We spent last night evaluating their security teams with background checks and interviews.  After all that, we’ve got fifty.  I’m working with Kondo to get them in place at election sites.  We’ve also installed surveillance equipment at key points – we’ll be able to dispatch our teams quickly if things get…spicy.”

Wren continued reading through the detailed report the senior staff had pulled together in the early morning hours.  Each time they had come up against a challenge, they had found a way to impress her.  She was repeatedly thankful to Captain Harris for the choices he’d made in the people he had recruited.  Each of them held something special inside them.  In death, he continued to watch out for her.  “This looks solid, team.  We’ll…”

The unnerved voice of Oscar Reede broke through the briefing room’s communication panel, “Bridge to Captain Walton…incoming priority message from Captain Crawford, USS Olympic.”

She frowned.  Crawford had been assigned to work through a long list of Federation colonies a few days ago.  Had they run into trouble already?  “Put it through to the briefing room, Mr. Reede.”  The screen at the far end of the room flickered on.  “Captain Crawford…what can we do for you?”

Peter Crawford pursed his lips, “We’ve run into a stumbling block.  The Orion Syndicate has…saved the colony here.”  He explained the mild threat the leader had made.  When he mentioned the name, he noticed Wren frown.  “That name familiar?”

Walton explained Hensa Rigilia and their experience the previous day.  “She was young…you said your Rigilia was older?”  She tapped at the table console and transmitted the images from the conversation, “Daughter, perhaps?”

Pete wasn’t sure, “Family, house…could be anything.”  He accepted a PADD offscreen, “Fowler went back and pulled our sensor scans when we arrived in orbit.  It looks like your friend is friends with ours – their ship was scanned on the surface as a part of our data gathering.  They’ve talked.  It would explain why my Rigilia knew about us.  He’s been doing his research.”

Park interjected, “Your scans showed two ships…do we think this is a foothold or a base building?”  Walton gave her an appreciative nod.  She’d been working with her XO recently, and it was slowly starting to pay off.

Crawford shrugged, “I’ve had a handful of experience with The Syndicate…not enough to understand their ways and means…but given the history of this system over the years – they’re probably trying to do a little of both.  They do like to test defenses and boundaries.  Give an ensign a cookie…well, you know the rest.”

Walton did know the rest.  “Starfleet hasn’t exactly covered ourselves in glory in this part of space.”  She considered, “We’ve got an election in two days…we can leave a team behind once that’s certified and head your way.  I’d suggest putting some distance between you and them – The Syndicate has a habit of not letting things go.”

The Olympic captain gave a terse nod.  He understood.  “We’ll find a safe colony to assist in the meantime.  I’ll pull a report together for Fontana. Stay safe, Captain Walton.”

Wren replied, “You as well, Captain Crawford.”  The screen held his gaze for a second longer, and then he was gone.  She turned to her team, “We’ve got a time limit now on what we can do with the Mack on site.  Start the clock.”  The room broke up quickly.