The Communications Operations Center was quiet.

The last thirty-plus days had not been kind. The Blackout event had limited their reach, and the once bustling center had reduced in force to avoid officers being idle. The crew had been assigned elsewhere where they could be floated while others were granted study time or even furlough to help balance. Lieutenant Presley Atega sat at the Deputy Director’s desk, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee. The time had given her the chance to study more languages and brush up on some that had fallen by the wayside. Another sip as she watched the board. Rital III had requested additional food supplies while reporting some engineering issues with their power generator.

Her console began to chirp, as did the various stations with offices tending them. She set her cup down. Red and yellow alerts were showing up across the communication board. Presley felt her heart jump as she stood. “Report.”

A voice came down the row, “Multiple distress calls coming – we’re getting scattered signals outside The Blackout area.”

Another said, “Multiple colonial signals… several ships are also signaling distress. It’s hard to get the exact details with the interference.” The alarms and alerts continued to trill from console to console.

Presley tapped at her console, summoning her Director. She worked to remain calm. “Source as many of them as you can – let’s get a running tally of colony, ship, and whatever else is asking for our help. Activate the map.” Screens across the center flickered on as the systems and sector maps began to update with the incoming hails. The array of yellow and red dots started small. She watched her console and the screens, glancing back and forth as the updates continued. The small number of dots grew, scattering across the system, sector, and beyond.

The doors to the center flew open, and Captain Elbert Burton hurried towards Atega. He first went to his station, which was a step above hers. She quickly reported what she knew, pointing out the map and the growing distress calls. His eyes scanned the map. “Double check – that’s a lot of distress calls.”

Atega went down the line and did as she was told. Each signal was checked, sourced, played back, and confirmed with each operator. More signals were coming in beyond the sector, which mystified her. How were those signals getting through the interference? It took her ten minutes, but she turned to Burton, “All confirmed.” She asked, “Why are we getting signals from beyond The Blackout?”

She watched him pause, his eyes searching the bank of screens and maps. He turned to her. “Whatever’s or whoever’s doing this out there…they want us to hear them call for help. Signal the command center – I’m recommending yellow alert.”

Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana had moved quickly to the command center as the reports streamed in from communications. The dull klaxon began to sound as he’d accepted Burton’s recommendation. He stood at the CO station and received a PADD from the officer of the watch, “Has the Zephyr reported in yet?” The man shook his head as he juggled his PADD, returning to his console.

Captain Alexandra Pantuso stepped up next. “We’re at over a hundred distress calls. Burton thinks this is confirmation that The Blackout is not a natural phenomenon.” She shared his thought process with her CO. He didn’t answer and crossed his arms. She replied, “I’m inclined to agree with him. Whatever’s happening out there is beyond the reach of our ships here on base.”

Fontana grimaced. “Get some runabouts ready with response teams. Send them out in groups of two and see what they can find.” He turned back to his station. Whatever was out there was taking advantage of The Blackout. All things being equal, he argued with himself, it was a helluva coincidence. Captain Burton was known for his wild theories. What if this wasn’t one of them? What if he was right? “Keep an open channel with the runabouts – have it routed to my station.”

The runabouts were approaching the edge, their transmissions filled with nervous conversations. Fontana didn’t address it, focusing on the readings they were sending back. The distress calls started to fall off as time passed, and soon, nothing blinked on the board. Silence. One of the shuttles reported, “We’re reading serious debris fields out this way, command.” Fontana glanced at Rachel Harris, who stood to the side, her hands gripping a PADD. The CEO of Harris Transport had been invited into the command center for a reason. Plenty of her ships were out in The Blackout – they had continued to do the necessary transport work to the places that needed the connection.

The station CO replied, “Continue. Other teams – report?” The assorted other runabouts reported unusual ship signals at the edges of their sensor range. The interference continued to hamper their efforts. Fontana asked into the channel, “Can you identify the ship types?” The responses from the runabouts were negative – the interference remained a significant barrier.

A shout from across the way at another console turned their attention, “We’ve got a Harris Transport vessel inbound – at full impulse.” The screen’s view rotated to show the Coreward direction from the station – a speck was moving towards them. Rachel Harris quickly walked to the officer to get confirmation of which ship it was.

Fontana remained focused on the displays around him, his arms uncrossed and crossed every few minutes. Something was happening out there and he couldn’t see a damn thing. He turned as the CEO of Harris Transport returned with her report, “It’s the Sergei – she was a part of a six-ship convoy. We’d started arming our transports in the last few months as a precaution for out here in the rimward. Each of them was armed with a sizable arsenal.” She looked back at the officer, who shook his head as he pushed an earpiece into his ear, frantic. “She’s not responding to hails; sensors are picking up significant damage.” She looked from Fontana to Pantuso, “Whatever is out there, it hits hard. Most of our crews are former Starfleet or have the training to handle localized boxing matches.”

Fontana thought through the possibilities. Anything from a trap to a rescue operation flashed through his mind. They needed answers. “Re-route the runabouts – Pantuso – get Commanders Thasaz and Miados with you and get out there.” His XO walked swiftly away, and he turned to a deck officer, “I need to know where the Zephyr is – quickly.”

“We’re approaching the ship now, Captain.” The helmsman of the New Atlantic runabout announced from the cockpit. “We’re working to slow her down with tractor beams. We’ll get her engines remotely deactivated.

Alexandra Pantuso stood, looking out the front window. The damage she could see was extensive. Black burn marks crisscrossed the hull every foot or so. Next to her stood Commander Miados, the Director of Engineering Operations on Montana station. The Trill spoke as her eyes scanned the ship, “They took a pounding – I’m seeing hull buckling, fractures…and that’s just what I can see.”

Pantuso wondered how they had managed to escape whoever had done this to them. She stopped as the Sergei’s engines dimmed and the ship came to a halt. “Wait…what if this is a trap? What if they didn’t escape? What if…they were sent to us? We need to be careful. Commanders – let’s get a probe transported over to verify our readings.”

A moment later, the holo-display unit was up on the wall of the runabout as the probe materialized. The video feed was clear, but the world around it was hazy and full of smoke. Commander Thasaz worked the console, reporting as she went. “Atmosphere checks out. Power systems are marginal but holding. Miados, the core reads online but is unstable.”

Pantuso watched Thasaz’s face fall. “Lifesigns?” she asked.

The Romulan Security Director replied with a tight shake of her head. “I’m reading biological, but nothing alive—computer estimates around thirty bodies.” She finished the scan. “We can’t access the computer remotely, so we have to go over.”

Pantuso chewed on her lip. She wasn’t sure of anything, but she knew they needed to find out what was happening. “Take your security and engineering teams. Keep the lines open.”

The ship smelled awful, Miados realized as she was forced to cover her nose while she snagged the filtration mask off her belt and onto her face. There was a distinct smell of dying blood in the air, and she felt her symbiote express anxiety at the sensation. Her partner, Commander Thasaz, gave her a wave from across the corridor. Her mask wasn’t on, and her face showed her feelings. Miados knew of the security director’s history but was reminded how little she knew. She walked until she came across the first body. It had been human, a young male. She slipped out her medical tricorder. It beeped several times, alarming that between the wounds and the blood, it had been a slow death. Miados tagged him and continued her grim duty.

It took some time, but she’d located most of the bodies and been able to stabilize the core. Making her way onto the bridge, she found Thasaz huddled over a console. “Commander?”

The Romulan looked up, her face tightened in frustration. “The data’s a mess. I’ve got as much as I can without lifting the console and the central computer out of the damned thing.” She motioned to the remaining bodies around them. “They didn’t die from the attack on the ship. They were murdered. The ship’s navigation was pointed at us and pushed on its way. Some of these poor fools were still alive at that point.”

Miados swallowed her rising fears. “This doesn’t look like Tougun’s work.” She tried to focus her growing concerns in a direction.

Thasaz pulled the drive from the console, grumbling, “Agreed.  He’s a killer but particular in his targets. He knows if he starts poking at our friends, we’re going to come looking for him. These ships were carrying supplies for outlying colonies from home. Nothing worth poaching here.” She put her hands on her waist. “Something isn’t right here. We know the local players – the major and the minor. Most of them have figured out how to play nice in our backyard. A new player causes this much havoc – they’d have to be well-funded and well-supplied. This doesn’t fit anybody we know.”

The engineering director stared at Thasaz. “You’re saying…this is something new?”

“The Blackout gave plenty of aliens and humans the cover they could need to do something wild…trouble is getting out here with all the interference.” She threw her hands up, “So goddamn peculiar. You think you can rig her up with the tractors to bring the Sergei with us?”

Miados continued staring at the Romulan, “You think…there’s more than what we can see and scan?” She looked around the corridor, the ache of death seeming to cry out from beneath them.

Thasaz’s face took on an unusual intensity. “I’m counting on it, Commander Miados. Let’s get the Sergei home.” She glanced around as if listening for the mysterious attackers somewhere in the wings. “The sooner, the better.”