The sky over Free Haven turned a deep amber as twilight settled over the hills. A warm wind blew across the rooftops, jingling wind chimes and sending the scent of spicy roasted hasperat, fresh bread, and dust from the day through the air. Families were finishing their evening meal. Some gathered outside their homes, seated on stone benches or wooden steps, watching the last shuttle from the northern fields come in low and slow. Others lingered in the central plaza, where shops closed up for the evening in the failing light.

Laughter drifted from a table near the fountain. A group of younger children ran circles around the benches, shrieking and giggling as they chased a small, brightly colored gopta lizard.

Saro Venn, once a Vedek in Impaldra Province, but now mostly a gardener, sat near the edge of the square. He sipped cooled springwine from a small clay cup and watched the people move through their routines. His old knees ached from trimming vines earlier in the day, but he ignored the pain. He had lived through far worse.

“You’re wasting water,” said Joram Dhal, a blue-skinned Bolian seated beside him. He was pointing across the square at a farmer arguing over irrigation readings. Dhal just shook his head. “Every time I walk by that field, I see runoff in the dust trench. You need to adjust your valve timing.”

The farmer, arms crossed and unimpressed, replied without looking. “And you need to stop monitoring things that ain’t yours, Dhal.”

Venn smiled to himself, letting the tension of the disagreement roll past him. It was a familiar scene. The sort of harmless friction that made their settlement seem alive. Minor arguments, often originating in unsolicited advice from Joram Dhal.

At precisely 2053 hours, the lights cut out.

Every lantern, every walkway beacon, every powered panel and display… Gone.

The sudden absence of sound amplified the strangeness of the dark. No hum from the relay towers, no distant thrum of wind turbines. The gentle tivara music playing from the cantina had stopped mid-note. The entire plaza fell into stillness.

People looked around, confused in the dark. Some checked their comm units. A few laughed nervously, expecting a temporary outage. Then someone said what everyone was thinking.

“Power grids down.”

Another voice followed. “That’s not supposed to be able to happen.”

Dhal was already on his feet, pulling a small beacon from his belt. A former Starfleet officer, he was usually prepared for anything. His beacon cast a pale white cone of light ahead of him. Others followed his lead. Dozens of beams flicked on across the square. Shapes and faces emerged from the dark, coming together in small clusters.

A young human woman tapped at her vintage wrist communicator and frowned. “Even backups aren’t responding.”

“No signal,” someone said nearby. “I can’t reach the outpost.”

A faint sound interrupted the murmur. High-pitched and artificial. It started low, then climbed in frequency like a rising scream. Venn stiffened; he recognized the tone. Transporter harmonics.

Six columns of bright green energy burst into the center of the plaza.

The light was blinding, breaking through the darkness. People stepped back, shielding their eyes, blinking against the green glare.

Figures stepped out of the shimmering light.

They were tall and broad, bodies covered in environmental suits. Pale green visors glowed where faces should have been. Frost rimmed the edges of the copper-hued helmets. Breen… Not in military colors. No insignias. No unit patches. These wore black armored plates dulled by wear. Privateers… not soldiers.

One of them raised a disruptor and fired randomly in the air. The bolt struck a walkway post behind the fountain, sending a flash of sparks and wood splinters flying. Screams broke out across the plaza.

“Inside, now!” someone shouted.

Venn crouched behind the fountain, pulling a young girl down with him. She sobbed, pressing her hands to her ears. Another disruptor blast rang out. An older Bajoran man near the market stalls fell backward, struck in the chest. His body crumpled before anyone could reach him.

The Breen spread out across the square. They moved without urgency, clearly not in any fear of resistance from the colony. Each carried a wide-screen scanner plate and a small dart gun holstered at their side. They activated their gear in unison, scanning the crowd slowly… methodically.

Venn peeked from behind the fountain and saw one of the Breen focusing on a small group huddled near the bakery. A beep from the scanner… The Breen raised his dart gun and fired. An older Vulcan woman jerked as the whistling dart struck her in the neck. She had no time to call for help. Her body lit up with a green shimmer and vanished into the air.

Transported. Tagged and taken.

Another dart flew… Then another. One by one, colonists were marked and removed.

Dhal, crouched behind a cart of moba fruit. “They’re targeting people. Not everyone, just some.”

Venn looked around the square, panic was spreading. Parents clutched their children. Friends tried to pull each other out of sight. One older Bajoran woman tried to tackle a Breen at the edge of the plaza. She made it a few steps before a disruptor bolt took her through her shoulder.

The girl beside Venn sobbed louder. “Grandma!”

“I know,” Venn whispered, pulling her close. “Shhh… It’s ok, we’re safe here. Stay quiet.”

Dhal had had enough. He stood and lunged at the nearest Breen but was quickly knocked off his feet as the towering figure spun and backhanded his face, dropping him to the stone plaza. He aimed his dart gun at the Bolian and fired. Dhal disappeared in a shimmer of emerald light.

A Breen at the south of the square tagged another colonist, then turned to the others, speaking in a garbled electronic language through their helmet speakers.

Almost in unison, they came together back where they had materialized. The last one there tapped a gauntlet control, and with another flare of green light, the air rippled, and they were gone.

The silence that returned felt heavier than the one before. For a few long moments, no one moved.

Then came the sound of crying… shouting… names being called. People emerged from hiding, rushing to spots where others had vanished. Venn stood slowly. His knees trembled. Around him, others moved in a daze, expressions a mix of shock and horror.

Pevo Ana, the jeweler, emerged from behind her market stall. “What the hell was that?”

“I think,” Venn said, voice brittle, “we just got raided.”

Above them, the stars shone bright.  Free Haven was quiet once again.