The pilots gathered in the briefing room, settling into their seats as the hum of quiet conversation faded. Smoke, their Betazoid lieutenant, stood at the front, her calm demeanor belying the intensity in her eyes. Her arms crossed behind her back, she waited for full attention before beginning.

Coyote sat near the back, keeping a low profile, but there was no escaping the side glances or the murmurs. He had seen it all before.

Next to him, a sandy-haired pilot with a faint smile leaned over. His name tag read “Echo,” but his body language was casual. “So you’re Wyatt ‘Coyote’ McCallister, huh? Heard some stories about you. Bold, but kinda reckless.”

Coyote grunted in response, keeping his eyes forward. “Depends who’s telling ‘em.”

Across the room, another pilot, tall and lean with dark features—his name patch reading Ghost—shot a pointed glance their way. He leaned back in his chair, voice low but loud enough to carry. “This isn’t the Redstone, cowboy. If you want to be a solo act, you’ll fly alone. We work as a team here.”

The tension thickened, but before anyone could respond, Smoke cleared her throat, starting the briefing.

“Listen up. We’ve got a straightforward escort mission today, but that doesn’t mean it’s without risk,” she said, her voice sharp. The holo-display lit up, showing a planetary map of Mellstoxx III and several key waypoints. “Science team Alpha is heading to the surface to recover an artifact discovered after an underspace aperture event. You’ll be providing air support.”

The holo switched to show the artifact—a large golden box, ornate with an unknown script, its surface weathered by age. “Federation Intelligence has flagged this as a high-interest find. Two of their officers will accompany the team. Their role is…classified.”

Coyote’s eyes flickered to the two figures standing at the back of the room—rigid, dressed in the black uniforms of Starfleet Intelligence, their faces unreadable.

A murmur went through the room as Smoke’s eyes flicked over the group. “I know how this sounds, but we don’t ask questions about what they’re looking for. We keep them safe, we complete the mission, and we get out. Is that clear?”

Echo raised a hand, his tone light. “What about planetary defenses or hostiles? Anything we should worry about?”

“The local fauna isn’t classified as dangerous,” Smoke replied, “but we maintain standard defensive formations at all times. You will escort the science team’s runabouts down to the surface.”

She looked directly at Coyote, then added, “McCallister, you and Echo will pilot one of the runabouts—Brazos“

Coyote felt the weight of the room’s collective gaze settle on him. Echo, to his credit, nudged him with a reassuring elbow. “It’s a test. Pass this, and maybe you’ll get back in the cockpit of a starfighter.”

Ghost leaned forward, smirking. “If he doesn’t get us all killed first.”

Before Coyote could reply, the holo-display flickered off, and Smoke turned to face the group. “Briefing over. Meet at the hangar in 20. Dismissed.”

—

The group exited the briefing room in a tight cluster, their footsteps echoing through the metallic corridors.

Echo fell into step beside Coyote, his tone light. “Don’t worry about Ghost. He’s always like that with the new guys. You’ll be fine. Just keep your head down and fly clean.”

Coyote grunted. “I’ve flown plenty clean before.”

“I know. That’s what they’re afraid of,” Echo said with a chuckle. “Just remember—tight formations, and we’re flying with passengers this time. No room for stunts.”

Ghost, walking a few paces ahead, exchanged a glance with the pilot next to him—Frost, a cold-eyed human woman with white-blonde hair. He kept his voice low, but Coyote caught the words anyway. “What’s Jericho thinking, putting him in a runabout? This whole thing’s a joke.”

Coyote clenched his fists and kept walking.

As they entered the hangar bay, the hum of impulse engines and pre-flight checks filled the air. A line of Valkyrie starfighters gleamed under the bright lights. Coyote’s eyes were drawn to the more utilitarian shapes of the runabouts. Each vessel stood ready, and the Brazos loomed large.

Echo gave a low whistle. “Well, there she is. She’s not as fast as a fighter, but she’ll get us down in one piece. Hopefully.”

Coyote barely acknowledged the joke as he walked up to the ship. His eyes caught a group of passengers approaching—scientists in standard Federation uniforms, flanked by two burly security officers. The two Intelligence officers came behind them, their expressions cool and unreadable.

Before he could move toward the runabout, Smoke approached him, pulling him aside into a quieter corner of the hangar. Her gaze held his firmly. “McCallister, you know what’s at stake here. This is your shot. You screw this up, you’re done. No more chances.”

Coyote squared his shoulders. “I get it.”

“Good,” Smoke’s tone softened slightly, though her eyes didn’t. “Fly this mission by the book. Follow Echo’s lead. You might think you’ve got something to prove, but not today. Today, you prove you can be a part of this team.”

Coyote nodded. “Understood.”

With a final look, Smoke turned away, heading back to her Valkyrie as the rest of the pilots readied their craft.

As the crew settled into the runabout, Coyote ran his hands over the console, familiarizing himself with the ship’s systems. The hum of the engines filled the cockpit as the bay doors began to open. He tapped a button, opening a comm channel to flight control.

“Brazos requesting clearance for departure,” Coyote said, his voice steady, though the anticipation gnawed at him. This was no Valkyrie, but it didn’t matter. He was a damn good pilot and it was time everyone else recognized that- especially Ghost.

A moment passed, and the controller’s voice came through the speakers. “Brazos, you’re cleared for departure. Maintain position until the rest of the squad is airborne, then proceed on vector 331.”

Echo, seated beside him, adjusted the navigation controls and gave a small nod, acknowledging the orders. “All systems green,” he confirmed. “Let’s get out there.”

Smoke’s voice crackled in over the squad frequency. “Juliet Group, sound off.”

“Falcon, ready.”

“Specter, ready.”

“Blitz, locked and loaded.”

One by one, the squad confirmed their readiness. Coyote keyed the comm. “Brazos, ready and standing by.”

“Stay in formation, people,” Smoke ordered. “And keep your eyes open. We’ve got some precious cargo today.”

Coyote exhaled, gripping the controls as the runabout glided out of the hangar, sunlight washing over the hull as they joined the squadron in formation. They had just cleared the station when the mystery of those intelligence officers began to weigh heavier in his mind.

He cast a glance toward the Intelligence officers. They didn’t acknowledge him, their attention focused elsewhere, which only made him more uneasy.

Why were they here?