Huddled in the shelter assembled by the engineers from Cardenas, Serath Vren had invited Captain Noli and the other commanders of the Division to join him and the senior scientists on the Nareen Expedition around the makeshift situation table, analysing what they had found out so far. What they had learned was, to coin a phrase from his Vulcan ancestors, fascinating.

An enormous, ancient black obelisk adorned in intricate, golden carvings, mostly untouched by the years or the elements of this distant world. His own analysis of the carvings suggested that the structure was some form of navigational chart, a map or wayfinder perhaps, but it wasn’t until Ensign Petrenko had taken the theory and matched the carvings to known stellar cartography data of the region that their theories had been proven. Each carving had its place to play on this celestial atlas, marking major population centres fanning outward from Nareen itself – albeit slightly out of date for the modern era. Not surprising given Kesha’s spectrographic analysis and the revelation that the device was approximately three thousand years old.

“We’ve answered every question we can think of except one,” Serath placed his dusty palms on the tables surface and bent over the various data PADDs and equipment pieces.

“Who built it?” Captain Gor grunted from the opposite side of the table to his Hypatia counterparts.

Serath nodded along, and then held out a generous hand in the direction of Gor’s own scientist.

“We have no idea,” the Cardassian, Kesha Iddar, shrugged. “All of our analysis tells us everything we could possibly need to know except that once answer. We know what it is, how old it is, what it was used for, we just have no clue who built it.” Her frustration was as evident as the Tellarite’s, but she at least had more patience to carry on the survey.

“We have only been down here a few hours,” Serath looked around the table and smiled, “and we have learnt a lot in a relatively short space of time. We never expected to have all the answers already. It will just take time.” His reminder, while frustrating for some, helped to ground the expectations of many around the group.

“Has the uplink to the main computers detected anything?” Noli pondered, her gaze transfixed on the data tablets in front of them.

“We’re the first of the Starfleet to go this far into the Expanse. We’re dealing on hearsay and the shared data of the Klingons and the Romulans,” Iddar’s brows furrowed in sadness.

“And neither of them are particularly focused on peaceful, scientific exploration at this point in time,” Commander Charisma Lennan, Cardenas‘ dutiful XO, frowned.

“Just means we have to embrace the fact that we are living the Starfleet dream,” the optimistic Romulan grinned, locking cheer-filled eyes with his Bajoran captain beside him, hoping that she at least shared his optimistic outlook. The returned grin gave him the reassurance he sought.

One officer who had stayed particularly quiet during all this was the red-uniformed, Andorian, who until this point, had been listening intently to far smarter brains than hers, but she was surprised that no one had broached one particular subject. “Has anyone considered that this could be Draxan in origin, and that is why a small force of their ships are headed in this direction?”

A proverbial pin being dropped would have been a welcome distraction from the silent stares and glares shot her way over the next few moments until Lieutenant Iddar rifled through the data PADDs on the table and produced one in particular.

“Nothing we’ve found matches to what little information we have about the Draxan’s so far,” the Cardassian in teal brushed some loose black strands behind her left ear. “That’s not to say we should rule that out as a possibility,” she conceded.

“Keep up the excellent work everyone. And pass our thanks on to your teams,” Noli smiled proudly, patting her own science chief on the shoulder, subconsciously calling the meeting to a conclusion and dismissing the science teams from the tent-like shelter.

Once alone, the diverse group of crimson comrades looked around the table at one another, no one wanting to speak until Gor eventually took the poisoned chalice and spoke in defence of his XO. “We cannot rule out the possibility that our presence here has wound up the Draxans,” he grunted.

Elliot Mercer was probably the quietest, most considered commander in all of Starfleet, and so far he had said nothing and listened to everything, but he finally felt the need to intercede. “Not a single data file has given indication that this planet is, or ever has been, in Draxan territory,” the human frowned, his attention turning to the duo from Al-Batani.

“Granted, we know very little about the Draxans,” Noli chimed in, sliding her hands into the pockets of her trousers. “What we do know is they want to expand andm until now, they haven’t really moved in this direction according to our Romulan contacts on the Shaenor. I’d bet all the gold-pressed latinum I have that our presence has caused them to shift their focus this way,” the Bajoran surmised.

Whilst the group engaged in a back and forth about what they knew so far and what they should do next, their course of action was apparently pre-determined as their commbadges chirped.

Tapping his first, Gor addressed the transmission’s source.

“We’ve received word from Wasp, Captain,” the familiar voice of his tactical chief informed the group, “they’ve been forced to break off their pursuit and are intercepting the Draxan forces…”

Emerging from the brightly lit turbo lift, Vasoch and his Andorian counterpart marched for the command pit and assumed their roles at the heart of the bridge, receiving a quick run down from Commander Peri before relaxing back into the familiar, safe surroundings of their respective command chairs.

“Mister Royce,” Vasoch commanded, “break orbit and set a course for Wasp‘s location. Commander, get Song on the comm.”

Both officers silently acquiesced to their captain’s request. Damon’s hands danced across the LCARS control panel and Al-Batani effortlessly responded, her impulse engines glowing as she picked up speed and adjusted course to leave Nareen’s orbit.

“Well, if there’s anything that we can surmise so far,” Az announced, breaking the uneasy silence that had taken over Wasp‘s bridge, “it’s that their weapons are shorter-ranged than ours. Hell, even our old Type Tens could smack that frigate on the nose from here, and she’s still not opening fire.”

“Not responding to our hails, either.” Song grimaced, hands clenching the sides of her chair. “Not sure if they’re just spoiling for a fight or think us beneath them, but I don’t like either option.”

“Pissed that they think a Defiant is beneath them?” Rakko asked, a furry eyebrow raising as he swung Wasp around a chunk of ice and rock.

“More that they’re just not talking,” Song hissed.

As the frigate hung around the side of the debris chunk and continued its pursuit, Rainet chimed in unexpectedly. “Well, I guess we can see how they like a heavy cruiser for size, because Al-Batani‘s just broken off from planetary orbit. Captain Gor’s requesting a status update.”

“Onscreen.” Song cleared her throat again, steeled herself for talking to the senior officer. As much as that itch in the back of her mind about her inferiority yet parity with the more experienced officers nagged her, she had more pressing concerns. “Wasp here. Frigate’s still pursuing us, but has neither opened fire nor accepted our hails. Starting to think they might be out of weapons range. Not sure why they’re not listening to us- just a few theories, nothing good.”

On the main viewer, the pig-like creature listened along to the report from Wasp and then, looked off screen for a second. “We’re making for your position. Keep trying to talk with them, but I suspect they’ll soon tuck tail and run when they detect us closing in. What of Mok’tal?”

“Kurino’s holding her course and continuing to shadow the fleet,” Song reported. “No indication thus far that she’s been detected. I don’t think these ships can detect cloaks, even the old ones on Birds of Prey.”

A curt nod to the Commander signalled everything the Captain felt necessary. “Keep monitoring them. Keep transmitting hails. If they run, I’d like to know where they are headed,” he decreed, “Gor out.”

The screen blinked off again, and an uneasy silence fell across Wasp‘s bridge, the thrumming of her oversized engines only background noise. Song, unable to take the silence, stood up and headed over to the tactical station, watching the sensor readout from over Az’s shoulder as the frigate fell, slowly, further and further behind.

And yet, like a stubborn hound dog, she kept following.

“… I have a bad feeling about this,” Az muttered, maybe just as much to break the silence as anything else. She didn’t respond… but Song couldn’t say she felt much different.