“Grandpa!” Aimee shouted as she and her sister, Livvy, shot down the corridor, their footsteps echoing along the deck. An elderly Hispanic man with hair the color of snow kneeled, bracing himself just in time as the twins collided with him at full gallop.

“Easy, girls!” Jonathan Sandoval exclaimed, laughter in his words as he wrapped his arms around them. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Jonathan laughed and tussled Aimee’s red hair, fingers ruffling through the strands with a familiar, loving motion. The sisters might have been twins, but they were as different as two siblings could be.

Aimee inherited her mother’s fine bones and Celtic complexion, complete with striking green eyes and a coppery red mane that seemed to catch the light with every movement. Olivia, on the other hand, took after her father. Dark brown hair framed her soft face, and her puppy-dog eyes, deep and full of warmth, shone with a tan thanks to his French-Saxon heritage.

Jonathan extricated himself from the girls, stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around his daughter. “It’s good to see you, Becca.”

Rebecca smiled and hugged him back. “Me too, Dad. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

Jonathan pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing. “These kids have no business on a starship in the middle of a war,” he said in a mild rebuke.

Rebecca winced, knowing he was right. She wanted the girls with her; she felt empty and hollow without them as if a piece of herself had been ripped away. Deep down, however, she knew it was a selfish desire. As their mother, it was her job to protect them and keep them safe—putting them in Denver in the middle of a war was the opposite of that. Her chest tightened as the reality of the separation set in. Guilt clawed at her resolve, but she forced herself to swallow it. This was the right thing to do, even if it broke her heart.

Seeing his wife’s expression, Milo stepped forward and extended his hand. Jonathan took his son-in-law’s hand in his hand, and they exchanged a firm shake. “It’s good to see you, sir. Thanks for taking the kids in for us.”

“It’s my pleasure, Son.” The old man grinned, “Look at it as my contribution to the war effort. I can take care of them, so you two can take care of the Dominion.”

“This is my son, Ethan, and his girlfriend, Trinity,” Milo added, keeping the conversation on him so Rebecca could collect herself.

Jonathan greeted the teens, and they exchanged pleasantries. As they did, Milo’s thoughts drifted to his wife. She was one of the most level-headed, rational women he had ever met. You didn’t become a starship captain if you weren’t, but when it came to those girls, all bets were off. He loved that dichotomy in his wife and smiled with pride, knowing he had found his soulmate. Who would have thought he would marry a woman thirteen years his junior?

“When is your transport for Earth?” Rebecca asked.

He pulled back his black suit coat sleeve and checked an ancient wristwatch, “Uh, 13:00.”

Rebecca smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “We should have enough time to grab lunch. There’s a decent Bolian cafe on the station’s promenade.” The clearing of a throat pulled her away from her father, and she turned to see Jeter standing there with a PADD in his hand.

“Captain,” Jeter said with a short nod, his face expressionless. He held out his hand with the PADD, “We have just received a communique from fleet. Highest priority.”

Taking the PADD, Rebecca pressed her thumb to the biometric reader. The display blinked to life, and classified orders from Starfleet Command filled the screen. Her expression darkened as she read. The smile faded completely, replaced by a determined frown.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said. “Lunch will have to wait. Get to Earth as fast as you can.”

Jonathan’s brows knit together in concern. “Becca, what’s going on?”

“I can’t say,” she replied, her voice firm but tinged with regret. “It’s classified.”

Turning to Jeter, she snapped into action. “Go to yellow alert. Recall the crew immediately and assemble the senior staff in the conference room in—” she hesitated briefly, calculating—“ten minutes. Anyone not on board in an hour gets left behind.”

Jeter smirked at that, “The XO took the liberty of recalling the crew moments ago, after I spoke to her on the way here. They should all be here within the hour.” He paused for a moment as his eyes cast over the Captian’s family, “I will contact the senior staff right away.”

Jonathan started to speak again, worry etched on his face, but Rebecca touched his arm, her gaze softening momentarily. “I’ll explain everything I can when this is over. For now, I need you and the kids safe. Please.”

Jonathan nodded and wrapped his arms around his grandkids. His joyous expression was replaced with concern. “Be safe, Pumpkin.” He turned and placed a firm hand on Milo’s shoulder, his eyes locking with his son-in-law’s. “Keep her safe. That’s all I ask.”

“I will, sir,” Milo replied, his voice low but resolute.

The finality of the moment hung heavy as hugs and farewells were exchanged. The civilians were guided through the airlock and down the gangway. Jonathan paused at the threshold, turning back to give Rebecca one last lingering look, his expression a mix of pride and sorrow. Then, he was gone, swallowed by the station’s bustle.

Rebecca stood motionless, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if holding herself together. Her mind churned with the conflict between duty and family, the weight of Starfleet’s orders pressing against the ache of separation. After a moment, she exhaled a long, shaky breath and turned on her heel. Milo silently fell into step beside her, and together, they made their way to the observation lounge.

Rebecca entered the observation lounge with Milo on her heels. She glanced around and noted that her senior staff were already there waiting for her.  She remained standing as Milo slid into his seat next to Gus. “Computer seal off this room security level 1.”

The computer obediently beeped in response, “Room secured.”

Riandri glanced over at Jeter as she waited for the Captain to speak. Following the arrival of the message and the movement she had observed in the nearby ships, she had a pretty good idea as to what was about to happen.

Gus resisted the urge to raise one eyebrow, preferring to sip his Vulcan-Chai tea mix, setting his padd to off. He turned all his attention to the Captain.

“Morning,” Rebecca greeted as she leaned over and entered commands into the inlaid keypad on the conference table. After entering her command codes, the computer released information, which she displayed on the monitors on either side of the room, which displayed tactical maps showing Dominion ship placements and current courses.

“This meeting is strictly ‘need to know.’ Share only essential details with your departments to ensure the mission’s safety and effectiveness,” she said, tone firm. She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in before continuing.

“As you’re all aware, we’re at yellow alert. Here’s why: At 02:00 this morning, a Dominion fleet comprised of the Cardassian 8th, 12th, and 17th Orders, several squadrons of Jem’Hadar fighters, and three Dominion Strike Groups broke orbit of Betazed. Intelligence reports place them on a direct course for Vulcan.”

She straightened, her expression grave. “This operation is codenamed Helm’s Deep. Vulcan is one of our most critical Federation worlds. Its fall would destabilize our alliance and give the Dominion a significant tactical foothold. The loss of Betazed was a significant blow; the loss of Vulcan puts Earth, Tellar, Andoria, and countless other Federation worlds in the crosshairs.  It is likely this is a blow we would not recover from.”

Farl raised his eyebrows in concern – a human expression he had picked up during his time at the Academy. Leaning back in his chair, he absent-mindedly tugged on his ear while considering this news. “Well, sounds like there’s only one course of action then: hold Vulcan.”

“Mr. Farl, this cannot be another Betazed disaster.  We hold this world with our lives.  Thankfully, Starfleet was expecting an assault.” She entered commands, and a map of the Vulcan territories appeared.  “Command has hidden half the fleet behind the magnetic poles of the planets. Those ships have decoy transponders set up all over the quadrant.  Mostly the Sol sector. Vulcan should look pretty tempting and undefended.”

Riandri sat silently and listened, taking in the expressions of those around her before she spoke, “We knew this day was coming, and it won’t be a repeat of Betazed. The ship and crew are ready, Captain.”

Rebecca gave Riandri a curt nod. “We’ll be leading a three-ship formation stationed near P’Jem. The Andromeda is one of the new Intrepid-class ships, and the Texarkana is an aging Excelsior-class. The Denver is the best fit to operate as the shield in this formation. We’ll need to draw fire away from the other two ships with our heavier weapons and more powerful shields. The smaller, more maneuverable ships can position themselves to attack the enemy’s vulnerable points. That means we’ll be taking the brunt of the damage.”

She paused, her eyes locking onto Milo. “Milo, we’re down a chief engineer. With your secondary background in engineering, I’m assigning you to that department. Hopefully, we’ll find a replacement before we depart, but it might be on you.”

Milo swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “Understood, Becca.”

“Mr. Viat,” Rebecca continued, her gaze shifting. “You’re now Chief of Security and Tactical. I trust you’re ready for the challenge.”

“Yes, Captain. The two disciplines of security and tactical are far more intermixed during wartime. My teams are ready.”  Gus replied.

Time was slipping away, and every second felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford. “There’s a good chance some, or all, of us won’t survive this battle. I want all non-essential personnel off the ship. If they have secondary specialties in damage control, security, or triage, have them report to those departments. Mr. Ferrus, as head of science, I’ll leave the decision of staying on board up to you. But your science officers need to depart—they’ll be safer elsewhere. Riandri, the same goes for your intelligence team. There won’t be much need to sensor the mail on this mission.”

“Yes captain. I will stay aboard. I have some ideas for modifying the sensor grids at P’Jem… With their permission, of course, but a detection system that powerful should be able to provide us an edge. If I can focus their scanners, I can provide an extremely detailed analysis of enemy ships that tactical might be able to exploit.” Farl had barely finished speaking before he began drawing up some plans and subroutines on his PADD to implement upon arrival.

“Granted,” Rebecca replied.  “I can’t promise the Vulcans will accept the upgrades, but any edge could be monumental.”

Viat turned his padd back one. “Commander, transfer the data to my padd.” Gus said to Farl. “The data can be sent through proper channels and tagged with special interest. The Vulcans will bring the fleet to bear. As a member of a sect that does not repress their emotions, it’s personal.  We will be there.” Gus added with a note of surety.

Lieutenant Jones piped up. “Hey, wait. I like sensor upgrades! Don’t leave out the Helm.” She countered.

Farl raised both eyebrows in surprise at the requests. “Whoa there, let me write the subroutines and detail the modifications first. I still need to take a look at the records of the array in order to know how to implement them properly. I am unsure if the additional data will be relayed fast enough for Helm to find it useful, but I’ll make sure you aren’t left out.”

Farl then paused to look up at Ensign Viat. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to horde the information just for the Denver. If I’m allowed to make the modifications, we’ll tie the data feed into fleet-wide communications. I just want to save some lives, not add notches to my belt.”

“Noted.   We will need to be in position of P’Jem with the end of the day.  Get your departments ready, people.  Ms. Jones, signal the Andromeda and Texarkana to form up on us. We may have to deploy quickly.  Any questions?”

Lieutenant Jones shook her head and started making basic calculations on her padd for the flight plan.

Riandri followed the captain’s gaze around the lounge. She could sense the apprehension bubbling under the surface mixed with excitement. This wasn’t the crew’s first engagement, and she knew they would do what was needed.

“Okay, let’s get to work. Dismissed,” Rebecca said, her voice steady. As the officers filed out to their respective tasks, she waited until the room was nearly empty before finally sinking into the cushioned chair at the head of the table. She exhaled slowly, the weight of leadership settling over her shoulders once again.

For a moment, she let her mind drift. P’Jem—a vital yet vulnerable waypoint. The mission ahead promised no guarantees, but she trusted her crew. They would rise to the challenge, as they always had.