The viewscreen displayed an animation of the attacker’s warp trail fading across the Thunderchild’s forward sensors. Faint… fragmented… just detectable enough to follow before it fully decayed.

Jast stood at the center of the bridge, watching the trail stretch ahead into a murky patch of space. Ionized particles thickened there, a poorly charted system with dense stellar traffic. A perfect place to disappear.

“Commander Velar,” he said, tapping his combadge. “Report.”

Her voice returned a moment later, slightly filtered through the surface relay drone in orbit. “We’ve completed interviews with two of the settlements. Accounts are consistent… no warning, no negotiation. Targeted transporter extractions. Nine abductees confirmed so far. Profiles don’t align with any detectable pattern.”

“Any indication of who the attacker is?” Jast replied.

There was a pause. “The survivors describe tall figures in full environmental suits. Frosted helmets, green visors. No insignia. They used wide-panel scanners and dart tags to abduct the colonists.”

“Confirmed here as well,” came Security Chief Zh’vhoral’s voice over the same channel. “Residual disruptor scoring matches Breen energy dispersion patterns. Sabotage at the power grid was surgical. We found a disruption module node fused to the main control junction. Design is modular, coolant signatures and fractal relay nodes are definitely Breen.”

Lieutenant Commander M’Ryn spoke up from the science console at the starboard side of the bridge, her voice tinged with the characteristic resonance of her Benzite physiology. She swiveled in her seat towards the center of the bridge, gill slits pulsing faintly beneath the rebreather suppling her with a breathable stream of chlorine and mineral salts.

“The warp trail heading out of the system also mimics a Confederacy design, but it is inconsistent. Engine degradation and energy bleed do not match any known Breen patterns. Possibly retrofitted civilian tech,” she said.

“Conclusion?” Jast asked, looking between the bridge crew.

Velar answered first. “Everything points to Breen tactics and tech, but not their military.”

“Privateers,” T’Rell added calmly. “Or actors operating with Confederacy resources but outside state command.”

Jast gave a grim nod. “Then we treat this as Breen-aligned… but not Breen-controlled. For now.”

He turned back toward the viewscreen, where the trail curved gently toward the interference-heavy system.

“And we follow them.”

Jast turned to the young officer at the conn. “Lieutenant Sorel, set course along the projected trail. Best speed that keeps us below the ionic resonance threshold.”

From the helm, the Betazoid pilot responded with calm precision. “Aye, sir. Course laid in. Adjusting for ion shear along vector two-seven-three.”

Jast gave a small nod, then reopened the surface channel.

“Commander Velar, continue your investigation. I want full background dossiers on every abductee. Personal history, travel logs, off-world connections. There’s no way the selection was random. Find the link.”

“Understood, Captain,” Velar replied. “We’ll start with the central records node and census archives.”

The channel closed with a soft chirp.

Jast stood silently a moment longer, eyes locked on the static-drenched stars ahead. Something about the trail bothered him… too deliberate, too convenient.

The central records hall had been hastily converted into a command post. Stacks of padds and half-powered consoles cluttered every surface, and portable field lights buzzed overhead, throwing long shadows across the stone-tiled floor. The smell of scorched wiring still lingered faintly beneath the antiseptic tang of Starfleet medkits.

Commander Zuri Velar sat at a data terminal near the eastern wall, sifting through columns of information streaming slowly onto her screen. Her bright green eyes narrowed in quiet frustration.

The abductees had nothing in common.

Nine colonists have been confirmed missing so far. Two Human males, one Bolian, one Vulcan female, five Bajorans of varying ages. Three were over seventy, two were barely past thirty. Some worked in infrastructure, others in agriculture or community services, one was even a Ranjen. Only four had left the colony in the last ten years.

There were no overlapping family ties. No shared residences. No common organizational memberships. No clear racial or professional pattern. It was like someone had drawn names from a hat… except Velar didn’t believe in coincidence.

She leaned back, exhaling through her nose, and tapped her combadge.

“Velar to Zh’vhoral. I could use an update.”

The Andorian’s voice came sharp and immediate. “I was about to contact you. I’ve got something.”

“Go ahead.”

“I found the breach point,” Zh’vhoral said. “Main power grid was shut down remotely. The disruption module we recovered wasn’t just patched into the primary junction; it was keyed to activate before external sensor contact. The colony’s lights went dark six-point-eight seconds before the warp trail entered the system boundary.”

Velar sat upright. “That means…”

“It was timed,” Zh’vhoral cut in. “Someone inside triggered it ahead of the arrival window. Coordinated.”

Velar’s fingers hovered over her console. “Was the module local?”

“Negative. Breen in origin. Privateer-grade. Heat-sink architecture matches the rig we pulled off the relay station in the Mavro sector last year.”

“But patched into Free Haven’s system?”

“Manually,” Zh’vhoral confirmed. “No forced entry. Whoever did this had full access credentials.”

Velar’s jaw clenched. “So, we’re dealing with an inside job.”

“Looks that way.”

She closed her eyes briefly, thinking.

The abductees. The pinpoint precision of the assault. The engineered warp trail. And now sabotage from within the colony itself. Someone hadn’t just studied Free Haven… they’d been here. They’d prepared for this.

“Keep pulling apart that junction,” she said. “I want a full access log and personnel clearance list. Find me whoever had the means to install that module.”

“I’ll have it in twenty minutes,” Zh’vhoral said, then cut the line.

Velar turned back to the console and opened a new data tree. Not the colony census, but off-world comm records. If someone inside had coordinated this, there might be chatter in the background noise. A pattern. A signal. Anything.

This wasn’t a random raid, it was an inside job.

The Thunderchild arrived at the ionic interference field the degrading Breen warp trail led them to. The swirling ion haze ahead looked like the edge of a dream… or a trap.

Captain Rynar Jast sat in the center seat of the bridge, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The viewscreen showed little more than roiling light and shadows. Dense, unresolved particles tumbling through a stellar corridor just beyond mapped space.

It was the last place anyone would want to be seen. Which made it the perfect place to disappear.

Lieutenant Commander M’Ryn glanced up from the science station. “Residual warp readings terminate at the edge of the field. If they continued, they did so under cover.”

“Standard sensors won’t function past that point,” added T’Rell from Ops. “EM scatter exceeds tolerance thresholds. Weapons lock becomes unreliable at under ten kilometers. Internal navigation will degrade without anchor points.”

“So, if we take Thunderchild in,” Jast said quietly, “we walk blind into whatever’s waiting.”

He considered the map. The Breen trail led directly into this pocket. The warp signature had been clean… too clean. And now, they were being taunted to follow it.

No. Someone wanted Thunderchild in there.

Jast tapped his combadge. “Bridge to Commander Takahashi.”

A moment later, her reply came over the intercom, steady and clipped. “Takahashi here.”

“Prep Alpha Wing for launch. I want a recon sweep of the interference zone, passive scans only. Keep emissions to a minimum. Tight formation. Report any anomalies before engaging.”

“Understood. We’ll launch on silent impulse.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’m not sending the ship into a cloud with no eyes. Your fighters have the edge. Smaller target profiles, lower energy signatures, higher maneuverability. If something is waiting in there, you’ll spot it first.”

“Or trip it,” Takahashi added dryly.

“That’s why I trust you to do it right,” Jast replied with a slight grin.

Ionized filaments licked across Riona Takahashi’s canopy like streaks of lightning. The storm churned ahead, alive and shifting. She brought the Aspara-class bomber into a controlled descent, nose dipped, deflectors tuned to absorb the static haze without lighting her up like a flare.

Behind her, Alpha Wing followed in tight formation. Three Valkyrie-class fighters, sharp and agile, their silhouettes dancing through the murk.

“Alpha Wing, this is Takahashi,” she called. “Keep formation. Passive sensors only. No emissions. Ride my beacon.”

“Copy, One,” replied Kren Varr, his voice a low rumble. “Telemetry’s blind. Feels like we’re flying through Rhombolian butter.”

“Two locked in,” came K’Vara, all clipped confidence.

“Three here,” Reyes said, his usual cheer a notch tighter. “I’ve got a contact. Dead ahead. Big. Looks like a ship.”

Takahashi narrowed her eyes. Through the storm, a silhouette formed. A long, angular hull shape, just visible in the swirling haze. No lights. No power. No ID. But definitely the profile of a mid-sized cruiser, adrift just above the rocky edge of a barren moon.

“There you are,” she whispered.

“Could be a wreck,” Reyes offered.

“Could be bait,” K’Vara snapped.

“Either way,” Takahashi said, “we’re here now. Close in. Keep it tight.”

Alpha Wing shifted to a diamond spread, their vectors converging slowly toward the drifting shape. At seventy kilometers, Takahashi’s console began to flicker.

Her eyes snapped to the readout. “Gravitic spikes… wait, wait…”

She didn’t finish.

The first mine went off with a silent burst behind them, plasma rippling outward. Her boards lit red. More spikes. More heat.

“Pattern Sulu Epsilon Six! Scatter!” Takahashi barked.

The Valkyries peeled off in synchronized chaos… K’Vara rolled high, Reyes dove beneath a rising detonation, and Varr sliced hard across the grid, pulling heat away from the others.

Takahashi’s bomber groaned under stress, slower than her wingmates, but she forced it into a broad arc just as a second blast rolled through her wake. The shields flared. Warning tones screamed. She shoved the stick down and rolled through the turbulence.

The “ship” emerged again in her HUD, but now her sensors were painting it differently.

Too smooth. Too cold. Hollow.

She blinked.

It wasn’t a ship at all. Just a metal shell. Hull plating shaped to mimic a cruiser’s profile. No mass. No core. Nothing inside.

A sensor echo. A ghost.

“Takahashi to Thunderchild, do you copy?” She tapped her comm again. Nothing. Just dead static.

She climbed fast, punching through the upper edge of the interference cloud until her signal rebounded.

“This is Takahashi. We detected a target, but it was a decoy. No drive. No crew. We’ve triggered a gravitic minefield. We were able to avoid being hit… but barely. This was built to lure in a starship.”

Static broke into a reply, Captain Jast’s voice, tight with control. “Understood. Hold position. No pursuit, don’t risk setting off anymore mines.”

“Thunderchild never saw this,” Reyes said over the private channel. “No way they knew what we were walking into.”

Takahashi leveled off above the haze, the Aspara’s hull still humming from the near-miss blasts. Below her, the fake cruiser drifted like a ghost in the mist, its illusion broken, its trap sprung and failed.

She let silence hang for a breath, then exhaled. “If the Thunderchild had followed the trail in…”

“It would have been destroyed,” K’Vara said grimly. “And we would all be dead. Whoever laid this trap has no honor.”

Takahashi didn’t disagree.

The field had been laid for something bigger, something slower. The mines were too slow to catch fighters. They weren’t designed to.

She keyed her comm open again. “Takahashi to Thunderchild. Recommend maintaining distance. Field is hostile. Decoy was shaped to fool long-range sensors, Cruiser-class profile, power dead, zero heat. But it’s a shell, not getting any further information on sensor scans.”

There was a pause, then Jast’s voice, cool and even: “Copy, Commander. Return home.”

Another voice, Kren Varr this time, quieter than usual. “Guess the Captain’s gut still holds.”

Takahashi glanced at the empty scope one last time. “It didn’t just hold,” she said. “It saved the ship.”

She banked her Aspara and led the wing back toward the safety of open space, the storm closing silently behind them.