Captain’s Log, Stardate 2401.3 

In response to unprovoked Breen aggression and the sudden emergence of a rogue Dominion Fleet, Arcturus has been deployed to Deneb IV to defend Farpoint Station. We will remain in orbit for the time being to handle any threats to the station itself or the planet’s civilian population. First Officer Alesser and I are shuttling down to the starport for a conference with other captains and first officers from Task Group 514, which is so far failing to hold back the tide.

The spire of Farpoint Station gleamed in the light of Deneb, standing out starkly from the ruddy brick Bandi city surrounding it and the ochre hills beyond. The main Starfleet offices—the heart of Deneb sector command—were spread throughout the tower, a copy in real concrete and real tritanium built in the 2360s to replace the original mirage. Once billed to the Federation as a miraculous feat of Bandi engineering, the Farpoint Station encountered by the Enterprise-D had, in reality, been a massive spacefaring life form that the Bandi had enslaved and forced to assume the form of their grand spaceport. After Captain Picard freed this being, the Federation (somewhat reluctantly) committed the resources to build the port, but it never became the gateway to the “great unexplored mass of the galaxy” that Picard called it, due to the discovery of the Ferengi Alliance and Breen Confederacy sitting right in the Deneb sector’s backyard and blocking exploration deeper into the Alpha Quadrant for most of the 24th century.

Farpoint found new life at the dawn of the 25th century, however, when Starfleet committed more vessels to the frontier to keep Breen expansion in check. While intended to serve as a hub for trade and exploration, it was now unexpectedly thrust into a role it was not well suited to: a strategic command and control headquarters. Farpoint’s delicate, glittering architecture was utterly vulnerable to attack, and so it relied on orbital defenses and a powerful planetary shield. Briefing Room 42-C was at least bright, spacious, and comfortable. 

As he glanced at its arched ceiling, Captain Michael Lancaster wondered how well the airy room on the forty-second story of the spire would fare against the Dominion and Breen forces that were now on the border. He remembered vividly the Breen attack on Earth; the valiant defense of the planet by Starfleet had been one of the things that had led him to apply to the Academy in the first place. Beyond the desire to serve, it also left him with a deep and unshakable belief that the Breen were monsters. Irredeemable. It was a belief proven once again when he bore witness to the Breen Attack on Barzan II and Starbase 38, an attack that left his mentor, Admiral Jonathan Knox, dead. It had also led directly to his promotion from first officer to the center seat on Arcturus, with Elizabeth Hayden forced to take the reins of a renewed task force to put down the Breen threat. They had fought for months on that border until they were relieved, and Lancaster had hoped never to be sent to the Deneb Sector again.

“They didn’t seem very happy to see us,” Larus Alesser noted, referring to the captains of the local defensive starships also present at the strategy conference. His voice was low as he and Lancaster left the briefing room to go find a turbolift. “This is not our first foray with the Breen. Why were they so defensive?”

Their fellow captains had been pretty unwelcoming, though Lancaster had interpreted it as the normal chaffing that local task groups experienced when the Fourth Fleet got involved in their business, especially when such an important and powerful ship as Arcturus was dispatched. As Alesser mentioned it, though, he wondered if it could be something else. The level of disdain in the room seemed unusual, given that neither of the two of them had interjected out of turn.

“Our presence does imply that they’re not doing their jobs well,” Lancaster suggested. He then remembered the elephant in the room. “You would think the sudden emergence of a lost Dominion Fleet in the area would make them appreciative of outside help.”

Alesser shrugged at that and shook his head. The two of them slipped into an empty car in the turbolift bank, and the first officer reached over to hit the ground floor button for his captain. The glass-walled lift wasn’t particularly “turbo,” which allowed them a view of the countryside around the base as it descended at its leisurely pace. Lancaster liked the way the sunlight was concentrated through the glass to make Alesser’s bronze skin seem to glow with warmth. He thought about complimenting him, but Larus Alesser could never let a compliment just stay a compliment. A broad grin spread across the Ardanan man’s face as he rocked gently on the balls of his feet, and Lancaster wondered if he’d been caught.

“What?” Lancaster asked.

“Oh… Just thinking. They’re probably jealous. They’ve got a bunch of cruisers, and we show up with the biggest, strongest ship in the fleet,” Alesser suggested. It seemed plausible, though Alesser was exaggerating slightly; plenty of ships had more teeth than Arcturus did. “Plus, we were definitely the most intelligent, most charismatic, and most attractive people in the room.”

Lancaster scoffed. 

“Everyone wanted us.”

“Captain La-ran is a Rigellian. Their species is monogender and lays eggs. Even them?”

“Everyone. It explains all of the tension in the room. It explained all the tension between us when we started on Arcturus,” Alesser teased, briefly putting a hand on Lancaster’s bicep. Lancaster glowered for a moment. “What was that look for?”

“We’re in a glass elevator. I’d rather you not feel me up,” Lancaster noted, gesturing to the curved window around them. His first officer’s amber-colored eyes glinted as he thought of some quip. “I was considering complimenting you on how nice you look in this light, but since you’ve already self-complimented, I guess that’s unnecessary.”

“I guess so,” Alesser said, though he seemed genuinely pleased. “Nice preterition.” 

The lift continued to go down, and about two-thirds down the spire, it entered a standard enclosed shaft. The Ardanan leaned over and rested his head on Lancaster’s shoulder, and Human reciprocated with a peck to the top of the other man’s head. It had been over a year since they were marooned together during the Century Storm. Through an unlikely combination of mind-altering atmospheric properties, unique vulnerabilities in Ardanan physiology, alcohol, and close physical contact, the two had inadvertently created a chemical bond between one another. It had affected Alesser more; until the physicians on Starbase Bravo figured out the cause, there was a week where he felt euphoria while in physical contact with Lancaster and agony if they weren’t at least in the same room. One psychiatrist had likened it neurologically to what Vulcans experienced with their septennial mating drive.

It was an extremely strange experience for both of them, as they’d spent their first year on Arcturus at each other’s throats. Their careers had been very similar to one another; they were young, ambitious officers who had spent time in both operations and science. They were both demanding and self-assured. It was like trying to press two magnets together, at least before the crash, when the opposite became true.

Surviving together made them develop an understanding. Recovering from their time on that world led them to grow even closer. Starfleet Medical was able to abate the most intense effects within a few weeks. Some of the less intense effects had lingered for a few more weeks for Lancaster, and months for Alesser. There was now absolutely nothing physiologically compelling them to touch, but they both found pleasure and comfort in it still, whether that was a remembered feeling of chemically-induced bliss or just the feeling of the act on its own terms.

“Luca is making dinner tonight,” Lancaster noted. The kitchen in the quarters he shared with his husband had gotten far more use than he anticipated; he’d had it installed as a surprise, but Sheppard had really embraced his Italian culinary heritage and cooked several nights a week. “He knows how you feel about synthetic beef, so he wants to try something with mushrooms.”

Lancaster’s marriage was the one thing that mattered more to him than his career. Even though strict monogamy had never been one of their ground rules and the situation originated in a freak chemical reaction, he worried in the beginning that his connection with Alesser would be an impossible complication to resolve. Sheppard had taken it in stride and had even encouraged it, though. It quickly developed into a mutual attraction between the three of them, which is something none of them saw coming. It wasn’t necessarily always a symmetrical relationship—the feelings Lancaster had for Sheppard were different than those he had for Alesser. He loved Sheppard and they had committed to being life partners. He was in a different sort of partnership with Alesser, one blurring the lines between the often intimate relationship between a captain and first officer with absolute trust between another and true intimacy. In turn, Sheppard and Alesser’s connection was still evolving as the weeks and months went on.

“We have such good taste in men,” Alesser replied. He stepped back from Lancaster and smirked. “Once we’re done with this brushfire, the three of us should go to Risa.”

“This doesn’t sound like a brushfire to me,” Lancaster replied a moment before the doors opened. A combined Breen-Dominion offensive wasn’t something that they could put a stop to over a weekend. “Risa sounds nice, though.”

The two captains stepped out of the lift and into the spire’s ground floor lobby, which was full of officers speed-walking from meeting to meeting to coordinate the Deneb Sector’s response to the incursion. No one was really paying attention to either of them as they crossed the marble floor, but Lancaster still felt some degree of a thrill at the thought of being able to conceal the nature of his relationship with his first officer in plain sight. They left the spire into the bright, warm sunshine and the whipping wind that characterized the shift on Deneb IV between the dry season and the rainy season. 

“Speaking of good taste in men… How is Noah Armstrong?” Lancaster asked as they walked towards the shuttle parking area. Transport inhibitors had been activated to strictly control traffic in and out of the spaceport. “It would have been nice if Antares hadn’t already gone out on its supply run so the two of you could have seen one another.”

Alesser shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him. It’s pretty clear that he wants to keep things strictly on an ‘I’ll see you when I see you’ basis,” he said. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, I was just asking,” Lancaster demurred. 

Neither he nor Alesser nor Sheppard knew how long their relationship would last, but the status quo they had settled into was comfortable. Alesser’s on-again-off-again fling with fellow captain Noah Armstrong didn’t make Lancaster jealous so much as it made him worry the Ardanan would once again get himself hurt.

“I’ve kind of decided that I’m happy with my life the way it is right now, and pursuing him isn’t going to make me happier. I deserve to be chased, you know?” Alesser admitted. “I’ve finally realized that a man not expressing interest in me shouldn’t be an attractive feature.”

“Good,” Lancaster said simply.

Alesser’s declaration that he was happy gave Lancaster mixed emotions. He, too, was happy with his life. The Breen always had a way of interfering with that, though, and the last time they’d come calling, he’d had his world turned upside down. Serving with Sheppard was difficult at times because of the constant reality that he might have to one day make a call that put him in danger. The same was now true of Alesser, which gave him so much more to lose—but also that much more drive to protect.

“You’re making a face again.”

“This is just my face.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Lancaster sighed. “I hate the Breen. Truly. The Dominion, too. The only language they understand is violence, and yet again, they are the reason that we’ve been pulled off of an exploratory mission,” he admitted. “It’s embarrassing that we’re once again in a position to have to drive them back.”

“We’ll make sure they learn their lesson this time,” Alesser said. Mulling that thought over in his head as they approached their type-14 shuttle, Lancaster nearly didn’t notice the woman leaning against the fuselage with a duffle wedged between her feet. “Captain Vane, you’re early,” the first officer said, shaking Lancaster out of his reverie. 

“I was able to coax a few more points out of the warp engines on the Achilles, just to show dear old Akintoye how things are done. The trip from Avalon gave us plenty of time to catch up and for her to brief me on the state of your engines,” the Bolian woman replied, chuckling to herself. She extended a hand to Lancaster. “Captain Mira Vane, at your service.”

With Akintoye Okusanya now in command of her own ship, Commanders van Dorland and Slater had been running the engine rooms aboard Arcturus for the past several weeks. Lancaster was initially reluctant to accept a new transfer, he found it preferable to having to make a choice between the two very qualified commanders who were also his close friends. Mira Vane had an excellent reputation as an engineer and a long service record to back that reputation up. Lancaster wasn’t ready to end the conversation he was having with Alesser, though.

“Michael Lancaster,” Lancaster replied, accepting the handshake. Not too long ago, he would have bristled at her lack of formality, but he had too much on his mind to insist on it. “I assumed you would have beamed over directly.”

“I’d have preferred that, but I had to consult on their defense grid upgrades down here. Plus, there’s a certain glamor in arriving aboard a new ship for the first time by shuttle, don’t you think?” Vane asked. Lancaster could hear the chipperness and easy humor in her voice; she sounded like the sort of person who could be fun to be around, but only for about five minutes. “Anyway, shall we?” she asked, pointing her thumb back towards the shuttle.

Lancaster nodded, and the three of them boarded the shuttle through the aft ramp. He and Alesser took the two forward stations and began preparing their craft for take-off, while Vane settled into one of the passenger seats. The captain spun around in his chair to leave the flying to Alesser.

“So, you know Captain Okusanya?” he asked.

Vane chuckled. “I do. We’ve never served together directly, but the starship design community isn’t exactly huge in Starfleet, so we’ve corresponded many times over the decades. She’s a formidable sparring partner,” the Bolian said with a wide grin.

Alesser snorted at that last comment. “Understatement.”

“I was surprised she accepted the command. She mentioned that you two left her alone during the Century Storm, and it had put her off of the idea,” Vane continued. “Didn’t you end up with a free, non-optional beach vacation during that mission?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Lancaster said, clearing his throat. 

“Must not have been too bad if you decided to stick with him,” Vane said, chuckling again. “Then again, survival situations often cut to the core of a relationship and let you see who someone really is when pushed.”

Lancaster glanced at Alesser. “We came out of it alright,” he noted.

The shuttle took off and quickly left the surface of the planet, soaring upwards through the atmosphere until the wisps of clouds began to fade away. In orbit, several starships were clustered around the Presidium-class station that anchored the planet’s defense grid, but the Arcturus stood out as the largest among them. Lancaster could also see the new Achilles off in the distance near one of the satellites. Seeing their Odyssey-class ship up close always filled Lancaster with a sense of pride—not that he particularly wanted to admit that to their new colleague. As Alesser keyed in the final approach sequence, the computer chimed.

“Incoming Transmission from Fourth Fleet Command,” the computer reported. 

“Open it,” Lancaster replied. 

The face of Admiral Liam Dahlgren appeared on the small monitor between the pilot and co-pilot’s stations, somehow both ageless and distinguished. The chyron under him indicated that he was transmitting from aboard one of the fleet’s flagships, the Susan B. Anthony. Ever since Commodore Logan had been relieved, they had been taking their orders directly from fleet command without a flag officer aboard.

“Captain Lancaster, I’m told you’ve finished your briefing with Deneb sector captains. How was it?” Dahlgren asked.

“Frosty, Admiral,” Lancaster replied, bluntly. “My first officer and I both felt a strange sense of… resentment in the room.”

“I’ve been getting that from several other Fourth Fleet captains. We’re not sure what’s going on out there,” Dahlgren replied.

“Their opinion is irrelevant, Admiral. Arcturus will hold the line in the Deneb System, whether they like it or not,” Lancaster said.

“I appreciate the bravado, Captain, but I’m currently on course for Farpoint Station myself. The Anthony might not be an Odyssey-class ship, but she’ll shore up the garrison there. I need you for another mission,” Dahlgren replied. “Fourth Fleet Intelligence has identified a distress call from a Ferengi trader in our space that warrants immediate attention. The cargo they were carrying is concerning. I’m sending the details to Arcturus.”

“Understood, sir. I’m guessing this isn’t a customs inspection?”

“No. If the Breen or Dominion took what we think they’re carrying, this conflict could get even uglier,” Dahlgren said, which sent a chill down Lancaster’s spine. “You will take your orders directly from me and no one else. Understood?” 

“Understood, Admiral,” Lancaster replied, knowing that meant that local forces were being cut out completely—but it also meant that a whole swathe of the Fourth Fleet Command hierarchy was being excluded as well.

“Good. Coordinates have been sent. Report in as soon as you know anything. Dahlgren out.”

The screen went blank, and Lancaster immediately opened a channel to Arcturus.

“Arcturus, this is Lancaster on shuttle Picard. Set a course for the coordinates you were just sent by Fourth Fleet Command. As soon as we’re on the deck, engage at maximum warp,” Lancaster ordered. 

“Acknowledged, sir,” Odea replied.

“This ship is already exciting—I’m not even aboard, and I’m already about to experience a combat landing,” Vane enthused.

The shuttle was on course for the forward hanger bay. Alesser bypassed a few of the normal approach procedures to fly directly into the bay without tractor assistance. It was faster that way. Lancaster briefly felt the urge to grab the handrail on the console when the aft bulkhead of the hanger seemed to come far too close, but Alesser made an agile pirouette to park the shuttle dead center in the bay facing forward. Before the massive bay door even began to close, they all saw the ship jump straight to warp.

“We try not to be boring around here,” Alesser quipped. 

The swirling blue and silver glow of the subspace bow shock filled the conference room with light as Lieutenant Commander Ferellan Tornelis took his place next to the presentation display to summarize the intelligence Fourth Fleet Command had sent to Arcturus. He was an exceptionally talented intelligence analyst thanks to his long career with Starfleet and prior adventures as a free trader, though his smooth emerald-tone skin and youthful features concealed the fact that he was actually the oldest person in the room, thanks to the long-lived qualities of the sub-species of Orions to which he belonged. Farpoint Station was only minutes behind them, but Captain Lancaster had found over their short time together that Tornelis had a savant-like ability to digest and summarize intelligence extremely quickly. He was eager to learn what a Ferengi trader could possibly be in possession of that would cause Admiral Dahlgren to risk the security of the Deneb system and Farpoint Station by taking Arcturus off of her garrison post.

“This is the FMS Promise of Profit, or at least that’s the translation into Federation Standard; the Ferengi name has far too many consonants to be euphonic,” Tornelis said with a small chuckle, as he pointed to a diagram on the display. “She’s a Ferengi D’Kora-class marauder registered to a DaiMon Mahrek. She departed Handl Dryf and entered our space three days ago on a trade mission bound for Cait carrying luxury foodstuffs. Our forces were spread too thin to perform a customs inspection, but a cargo manifest and flight plan were filed.”

Tornelis paused as he advanced the presentation to bring up said cargo manifest and flight plan, as that information also appeared on the PADDs in front of each of the division heads and bridge officers sitting around the long briefing table. Lancaster scrolled through it, seeing nothing that stood out—other than how unusual it was for a trade mission of that nature to pass through a war zone. Still, it wasn’t out of character for a Ferengi to prioritize profit over safety.

“37 hours ago, the Promise sent out a distress call at this position 4.2 light-years within Federation space,” the Orion officer said, as the presentation displayed a star map with a gold asterisk quite far off from the projected flight path. “As you can see, she was not where she was supposed to be.”

“How unlike the Ferengi,” Captain Lancaster quipped.

“Quite,” Tornelis said. “The distress call was terminated approximately three minutes after it was sent. USS Banting was sent to investigate, but she couldn’t locate the Promise. We lost contact with Banting 12 hours ago, and their last transmission was recorded here,” he added, showing another asterisk in red further within Federation space.

Hearing that one of their own ships had dropped out of contact made Lancaster’s stomach sink. He didn’t know her captain, but he did know that the Banting was a Grissom-class science vessel with a crew of eighty. Dahlgren hadn’t mentioned her, which made Lancaster realize that whatever cargo the Promise was really carrying must have been extremely dangerous if a missing Federation ship wasn’t even worth a footnote.

“Before we lost contact, the Banting reported detecting an unusual energy signature. On analysis, it was found to be a near-match to this device,” Tornelis said. What appeared on the screen was a diagram of a spherical device that Lancaster was unfamiliar with, along with an energy pattern that resembled brain waves to him. “It’s called a thought maker. Highly illegal pretty much everywhere, it’s a technology of Ferengi origin that can be used to control the thoughts of others—even races like the Ferengi who aren’t otherwise susceptible to telepathy. They operate in pairs: a transmitting sphere and a receiving sphere.”

“It has to be bad if the Ferengi don’t even allow it,” Captain Alesser remarked. “I’ve heard of these. They’re relatively short-range, aren’t they? Banting must have been close.”

“That’s where it gets complicated, sir,” the intelligence officer said. “These devices are very short-range. The receiving sphere needs to be in the same room as its target in most cases. Fourth Fleet Intelligence liaised with contacts within the Ferengi Commerce Authority, and there is now credible evidence that the Promise was carrying hundreds of thought makers. In those quantities, they would be enough to brainwash an entire colony.”

“Or Farpoint…,” Lancaster interjected as he put the pieces together. “All of our codes and ship movements would be vulnerable.”

“Precisely, Captain,” Tornelis agreed. “And in those large numbers, it’s possible that their range could be extended.”

“Why did the Ferengi cooperate? What’s in it for them?” Alesser asked.

“The Breen or Dominion winning the Deneb sector is bad for business,” Tornelis said with a shrug. “Plus, we promised to retrieve and return the Promise, if she’s intact. They provided us with the ‘asset recovery’ codes for the vessel. Apparently, DaiMons lease their vessels from the FCA, and the FCA has kill switches built into all of them to shut them down for recovery, like our prefix codes.”

As was his nervous habit, Lancaster drummed his fingers on the table as he processed all of that information. Surely, the Ferengi DaiMon had a buyer if he was willing to transport such a highly illegal cargo, but the dots on the map were leading away from Breen space, not towards it. 

“Do we have any idea who the buyer was?” Lancaster asked.

“We’ve plotted a few different possible courses and are checking sources, but we believe the Promise was not headed to Cait but to Kzin. The Kzinti really love slavery even more than the Breen or my own people, and these devices are ideal for brainwashing slaves,” Tornelis said, looking momentarily uncomfortable. 

Lancaster was aware that Tornelis himself had once been a slave, but the details in his dossier were spotty. The Kzinti were rarely a direct threat to Starfleet vessels, but they had been a plague on the Deneb sector for decades. Anything that increased their threat level during another crisis was a problem. Still, it seemed unlikely they would attack a trade partner more than 30 light-years within Federation space. 

“What are our mission objectives?” Lancaster asked.

“The first priority is locating the Promise and securing its cargo. Finding the Banting is a secondary priority, but one I believe will help us in achieving the first,” Tornelis summarized. “The coordinates the admiral gave will take us to her last reported position within the hour.”

Lancaster nodded, and glanced around the room to see if any of his officers had questions. Universally, they looked either solemn or angry, and the captain was right there with them in that frame of mind. It was pretty safe to assume that there was a hostile force responsible for attacking both the Banting and the Promise. They were behind the established front line, but things were so volatile and porous in the Deneb Sector that he wouldn’t be surprised to drop out of warp on top of a Dominion battlecruiser. 

“Right. I want all departments tactically ready within the hour. We’re going to find these two ships, handle whatever instigated this situation in the first place, and be back at Farpoint for dinner. Understood?” Lancaster said, standing up from his seat. “Mr. Tornelis, I want you on the bridge for the duration of the mission. Good work. Dismissed.”

Over the course of the next 45 minutes, Captain Lancaster read every snippet Fourth Fleet Intelligence had passed along, occasionally asking questions of Tornelis from his seat to the left of the captain’s chair. While he felt that he had a handle on the broad strokes of the intelligence, the details gave him pause. The Ferengi weren’t known to have trade relations with the Kzinti, and the Kzinti didn’t have much that the Ferengi would be interested in trading for anyway. There had to be something else at work.

“Captain, we’re approaching the coordinates,” Lieutenant Commander Marshall reported from the helm. 

“Take us to impulse power,” Lancaster ordered.

As soon as Arcturus dropped out of warp, Lancaster could see a debris field on the main viewer: the remains of the Banting.

“Captain, I’m detecting wreckage matching the mass and composition of the Banting. There are no life signs or escape pods,” Commander Bowens said at ops, prompting Lancaster to close his eyes for a moment of quiet remembrance. Eighty of their Starfleet colleagues had been lost in action. “There are residual polaron and disruptor energy signatures that match both Breen and Dominion weapons.”

“Red alert,” Lancaster ordered. “Run a full sensor sweep of the area.”

The alarm klaxons sounded as the lighting on the bridge dimmed and changed hue to crimson. Lancaster’s heart was pounding as he waited for his officers to complete the sensor scan. He glanced over at Alesser, who gave him a reassuring half-smile that was a “we’ve got this” and not “I am amused by this” gesture. Lancaster took comfort in that and braced himself with his hands on the armrests. 

“Sir, I am detecting a Ferengi Marauder approximately 100,000 kilometers from our position. No energy signatures,” Bowens reported.

“Helm, plot an intercept course, one-quarter impulse,” Lancaster ordered. 

Arcturus pulled hard to starboard and set off towards the inert Marauder. It took a few moments for the vessel to appear on the viewscreen, but once it did, Lancaster could immediately see a massive hole in the Ferengi vessel where the cargo holds would be. The ship was dark, showing no signs of life. 

“It’s the Promise,” Bowens confirmed. “No life signs.”

“Is she still pressurized?” Alesser asked.

“Portions of the ship are retaining some atmosphere, but their life support systems are fully offline,” Bowens reported.

“Your team will need pressure suits, then. Get over there, download their records, and figure out exactly what they were carrying,” Lancaster ordered, even though looking into Alesser’s eyes made him want to send someone else. “And then get back here alive. That’s an order.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t worry,” Alesser replied, his tone soft, warm, and perhaps a little too familiar for the bridge. “Bowens, Tornelis, and Evandrion, you’re with me,” he said, as he stood up and headed towards the aft exit and the deck one transporter room, the three men in yellow shirts following close behind.

Lancaster watched the four officers leave and again had to shake away his anxiety and fear of loss. Many lives had already been lost in whatever transaction the Promise of Profit had been attempting to undertake, and he hoped that no one from his crew—from his family—would have to join them. He turned to Commander Armstrong at the science station.

“Armstrong, I want every short-range sensor array we have focused on the Promise. Learn everything there is to know about that ship. I don’t want any surprises while the away team is over there,” the captain ordered.

“You’ve got it, Captain,” Armstrong confirmed. “For what it’s worth, I’m not detecting any evidence of the energy pattern the Banting reported. At the very least, there don’t appear to be any active thought-makers present.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Lancaster muttered.

For a moment after Captain Alesser beamed aboard the Promise of Profit with his away team, everything was pitch black. The marauder’s gravity was offline, so in that instant of darkness, it felt like floating alone and untethered in the maw of the void. The internal lights within his helmet weren’t strong enough to give any hints of any details about the room he was in. He reached down and touched the control strapped to his right thigh to turn on both his gravity boots and his suit’s external lights. Commander Bowens and Lieutenant Commanders Evandrion and Tornelis turned their lights on in quick succession, and the four pairs of their spotlights were bright enough for Alesser to confirm that they had arrived on the bridge of the Profit.

“Alesser to Arcturus. Beam-in complete,” he reported.

“Acknowledged. Stay safe over there,” Lancaster replied, his voice quiet, masculine, and right in Alesser’s ear, thanks to the EV suit helmet. Alesser was briefly embarrassed at the attraction he felt at that moment from both the tone and the content of that message. “You’re on the clock. No heroics. I want you back on Arcturus at the first sign of trouble.”

“Understood, Arcturus. We’ll be in and out faster than you can say ‘capitalism run amok,’” the first officer said. “I’m glad we brought a power pack with us. This ship is completely dead.”

“In and out. Arcturus out,” Lancaster replied.

Alesser turned his head, catching sight of the shadows of hemispherical consoles and the DaiMon’s throne on the marauder’s bridge. It looked fully intact, and he noticed that there was no sign of any biological remains, carbon scoring, or anything else that would suggest that the ship had been in a fight. 

“Bowens, see if we can restore power to this compartment,” Alesser said as he pulled out his tricorder and began scanning. “I am not picking up any Ferengi on this ship, alive or dead.”

“The Breen do favor taking captives, and the Jem’Hadar often vaporize their enemies, so it’s not unusual for there not to be bodies,” Tornelis reminded him. Alesser could see the glint of the man’s green skin lit up by his helmet as he used his own tricorder to scan their surroundings. He was grateful for the EV gear, as he found being close to the Orion—or any Orion man, really—to be mildly intoxicating, thanks to his extremely sensitive Ardanan sense of smell, and being separated by two suits kept that distraction at bay. “What’s more unusual, though, is that I’m not detecting any latinum aboard. You’d expect a vessel of this class to have at least twenty kilograms of the stuff on hand for incidental trading, apart from the crew’s personal funds.”

The thought of a Ferengi vessel without any Ferengi or any latinum aboard made Alesser deeply suspicious that whatever they had stumbled on was far more interesting than a simple attack on a trading vessel. Before he could think that through, the lights in the compartment turned on, and the consoles lit up, thanks to Bowens connecting an emergency power cell to a port in the wall. Alesser turned to one of the control stations, and his helmet automatically overlaid real-time augmented reality translations of the interface on the interior of his face plate.

“The logs have been scrubbed, but the asset recovery code we have should allow us to force the computer to reconstruct them,” Tornelis reported from one of the other stations. 

“It looks like the main reactor is intact. Should I try to start it?” Bowens asked.

“No, I don’t like this,” Alesser replied. “Logs first.”

“Captain Alesser, all of the escape pods are present, but the support vessel has been detached,” Evandrion said. The Deltan pointed to a schematic of the vessel that showed the docking cradle in the neck of the ship, which should have a large yacht-like barge but was vacant. “The access logs to that system weren’t cleared. The shuttle left approximately 12 hours ago.”

“No latinum, no bodies, and they had time to fuel and launch the barge?” Alesser wondered aloud. He opened a comm channel. “Alesser to Arcturus. I have a hunch. Scan the hole in this ship. What weapon made it?”

“Scanning,” Lancaster responded quickly. He scoffed. “A Ferengi mining laser. Based on the angle, from the inside, too. Seems as though someone is trying to trick us. What have you found over there?”

“There’s no crew, no loot, and no support vessel. It seems pretty clear that the Ferengi left their marauder here as a ruse. We’re still working on recovering the logs, though,” Alesser replied, glancing over at Tornelis, who appeared to be making progress because of the data that was scrolling along on his screen. “The engines on this ship are still intact. Should we get it ready to send back to the FCA?”

“No. Not until we figure out who’s involved in this false flag attack,” Lancaster replied. 

“Apologies for butting in, but you’ll want to hear this, Captains: the Profit was tracking the Banting,” Tornelis said. “They were following a locator beacon. According to these records, they were the ones who attacked our ship.”

“They must have spoofed the energy signatures,” Alesser replied. “Why the Banting, though? What was her mission?”

There was a pause on the other end of the communications channel. 

“Her mission is listed in the register as ‘astrozoan cataloging,’ but we’ll have to pull information from Starfleet Science to get a clearer answer than that. We found recorder buoy in the wreckage, but it’s damaged, and we haven’t been able to download it yet,” Lancaster replied. The Banting was looking for spaceborne lifeforms. Why would that be a priority in a war zone? “This Ferengi vessel hunted down one of our ships and has tried to pin the blame on another convenient enemy. We’re not picking up a warp signature. Can you track their shuttle from there?”

Tornelis tapped in a few commands at his station. “With the code provided by the FCA, I can tap into the shuttle’s transponder remotely. We will be able to track it using the communications array aboard Arcturus,” the intelligence officer confirmed. “I was also able to recover the ship’s true cargo manifest. This ship was indeed carrying thought makers, but they are no longer aboard. They were fabricating… something,” he added, pulling up a schematic of some sort of polygonal lattice.

“A cage?” Bowens wondered.

“Unknown,” Tornelis replied.

From what Alesser could see, it was a structure that was at least five meters across with dozens of circular ports. To him, it looked like a frame for holding thought makers, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions based on that simply being the easiest explanation. Nothing about the ship they were on made sense.

“Download everything,” Alesser ordered.

“Already done, sir,” the Orion said, his grin looking especially pearly white in the glow of his suit lamps.

“If we leave the emergency power pack here, we can restart the engines remotely, sir,” Bowens added.

“Good. Arcturus, we’re ready to come home,” Alesser reported. “Four to beam up.”

Moments after calling for beam-out, Alesser and his team materialized in the transporter room aboard Arcturus. With the help of a yeoman and the transporter chief, they removed and stowed their EV suits before heading down the corridor toward the main bridge. Lancaster spun around in his chair as the door opened, and Alesser could see a look of quiet relief in his blue eyes—a look that made Alesser smile. Alesser took his seat next to him and resisted the urge to say anything irreverent that would force Lancaster to pivot into grumpiness. 

“Welcome back,” Lancaster said.

“Happy to be home,” Alesser confirmed, sharing a look with him for a moment before turning toward the communication station where Tornelis was hovering over Rivera’s work. “What do we have on the shuttle, gentlemen?”

“Mr. Tornelis was able to activate their transponder without alerting them. Based on this information, the shuttle is 1.2 light-years from our current position,” Lieutenant Commander Rivera reported.

“Good. Send the coordinates to the helm. Mr. Marshall, plot an intercept course. Maximum warp,” Lancaster ordered. “I suppose we better give the Ferengi government their ship back first, though. Commander Bowens, send the start-up signal.”

“Aye, captain,” the operations officer replied. “Transmission in progress.”

Alesser was still looking at Tornelis and Rivera’s work, but he turned his head back to the viewscreen just in time to see a flash as the Promise of Profit seemed to evaporate in space. It wasn’t a warp core breach, but it was enough to rock Arcturus and trigger red alert. The first officer pulled his console across his lap to begin checking for damage or casualties, but none came up. His heart was pounding in his rib cage as he thought about what would have happened had he allowed Bowens to restart the reactor while they had still been aboard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lancaster having the same thoughts.

“Report!” Lancaster shouted.

“Based on this sensor data, the self-destruct system was triggered. The reactor wasn’t energized, which is why we weren’t just vaporized,” Bowens noted. “Apologies, Captain. I should have anticipated this.”

“This isn’t standard Ferengi operating protocol–they would always rather salvage a ship rather than scuttle it,” Lancaster replied, that being the closest he would come to telling someone not to worry about a mistake. “All the more reason to track them down. Stand down red alert. Helm, execute,” he ordered.

Moments later, Arcturus engaged her engines and jumped to high warp. Lancaster stood from his seat, tugging at the hem of his uniform jacket to straighten it. It was clear that he was a little shaken by what had just happened—clear to Alesser, anyway, as an expert in reading the other man’s body language. The tension on the bridge was palpable. 

“Mr. Bowens, I want you down in the engineering workshop putting the pieces of the Banting‘s recorder buoy back together. Tornelis, I want to know everything there is to know about that ship, her daimon, and thought makers before we intercept the shuttle,” Lancaster ordered. He turned to Alesser. “Marshall, you have the bridge. Alesser, with me.”

Alesser followed Lancaster off of the bridge and into the ready room. After the doors closed, Lancaster paced a few times in front of his desk, then turned around and put his hands on Alesser’s hips to pull him in for a deep kiss on the lips. Because of how unaccustomed he was to Lancaster being that spontaneous, Alesser tensed for a moment before leaning into the kiss. He kissed him back, pushing him toward the desk. His mouth tasted like anxiety and need.

Ardanans had an unusually large number of chemical receptors in their olfactory systems, so while the range and power of their sense of taste and smell weren’t hyper-sensitive like those of Vulcans, they could detect extremely minute distinctions between scents and tastes. It made them great sommeliers, being able to pick out clearly and taste the differences between vintages with very little training. Alesser could even taste a difference in the same dish from different ships’ replicators. This biological superpower also meant that when he was intimate with someone over a period of time, he could pick up on scent (and taste) cues about the other person’s mood. Alesser now knew when Lancaster and Sheppard were each happy, sad, or aroused—among other things—and Lancaster tasted anxious.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. The ship’s fine,” Alesser offered.

“I hate this,” Lancaster muttered. With their height difference, it was easy for him to kiss Alesser on the forehead. “I should be just as upset about the potential for the other three to have…,” he said, trailing off. “Sheppard doesn’t often go on away missions, but I hate it when he’s off the ship. I hate it when you’re off the ship, too.”

Alesser smiled at him. “He feels the same way when you get into dangerous situations. That comes with the territory when you’re married to one dashing, adventurous Starfleet officer and dating another one, though,” he said. “You’d be so bored if you traded us for a couple of cabana boys on Risa. The feelings we have when there’s a risk we’ll lose something is how we know it’s worth holding onto.”

“I didn’t realize I was dating a fortune cookie,” Lancaster quipped, laughing through a tear. “You’re worth holding onto. You both are,” he added in a whisper.

“This is far too sappy, isn’t it?” Alesser asked though he found it genuinely touching that Lancaster would turn his phrase back around like that. He stepped back from his lover so that he could straighten the other man’s commbadge, though Lancaster’s hands were still on his waist. “Too bad there’s no time for me to get that cloying, sickly sweet taste out of my mouth. So to speak,” he teased.

Lancaster rolled his eyes, blushing at the suggestion, though Alesser could tell he was still amused by it. 

“I’ll see if I can help Bowens in the engineering bay. Try not to miss me too much,” the Ardanan man said, leaning up to kiss Lancaster again before leaving him there to think through the obviously complex set of emotions he was feeling.

The captain followed the first officer back to the bridge, and Alesser had a bit of a spring in his step with the knowledge that his well-being had such an impact on someone else. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, and he liked it a lot. He knew what being desired and even being objectified felt like, and he’d felt those feelings himself towards others, but being needed and cared for felt a whole lot better. As he passed through the doors to the turbolift and the captain sat down in the command seat, he caught Lancaster’s eyes again and couldn’t help but smirk on his way down to engineering.

“This man loves me,” he thought to himself for the first time. 

At first, that just generated smug satisfaction, but by the time the lift doors closed and he selected his destination, the magnitude of that thought struck him with an equal blend of excitement and sheer terror. 

Captain’s Log, Supplemental. 

After a review of the logs recovered from the Promise of Profit, it is clear that DaiMon Mahret sent a false distress call to lure in the USS Banting for an ambush. We have also learned that the Banting was boarded before it was destroyed. While the Ferengi Commerce Authority key code was enough to restore most of the logs deleted by DaiMon Mahret aboard the Promise of Profit, there are still significant gaps in our understanding about what exactly Mahret stood to gain by doing this. Our primary goal is to recover his thought makers without them falling into enemy hands, but I fear that there is another shoe that has yet to drop here.

Arcturus had been racing along for nearly three hours at maximum warp while Captains Alesser and Vane worked feverishly to put together the pieces of the Banting’s log buoy. The Starfleet Bureau of Astrozoology had yet to respond to their request for information on the specific mission assigned to the ill-fated science vessel, so Captain Lancaster had spent the entirety of their journey reviewing all astrozoan sightings in the Deneb Sector going back six months. The most obvious conclusion to him was that the Ferengi had sacrificed their own ship to pursue a poaching objective in the chaos of the Dominion incursion. How the thought makers fit into the equation was substantially less clear to him.

Given that they were at least another hour away from intercepting Mahret’s shuttle, Lancaster had spread out his research on the dining table in the quarters he shared with Sheppard. Despite or perhaps because of the oddness of the day so far, Sheppard had decided to proceed with his plan to cook something (mostly) from scratch in their small kitchen. As the aroma of a mushroom risotto began to waft across the suite, Lancaster realized that he’d probably gone at least twelve hours since the piece of toast Sheppard had pushed into his hands on his way out of the door that morning.

Lancaster was reading a report about gelki sightings when he heard the doors to their quarters open. He glanced up to see Alesser enter with a bright smile on his face—hopefully, that meant good news about the recorder buoy. Before relaying any information, though, Alesser took a detour into the kitchen and pecked Sheppard on the cheek; the twenty or so centimeters separating their height meant that Alesser was practically on his tiptoes to reach. 

“This all looks great, Luca. I’m starving,” Alesser said with his usual flair for the dramatic.

“The proof will be in the tasting,” Sheppard said, chuckling as he kissed Alesser back and then began to transfer their dinner from a sauté pan to a serving dish; he always insisted on the details being right. “Michael said he really put you to work today.”

Seeing his husband and his boyfriend together had taken some getting used to, but Lancaster liked the way their version of domesticity was shaping up together as a triad. Still, Alesser had his stomach in knots as he thought about how closely he and the other members of the away team had been to death aboard the Promise of Profit. He hadn’t yet shared that particular detail with Sheppard. The captain abandoned his PADDs and walked over to where the two men were standing, leaning back against the kitchen island with his arms crossed. 

“He did keep me pretty busy, but where would we be without him to boss us around?” Alesser agreed. He pushed his way into Lancaster’s arms, his face buried in the skin of the taller man’s neck. “He’s not smothering me, so how much did you tell him?”

Throwing them both a frown, Sheppard put their meal down on the island before facing them both with a stern look and crossed arms. 

“I may not have mentioned that Ari’s team was aboard the Ferengi marauder a few minutes before we remotely triggered a booby trap,” Lancaster admitted. He cleared his throat. “And then it exploded.”

Alesser tried to laugh it off. “It was really no big deal—we followed protocol, and no one got hurt. Sheppard clearly wasn’t buying it because he immediately dove in to pull them both into a tight hug. Lancaster knew that his husband hated always being the last to know anything on the ship among the three of them, given that they were the two most senior officers on the ship while he was a medical officer. “Thanks, big guy.”

“It’s especially good we kept our dinner date, then,” Sheppard noted, sighing as he released the other two men. “I don’t like it when you keep things from me,” he said, looking directly at Lancaster. “But if I knew the details of all of your away missions, I’d probably never let either of you leave the ship,” he added with a smile.

“Probably not,” Alesser agreed, chuckling. “Can we eat now?”

With plates of freshly-made risotto in front of them, the trio settled in at the dining room table once Lancaster’s PADDs had been moved out of the way. Lancaster sat at the head of the table flanked by the two men he cared so much about, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that they were still in a high-speed pursuit of interstellar felons. That moment didn’t last long, though, when Lancaster thought back to the task Alesser had been working about.

“The recorder buoy?” he asked.

“We were able to recover enough of its memory core to allow the computer to begin assembling the data through fractal reassembly. It’ll be at least twelve hours before we’ll have anything legible,” Alesser explained. 

“Good work,” Lancaster noted, though they wouldn’t have the records that would shed light on the situation until long after they would intercept the Ferengi. Sheppard eyed him. “No work talk at the table,” he said sheepishly.

The three of them ate together quietly, though Lancaster kept glancing over at the stack of PADDs at the end of the table. He was desperate to understand what was driving these Ferengi to act so recklessly, and it brought them no tactical advantage to figure out their motivations after intercepting them. 

“How was your day, Luca?” Alesser asked.

“Less exciting than either of yours,” Sheppard replied. “But Austin and Matthew caught me up on some of the gossip at the gym,” he said, referring to counselor Austin Carver and communications officer Matthew Belvedere.

“Is everyone still sleeping with everyone else?” Lancaster quipped.

Their two friends had a very loose relationship with the truth when it came to gossip. In their eyes, anyone they observed even looking at someone else was clearly sleeping with them. It was mostly amusing, but Lancaster did find the relentless conspiracy theory to get a little dull sometimes.

“Pretty much,” Sheppard said. “But Commander Bowens and my newly-promoted charge nurse Gardner were working out together. I didn’t really think anything of it, but Matthew said Gardner was practically sitting in Bowens’s lap last night at the Plowman’s Tap.”

“Scandalous. I love it,” Alesser enthused. “Good for Gardner—he’s definitely in the top 30, but Bowens is easily the fifth most attractive man on the ship,” he said as matter-of-factly as if he were reading off of a tricorder.

Lancaster rolled his eyes. “How can you say that so… absolutely?”

“You don’t have a ranking?” Alesser asked, making a face as if Lancaster had just admitted to being a Horta. He waved his hand dismissively. “Obviously, I’m number one, then you two are tied for second, then it’s Carver in fourth, and Bowens in a strong fifth place. Have you seen the traps on that man?” he said, snapping his jaws for emphasis at the end of his litany.

Sheppard laughed. “Well, no one can say you don’t have taste—or a type,” he said.

The captain himself could not disagree with his first officer’s rankings, though he was tempted to press him on where exactly he would rank his two partners. Before he could ask him about that or demand the rest of his list (which he was sure was inclusive all the way down the 2,500 crew members aboard Arcturus), Lancaster’s commbadge chirped.

“Marshall to Lancaster,” came the helmsman’s voice through his badge.

“Go ahead,” Lancaster replied, glaring when Alesser theatrically licked his lips and mouthed the name ‘Marshall’ as if he needed to reconsider his rankings.

“The Ferengi vessel has dropped out of warp. Our new intercept time is three minutes,” the lieutenant commander reported. 

“Very well, Mr. Marshall. Take the ship to yellow alert. I’ll be there shortly,” Lancaster said before tapping his badge to end the call. He stood up even though he had a half-full plate of dinner left. He leaned over to kiss Sheppard on the top of his head.  The yellow alert klaxon sounded, and the lighting dimmed. “This was amazing, but—”

“Duty calls, I know. Maybe tell me how it goes this time?” Sheppard replied, looking at Alesser and Lancaster both pointedly. 

“Oh, you’re coming with us,” Lancaster replied. “Captain’s orders. No moping about not being in the loop this time.”

“I don’t mope,” Sheppard demurred, though he seemed pleased to leave their quarters toward the bridge with them. 

As they walked towards the turbolift, Lancaster began to grow more and more irritated that they had not yet uncovered the reason for their pursuit. There would not be a hint at all about the motivations of the Ferengi without understanding why they would attack a Federation science vessel.

“I wish we knew more. I didn’t find anything notable in spacefaring creature sightings in this sector.”

Sheppard chuckled, making the other two raise their eyebrows.

“What’s the joke?” Alesser asked as they entered the turbolift.

Sheppard looked between them with a look of utter confusion. “You just said that there was nothing not able in terms of spacefaring creatures in this sector. The Deneb sector,” he said, earning blank looks. “Home to Farpoint Station?”

Lancaster opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Now that was an angle he hadn’t thought of.

“Computer, have there been any sightings of Farpoint Cnidarians anywhere in Federation space in the last six months?” he asked.

“Affirmative,” the computer replied.

“Where?”

“Access to positional information on Class-1 Protected Species is restricted.” 

“Why didn’t you say that earlier, Luca?” Lancaster asked, incredulous that the answer to what the Banting and now the Ferengi were after was so obvious.

“You didn’t ask,” Sheppard replied with a small smirk. 

“God, he’s so hot,” Alesser muttered, making Sheppard roll his eyes slightly.

“He really is,” Lancaster agreed. “This explains why Starfleet Science has been dragging their heels on sending me the mission orders for the Banting. These beings can make pretty much anything out of energy and transform themselves into massive warships.”

“Want to bet they can even replicate latinum?” Alesser suggested.

Moments later, the doors to the bridge opened, and the three men stepped onto the deck. Lancaster made a beeline for his seat, which Lieutenant Commander Marshall eagerly vacated. The captain’s finger hovered over the red alert control for a moment, but he hesitated. He didn’t want to create a self-fulfilling prophecy, after all. 

“Armstrong, scan for Farpoint Cnidarians,” Lancaster said, turning towards his science officer.

“I… Why, sir?” Armstrong asked.

“Never ask me that question, commander,” the captain snapped.

Armstrong cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I am picking up a massive energy surge dead ahead. It could be created by a creature of that size,” the science officer replied. 

“Dropping out of warp in 30 seconds, sir,” Marshall reminded the captain.

Lancaster pressed the red alert control, and the lighting shifted immediately. They were either flying into a trap or catching the Ferengi in the act of poaching a dangerous, ancient, and powerful species. The captain took a deep breath.

“The best working theory we have is that the Ferengi are attempting to poach Farpoint Cnidarians, which are extremely powerful beings,” Lancaster said to the bridge crew.

About ten seconds later, Arcturus dropped out of warp. The viewscreen was filled by what looked like a shimmering pink flying saucer, which resolved into an imposing silver vessel after a few moments of observation. It looked exactly like the original Farpoint Cnidarian encountered by the Enterprise-D in the 2360s—other than the coloration of its apparent engines and weapons, which were blood red. 

“Analysis,” Lancaster ordered.

“It’s definitely a cnidarian,” Armstrong replied. “But I am detecting metallic signatures on its hull. And energy frequencies that match the thought makers,” he said, switching the viewer to show what looked to be piercings embedded in the hull of the vessel with clusters of thought makers shoved directly into the creature’s anatomy.

“The Ferengi shuttle is broadcasting an incredible amount of data towards the entity,” Alesser offered.

Lancaster swallowed. “That’s what their plan was—the thought makers weren’t to brainwash a Federation colony, they were to take control of one of these creatures,” he said, the revelation hitting him suddenly. 

The view on the screen switched to show the Ferengi vessel, an odd, winged craft with typical Ferengi hull coloration. The front of the vessel was pulsing red, clearly in time with the pulsing of the devices on the surface of the Cnidarian. 

“Hail them.”

“Channel open,” Lieutenant Commander Rivera replied.

“This is Captain Michael Lancaster of the Federation starship Arcturus. Ferengi vessel, Stand to and prepare to be boarded,” he ordered.

The reply from the Ferengi came in the form of an energy blast from the Cnidarian creature, which caused Arcturus’s shields to spark and the ship to rumble beneath the crew’s feet. Looming eight times the volume of even a heavy explorer like Arcturus, Lancaster knew that he, his partners, his crew, and his ship were in the most danger they had ever been in.

The Farpoint Cnidarian filled the viewscreen, the skylights, and the forward viewport on the main bridge, glinting of a hostility that Captain Lancaster had never expected to emanate from what every prior sighting had indicated was a peaceful and creative species. Arcturus and her sisters had the largest internal volume of any Federation starship ever built. Yet, this creature seemed to her as a leviathan of old staring down a wooden skiff. The shields were still crackling from the initial attack when the creature lashed out with another blast that again made the deck rock under Lancaster’s feet.

“Mr. Marshall, execute Evasive Pattern Lambda-Three. ,” the captain ordered. He knew that despite present impressions, a cnidarian would never attack them without being influenced to do so. Stopping the Ferengi from influencing the creature was the only way they could de-escalate the situation. “Tactical, target the Ferengi shuttle. We need to disable them.”

Arcturus banked left, and the stars began to appear on the screen instead of the creature-vessel, but that lasted for mere seconds before it was able to move back in front of them and match their maneuvers. It was the type of movement that one would expect from a much smaller vessel, seeming to defy the laws of physics.

“I’m unable to acquire a firing solution, sir. The cnidarian is maintaining position between us and the Ferengi,” Lieutenant Commander Ishida reported from the tactical station. “Perhaps if we use our phasers on the creature itself on a low setting, we may be able to deter it?”

“Absolutely not,” Commander Armstrong interjected with unexpected passion from the science station on the opposite side of the bridge. “Besides being a protected species, Farpoint Cnidarians consume energy. Our phasers would likely just make it stronger,” he said.

Lancaster thought about his options as the ship rocked again. Even if their weapons were effective, it seemed unlikely that they would be a one-to-one match for the creature—certainly not the way things were going, anyway. As large and impressive as they were, Odyssey-class ships were better equipped to fend off multiple smaller threats, not to stare down much larger ones.

“Captain, the Ferengi are hailing,” Lieutenant Commander Rivera at the communications station reported.

“On screen,” Lancaster ordered through gritted teeth.

The viewscreen switched to an interior view of the Ferengi vessel. It looked very crowded, with crates stacked up behind a particularly unpleasant seeming DaiMon. The Ferengi had clearly taken everything of value with them from the marauder when they left, leaving with little space for creature comforts.

“This is Captain Michael Lancaster of the Federation starship Arcturus. You have violated our space and are in violation of a half-dozen interstellar treaties and Federation laws. Stand down,” Lancaster ordered.

The DaiMon laughed. “Captain, I’m almost impressed that you are keeping up this bravado in the face of a far superior enemy—namely me. This creature belongs to me now, and I have no intention of giving it up. Not to you, anyway,” the Ferengi commander said. He grinned to show off his sharpened teeth. “In fact, your ship will make an excellent demonstration of my new capabilities. Do try to put up a good fight. Helps the resale value,” he said before the channel cut off.

A series of three blasts of energy lashed out from the creature, and Arcturus once again rocked. Lancaster watched the shield display between the helm and operations stations slowly tick down. They still had close to ninety percent shield strength, but a quick check of the math made it clear that they could only hold up to that creature for ten minutes at most. 

“Captain, the Ferengi vessel has stopped transmitting. The creature is also broadcasting a high-power communications dampening field,” the communications officer said.

“If we withdraw, we can call for help,” Alesser suggested. “I don’t think we’ll be able to solve this on our own.”

“We can’t withdraw and risk losing their trail,” Lancaster replied. “Continue evasive maneuvers.”

“We at least know one thing now that we didn’t a minute ago: they have a buyer for this creature,” Alesser noted. “They were originally on a course to Kzinti space.”

“Kzinti, Breen, Dominion… They have several market options in this sector,” the captain replied. He gripped the armrests of his chair when the ship shook again. “All the more reason that we have to end this here and now.”

Doctor Sheppard cleared his throat from the visitor’s chair. “We can’t target the Ferengi, so we can’t knock out the transmitter, but what about targeting the receivers they’ve shot into the creature?” he asked. “If we take the thorn out of the lion’s paw, maybe it will help us?”

“You’re full of good ideas today,” Lancaster replied, turning to grin at his husband. “Our main phasers do have precision targeting, but if we miss…,” he said, trailing off as he had a thought. The creature could easily twist itself out of their firing arcs, but maybe they could use that to its advantage. The Ferengi weren’t exactly strategic masterminds, after all. He tapped the blue alert control on his chair. “Prepare to separate the ship and launch all fighters and runabouts. We can’t beat them trying to out-lion them, so we need to maximize the number of targets on the field.”

The red alert lights were underlaid with blue all around the bridge as the computer alerted the crew to prepare for the separation maneuver. Lancaster stood up, as Alesser made an announcement to summon everyone to their multi-vector flight stations.

“Small craft will target the receiver devices, while Arcturus will maintain phaser fire at 1% power as a distraction. I’ll be on the battle bridge. Captain Alesser, you have command of the saucer,” the captain said.

“Captain, I think I would be more effective on the escort. While you hold their attention, I can slip around and knock out the Ferengi,” Alesser suggested. It wasn’t protocol, as command of the escort fell to the senior officer of the watch, Commander Odea, in this case. It was also dangerous—the escort’s shields wouldn’t hold up to much fire from the creature if the Ferengi decided it was the bigger threat. “Please,” he said when he saw Lancaster’s hesitation.

Lancaster swallowed; he knew he couldn’t put his personal feelings ahead of the good of their mission, but he hated the idea of willingly putting Alesser into harm’s way for the second time in less than a day. He imagined all of the eyes of the bridge officers on him as he contemplated the options. Though their communications array could cut through nearly any dampening field at local ranges, they couldn’t rely on the automated control if there was any risk of that connection being severed.

“Very well. Commander Odea will take command of the saucer,” Lancaster relented.

“I’ll bring the Hokule’a back without a scratch. Marshall, you’re with me,” Alesser replied, patting Lancaster on the arm before leaving towards the deck one transporter room with the helmsman in tow. 

Odea moved towards the center seat from her place at the reserve tactical station, while Lancaster left with most of the remainder of the bridge crew into the emergency turbolift that connected the main and battle bridges directly. The journey took less than twenty seconds, and Lancaster felt the ship take at least two more hits during that time. Their shield power would be further reduced by separating, but he was confident that this tactic stood the best chance of excising the Ferengi threat.

“Stations,” Lancaster ordered once the doors opened and he entered the battle bridge.

Much smaller and less grand than the main bridge, it resembled the standard bridge module being deployed aboard most cruiser and explorer-type ships of the era, though with the captain’s chair elevated on a dais to make it even more throne-like, while the first officer’s chair and visitor’s chair were replaced by free-standing consoles on the command platform for the first officer and tactical officer. Lieutenant Commander Ishida took his place at tactical, while Commander Armstrong stood next to him as acting first officer. Meanwhile, Sheppard took the science station, having tagged along in silent support of his husband; Lancaster had much less to worry about by not having to imagine the fates of both of his partners, after all.

“Computer, initiate multi-vector flight protocols, authorization Lancaster Foxtrot-Two-Seven-Alpha-Two,” Lancaster ordered. “Set all sections for independent flight and tactical control.”

“Acknowledged. Initiating decoupling sequence. Auto-separation sequence in ten seconds,” the computer reported sounding the blue alert klaxons as it began a verbal count-down from ten. There was a low rumble throughout the ship as the magnetic latches connecting the saucer section to the stardrive section retracted and physical barriers slid over all of the corridor, turbolift, and umbilical pass-throughs. “Separation sequence in progress,” the computer announced at the end of the countdown.

In the midst of a corkscrew maneuver to evade the cnidarian’s weapons fire, Arcturus split into two, her massive primary hull detaching from the engineering hull to turn both sections into leaner, more maneuverable tactical platforms. Simultaneously, the escort Hokule’a exited the docking cradle on the stern of the secondary hull, shooting backward at full thruster power and twisting around in space to come up from under the secondary hull to remain hidden from the Ferengi.

“Launch small craft,” Lancaster ordered. “Mister Ishida, target the creature with phasers at minimal power settings. Keep their attention on us.”

“Sir, as acting first officer, I should remind you that if there is any sign that this is harming the creature, we’ll have to consider a different strategy,” Commander Armstrong noted, in his most diplomatic voice.

Lancaster nodded. “Agreed. Doctor Sheppard, monitor its health the best you can,” he said.

The ship’s eight Valkyrie-class fighters launched vertically from the rapid launch tubes facing upwards on the dorsal surface of the secondary hull, while the four Apsara-class bombers left the deck of the forward shuttle bay. Lancaster tapped a control on his chair to raise the tactical viewing pedestal between Ishida and Armstrong’s stations, which was quickly filling with blue Starfleet dots representing their fighters and runabouts. The captain had not initially been pleased about embarking a tactical group, but their utility in this particular situation was undeniable. 

The two halves of Arcturus began firing their main weapons at a setting low enough to be really just a harmless light show but which certainly looked like an impressive show of force. Lancaster hoped it was enough to convince the Ferengi that he had lost patience, and it seemed to be working. 

“Support Group, target the transmitters. Attack Pattern Double Alpha. Take them out as quickly as possible. Hokule’a, you’re go for disabling the Ferengi ship,” Lancaster ordered.

“Understood, commodore,” Alesser replied over the comm; while that was the correct form of address for an officer in command of more than one ship, he could still hear the other man’s smirk in the way he drug that word out. 

Paired up together, the runabouts and fighters hugged close to the surface of the cnidarian, which was clearly not meant to fend off swarms of smaller vessels. Its large weapon array on the ventral surface was focusing solely on the Arcturus, because the Ferengi misunderstood their objective. The goal wasn’t to harm the creature, it was to free it, and that’s something that Lancaster knew they would never have thought of on their own.

“We’ve taken out two of the receivers. Six more to go,” Armstrong reported.

“Any changes to the creature’s behavior or health?” Lancaster asked.

“Not yet,” Sheppard said. “Wait, the cnidarian is changing its shape. I’m detecting what looks like turrets emerging on the hull. They’re going to try to shoot our ships down.”

“All craft, be advised that the creature is adapting. Avoid its fire,” Lancaster ordered.

On the viewscreen, Lancaster could see smaller bolts of energy lashing out from the creature’s “hull” against the fighters he’d just deployed. The creature’s attacks on the mothership remained intense, and he had to wonder how much energy the cnidarian had to expend before it would wear itself out.

“Two fighters have been hit, but we’ve taken out another receiver,” Armstrong reported. “The pilots have ejected, and I’m having one of the runabouts pick them up. Hokule’a has entered a targeting envelope with the Ferengi yacht,” he added.

While Arcturus and the small craft engaged the cnidarian directly, Hokule’a had swung around to get the Ferengi within her sights. Bursts of pulse phaser fire came for the Ferengi, some making contact but not enough before the creature itself managed to impose itself between the Aquarius-class escort vessel and the Ferengi, protecting its captors just in time. Odea in the saucer section managed to come around from the other side to get just one shot off before the situation changed drastically.

“Captain—err, Commodore—I am picking up a combined Breen-Dominion battlegroup dropping out of warp!” Ishida announced. “They are behind us on a direct intercept course and will be in weapons range in two minutes.”

Lancaster’s blood ran cold; they were about to be outnumbered and out-gunned in a situation that was already dire. Retreat seemed more and more like the most logical course of action, but he knew that his duty required him to protect this creature even at the cost of his own vessel and crew.

“Support Group, continue targeting the receivers,” Lancaster ordered. “Tactical, reconfigure our phasers for maximum firepower and range. Ready full salvos from the forward torpedo launchers. Helm, come about out to heading 180 mark 0,” he said, intending to put the stardrive section between the newcomers and the battle already in progress.

On the tactical plot, the captain could see a single Dominion battle cruiser flanked by two Breen cruisers and half a dozen assault craft, a mix of Breen and Dominion units. It was the Breen that worried Lancaster the most, as their energy-dampening weapons continued to test the limits of Federation shield technology. He knew that they would also be particularly lethal against an energy-based creature like the Farpoint Cnidarian.

“Weapons ready, sir,” Ishida reported. “Should I hail them?”

“We’re already past that,” Lancaster replied. “Prepare to fire as soon as they are in range.”

With enemies behind them and in front of them, the bridge crew were quiet—focused on their duty, surely, but Lancaster also knew that they were nervous. Arcturus had been involved in multiple conflicts, but nothing on this scale. She wasn’t a warship, but she had her duty—they all had their duty. They could only hope that their comrades managed to complete their mission of liberating the creature before it was too late to retreat.

In Timothy Marshall’s capable hands, the Hokule’a danced through the onslaught of weapons fire coming from the enslaved cnidarian creature, as he attempted to get a clean shot on the Ferengi vessel. The vessel-lifeform was large enough and fast enough that it was managing to keep both the escort and the Arcturus saucer section from doing so, which was beginning to agitate Captain Alesser—right as the readings of the Dominion-Breen force reached them. 

“Arcturus is authorizing lethal fire against the Ferengi if the opportunity presents itself,” Lieutenant Belvedere reported from the communications station. 

A modification like that to the rules of engagement meant that Lancaster was shifting into the wartime playbook. So often, Starfleet officers had to hold back even when they had superior technology to their opponents, but now the gloves were off. Not that it really mattered if they couldn’t get a shot off on the Ferengi.

“Mr. Marshall, I’d really like a firing solution, please,” Alesser said.

“I’m doing my very best, sir,” Marshall replied as he provided a frantic set of commands to the helm. “Wait, they’re altering course… Coming straight at us! It looks like they have the Ferengi ship encased in some sort of shield bubble.”

“Tactical plot,” Alesser ordered. The computer complied, raising the display pedestal forward of the command chair to show a map of the conflict. Alesser watched in real-time as the alien entity grabbed the Ferengi ship in some sort of beam and pulled it up against the underside of its hull, safe from the Starfleet ships as it made a beeline for the newcomers. “I guess we’ve figured out who the buyers are. Follow them, and join the attack on the receivers. Go,” he ordered.

The abrupt change in course by the cnidarian suddenly had Hokule’a, the Arcturus’s saucer, and all of their support craft chasing it. It was moving at sublight speeds that far outstripped their own capabilities, which gave Alesser an idea. The cnidarian was already between Arcturus and the Dominion.

“Marshall, prepare to go to warp one. I want a five-second burst on my mark,” Alesser ordered. “I want us right on top of them. With any luck, we’ll also briefly confuse their sensors.”

“Aye, captain,” the helmsman replied. He cleared his throat and turned to look at Alesser. “I feel like I should say that if my calculations are slightly off, we could run into them. Which would be… bad.”

“Yeah, might scratch the paint. I trust you, though,” Alesser replied, giving him a wink. Marshall nodded, seeming pleased with that reaction as he turned back to his station. He tapped the ship-to-ship control on his chair. “Alesser to Lancaster. I’m going to use a precision warp jump to catch up to the cnidarian. If we can take out a few more receivers, we might weaken the hold the Ferengi have on that thing.”

Lancaster appeared on the viewscreen to respond. “I’m not sure I love that idea, but we’re seconds away from facing off against an enemy we can’t handle if that cnidarian is bolstering them. I’m ordering the saucer section to withdraw and warn Starfleet. You have one shot to take out the remaining receivers, and then I want you back onboard. Understood?”

“One good shot is all we need. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Alesser replied.

Lancaster’s blue eyes flickered in a moment of emotion before the channel closed. On the tactical plot, Alesser saw the runabouts and fighters converge with the saucer section moments before it warped out of the field of battle. The stardrive section was once again taking fire from the cnidarian, but Arcturus had just come within range of the Dominion and Breen ships, letting loose with a massive volley of torpedoes that managed to damage several of them. The stage was set for Hokule’a to ride in and even the odds.

“Course laid in, captain,” Marshall reported. 

“Go,” Alesser ordered. For five brief seconds, the stars on the viewscreen were distorted as streaks when the warp engines engaged. Leaping across the battlefield, the nimble escort ended up right on top of the creature’s dorsal surface. “Fire!”

With precision strikes from the pulse phaser cannons, they managed to take out two more of the receiver spheres on the surface of the cnidarian, leaving it with just two remaining connections to the thought makers aboard the Ferengi shuttle. Alesser immediately saw a change in the creature’s appearance, its surface seeming to fluctuate in opacity for a moment as the central well of energy changed from the angry red it had been since the Ferengi enslaved it to its normal blue and then an unsettling green hue. The cnidarian lashed out against the Dominion and Breen forces, spinning wildly before also firing again on the Federation forces.

“Incoming!” Marshall announced.

Moments later, Hokule’a was struck with a glancing blow from the cnidarian’s energy weapons. Alesser was nearly thrown out of his chair, and sparks flew around the bridge. Even as Alesser’s ears were ringing, it still seemed like a net positive to their situation—the creature wasn’t yet freed, but it was now a wild card.

“Get us back to Arcturus before the captain has our asses,” Alesser replied, realizing what he said only when Belvedere glanced back at him with the smirk of someone who was about to say something even more appropriate. “If we make it back to the docking cradle, you get one lewd comment not befitting your rank or office, Mr. Belvedere,” the first officer warned.

Belvedere bit his tongue, and once the course had been laid in, Marshall cocked his head back towards his comrades.

“What do I get?” the helmsman asked, with the wide-eyed naiveté that he always seemed to default back to even after an impressive feat like the micro-jump he’d just accomplished.  

“You can be the subject of my lewd comment if you like,” Belvedere quipped.

“Deal!” Marshall laughed. The ship rocked again, more gently than the prior time, and Alesser was about to ask if it was from weapons fire or flirtation. “Sir, we’ve got a Breen interceptor on our tail.”

“Aft torpedoes, full spread. We just need to keep them off long enough to get back home,” Alesser ordered. Once Hokule’a successfully docked, he would be back by Lancaster’s side to help him resolve the situation—and they could retreat, if necessary. That thought was his overriding priority now that the field was getting too hot for them to attempt another strike on the cnidarian; the escort simply wouldn’t stand up to the combined fire of the enemy vessels as their primary target. “Fire!”

A flurry of photon torpedoes burst out of the aft launchers, striking the Breen interceptor head-on. On the viewscreen, Alesser could tell that the strike had slowed them down, but the interceptor was still intact.

“Enemy shields have been damaged,” Belvedere reported. “They’re firing!” 

Moments later, all of the systems aboard Hokule’a went dark, the tell-tale result of being struck by a Breen energy-dampening weapon. Evidently, they’d had some time to make some improvements to the defenses Starfleet had developed in the 2370s. Alesser braced himself on the command seat, but the follow-up volley he had expected never came. They were dead in the water, so close to home, but literally powerless, at least until someone decided to finish them off.  For all of the anxiety and dread swirling in Alesser over his own fate, he was focused on what he hoped wouldn’t be his last glimpse of Michael Lancaster’s eyes. 

“I don’t care which laws of physics you need to break; get us between our escort and the enemy!” Lancaster shouted on the Arcturus battle bridge. While the Farpoint cnidarian fired wildly against friend and foe alike, Hokule’a with its crew of Captain Alesser, Commander Marshall, and Lieutenant Belvedere was totally drained of energy thanks to the Breen. It had Lancaster seeing red for so many different reasons at once. He was through losing people to the Breen. It simply would not do. “Bowens, extend our shields as soon as it’s possible. Get the crew off, and we’ll deal with salvage later.”

Lieutenant Solomon, normally the Gamma Shift helmsman, managed a somewhat confident “aye,” but Lancaster knew that the young man had never before been in a situation like the one they were in now. Thankfully, Bowens was a seasoned veteran of Archanis, the Century Storm, the Tkon Crisis, and every other blasted emergency the Fourth Fleet had been sucked into in the previous two years. Lancaster could see him providing a reassuring smile from the neighboring ops station—something that he never quite knew how to do well.

“Mister Solomon, you’re in that seat because I have faith in you. You can do this,” Lancaster said, the words coming automatically as if from some emergency subroutine he was unaware of in his own cognitive programming. “Doctor Sheppard, please meet the Hokule’a crew in transporter room twelve,” he ordered calmly.

Sheppard nodded and left the battle bridge, sharing a moment of empathetic eye contact with his husband before the doors to the turbolift closed. Lieutenant Solomon managed to interpose Arcturus between the enemy and their escort while Bowens extended the shields just long enough for transport. It was barely in time to prevent the Breen from applying the coup de grace against Hokule’a, their disruptor fire instead impacting the powerful regenerative shields of Arcturus.

“Transport complete, sir,” the operations officer reported.

“Alesser to Lancaster. We’re all aboard and unhurt. Pride aside,” Alesser said over the comm a moment later, much to Lancaster’s immediate relief. 

“Glad to hear it, Number One. Sheppard is going to check the three of you out, and then I want you back at your posts,” the captain ordered. “Battle bridge out.”

Lancaster glanced at Acting First Officer Armstrong.

“I know, I know… back to science,” the commander said with a self-deprecating grin.

“Yes, but you’ve clearly shown that a red uniform is in your future, Commander,” Lancaster replied, feeling overly sappy, emotional, and indulgent because of Alesser’s safety. “I should not have responded so harshly when you questioned me., earlier. You should question me. I’m sorry.”

Armstrong opened his mouth in sheer shock, which made it all worthwhile for Lancaster. 

“The science station, Commander. I’m only contractually allowed to be nice three times in any given fortnight, and I’ve just used two of those in the last five minutes,” Lancaster said, pointing to the station that Sheppard had vacated. 

“Aye, aye,” Armstrong said.

Lancaster started to chastise him.

“I know, I know. I’m ‘not a pirate,’ sir,” the science officer chuckled as he took his post. As they spoke, Arcturus continued to rock under weapons fire, but it was clear that the Dominion and Breen were suffering just as much. “Sir, the Ferengi vessel is detaching from the Cnidarian. They’re making a run for it.”

“Tactical, take care of this Breen ship and then let’s end this,” Lancaster ordered.

“Firing phasers,” Lieutenant Commander Ishida replied. “Direct hit, but they are preparing to fire again.”

“Brace!” Lancaster ordered. The energy-dampening weapon hit Arcturus, and it was enough to bring their shields down to critical levels, but they were able to weather the storm either because of their more powerful systems or because of the damage they had just caused to the Breen ship. “Fire again.”

“Phaser power cells are cycling, sir. They took a lot out of us,” Ishida demurred.

“Torpedoes, then!”

“Aye,” the tactical officer replied, sending a volley into the Breen ship that finally destroyed it. The doors to the battle bridge opened to admit Sheppard, Alesser, Belvedere, and Marshall. Lancaster barely had time to share a thankful glance with Sheppard and Alesser before Ishida spoke up again. “Sir, the Dominion battlecruiser has placed a tractor beam on the Ferengi ship. The cnidarian is focusing its fire on the Jem’Hadar now.”

“Believe it or not, commodore sir, but the Ferengi are hailing you,” Belvedere added gleefully as he sat down next to Rivera at the communications console. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging, by Lancaster’s estimation. “Shall we let them eat static, or would you like to taunt them?”

“Taunting, please,” Lancaster replied, too pleased with their new situation to remind Belvedere of proper decorum. The viewer switched to an interior view of the Ferengi ship, which by this point had seen better days. “You know, DaiMon, the FCA gave me the code sequence to return their vessel to them, but they seemed quite unconcerned about your well-being,” the captain gloated.

DaiMon Mahret growled but could be seen breathing through his anger. “I may have miscalculated in this venture. Your reputation for benevolence precedes you, Captain Larkmaster.”

“Lancaster. And, technically, Commodore,” Lancaster quipped. “If you’re verbally fellating me, then this must be a clear instance of the 33rd Rule of Acquisition,” he said, daring the overpaid tubegrub on the other end of the transmission to question that.

“You… You know the rules?”

“Obviously. Roughly, your 194th Rule corresponds to something Sun Tzu of Earth said: ‘Know your enemy,’” Lancaster replied. “You are my enemy DaiMon, but the 98th Rule applies to this situation: I am a man, and I have my price. My price for rescuing you.”

“Name it,” the DaiMon spat.

“Turn off the thought-maker. Let the Cnidarian go,” Lancaster replied. He muted the microphone. “And also we’re going to impound his ship, interrogate him, and throw him in a Federation rehabilitation center,” he noted to the bridge crew before unmuting. “Well?”

“Fine. Fine!” Mahret said. “It’s done. The creature is free.”

Lancaster was viewing the sensor readings on one of the armrest consoles and saw that the thought-makers had indeed been deactivated, and the creature had stopped firing.  When he looked up at the viewscreen, though, he saw a Jem’Hadar face before the transmission was cut off. The Ferengi yacht had been boarded and seized while they were negotiating.

“It’s unlikely that we would have actually been able to save him,” Alesser noted.

“The creature is free for the moment. Let’s hope it takes the Dominion long enough to figure out how to operate the thought-makers for it to escape,” Lancaster replied. “Tactical, fire at will on the Dominion fleet.”

Lancaster watched as Arcturus lashed out against the enemy. Their modern tactical systems seemed especially effective against the Dominion, but 30 years didn’t seem to take any bite out of the Dominion ships’ return fire. On the tactical plot, he saw the Farpoint creature exit the arena at high warp and felt a sigh of relief come over him. Their obligation had been fulfilled. That feeling only lasted for a moment, though, as the Dominion immediately turned to follow it—and they still had the thought-makers, as well as arguably superior engineering and scientific expertise, to perfect what the Ferengi had botched.

“Pursuit course!” the captain ordered. What was left behind, though, were three more Breen ships. Two of them pummeled Arcturus with the energy-dampening weapon again. “Return fire.”

“We have nothing left, sir. Weapons and warp engines are offline,” Ishida replied. There was a beat. “I’m detecting three more incoming vessels, sir. They’re Federation. That’s all I can tell with our systems the way they are.”

“Divert emergency and auxiliary power to the shields. We have to hold out a little longer,” Lancaster ordered. He tapped the all-call button on his armrest. “Crew of Arcturus, we have succeeded in our mission. We have liberated a being of great beauty and power. Starfleet is here, and we will get through this,” he said.

“Shield power re-routed. The third Breen ship is charging its weapon, though,” Bowens reported from ops.

Soon after, three warp flashes appeared on the viewscreen, which resolved into the shapes of the starships Achilles and Susan B. Anthony flanking the familiar silhouette of the Arcturus primary hull. The Breen ships attempted to peel off, but none of them were a match for any of the three Starfleet ships that had managed to flank them. Within moments, the three enemy vessels were reduced to debris.

“I have Admiral Dahlgren for you, sir,” Belvedere reported before the impact and relief of their rescue could really sink in.

“On screen,” Lancaster replied.

The viewscreen switched to show Admiral Dahlgren in the guest seat aboard the Susan B. Anthony, next to her commanding officer, Captain Paula Camarero. Though always genial, he looked particularly pleased. Lancaster was no stranger to working with flag officers, but it wasn’t every day that he could say he had a four-star admiral impressed with his conduct.

“Well done, Captain Lancaster. How are you holding up over there?” Dahlgren asked.

“We’ll need at least a day to get our warp engines back online and restore main power, but we’re here, Admiral,” Lancaster replied. “I appreciate you bringing the cavalry.”

“Having the other half of your ship should speed that up,” Dahlgren chuckled. “Put Arcturus back together, and then I’m beaming over to debrief you personally. Dahlgren out.”

The two halves of Arcturus were barely back together when Admiral Liam Dahlgren beamed aboard. Captain Lancaster had just managed to wash his face and pat himself dry with a towel in the ready room head when the door chimed. He went to stand in front of his desk and compose himself for just a second before calling for the guests to enter. Dahlgren was accompanied by Alesser, who had been the one to greet him in the transporter room. Lancaster was moderately surprised to see that the vaunted admiral was merely his own 1.8 meters or so tall; he seemed so much loftier on subspace. 

“Welcome aboard Arcturus, Admiral. I apologize for not meeting you,” Lancaster offered.

“At ease, Captain. You’re where you needed to be,” Dahlgren replied. The admiral placed a hand on Alesser’s upper back in a friendly manner that still managed to make Lancaster momentarily jealous. “Captain Alesser was filling me in on your exploits.”

Lancaster blanched slightly at that word. He had never once in his fifteen-year career been accused by anyone of having ‘exploits.’ Accomplishments and triumphs, certainly, but never ‘exploits.’ 

“Relax. I have never met a more loyal or dutiful first officer. He was singing your praises,” Dahlgren said. He glanced around the ready room. “I see what Hayden saw in this ship. Nice digs. She mentioned you’re a bourbon man. I’ll have two fingers, neat, of whatever you have stashed that doesn’t come from a replicator. You two should join me.”

Left momentarily speechless, Lancaster retrieved a bottle of authentic Kentucky bourbon from the sideboard. He poured three very generous drinks—more than half of the bottle—before the three officers sat down together at the small conference table.

“Give me the blow-by-blow, gentlemen. The more efficiently you tell your story, the less of your whiskey I leave with,” Dahlgren ordered with a wide smile.

Lancaster and Alesser looked at each other; Lancaster was shocked, and Alesser was clearly, among other things, amused. The captain took a deep drink from his glass and then began their story from the beginning. 

“Good,” Dahlgren said once the two officers had given a thorough accounting of their mission after sitting there sipping on his drink—and a second—while nodding politely for almost an hour. “This was a delicate mission, and you accomplished it. We need to track down that Dominion battlegroup and the cnidarian, though. Given your experience and history with the matter, I’ll leave that task to you.”

“To me, Admiral?” Lancaster asked.

“There are a dozen pressing missions in this sector that I need to get to Farpoint to oversee. You’ve proven yourself here today, Lancaster,” Dahlgren replied, draining his glass. He slipped a case out of his sleeve and placed it on the table. The sight of it filled Lancaster with absolute dread. “Captain Michael Lancaster, as of this stardate, I hereby promote you to the rank of fleet captain, effective immediately. Arcturus and her squadron both are now under your command,” the admiral said. “Congratulations.”

“I, um,” Lancaster faltered. He had a flash of advancement causing him to lose his ship and be taken out of the center seat. He had just gotten good at being a captain, and he didn’t want to move beyond that. Not yet. “I don’t know…”

Alesser kicked him under the table, which snapped him out of it.

“Thank you, Admiral,” the new fleet captain grunted.

Dahlgren grinned. “Once this is all said and done, and if you truly want it, I’ll demote you if you ask very nicely,” he said with a laugh. He opened the case to reveal a single silver bar, which he pinned to Lancaster’s collar under his four silver pips. “It looks good on him, wouldn’t you say, Captain Alesser?”

“Very distinguished,” Alesser agreed, an unusually restrained response from a habitual flirt. Lancaster appreciated that restraint greatly, though. “You deserve it, Michael,” he added, getting more personal for a moment.

“Thank you, Ari,” Lancaster said sincerely. He cleared his throat. “What are our orders, Admiral?”

“The same as they were before: find and retrieve the thought-makers. Liberate the cnidarian for good,” Dahlgren replied. He stood up and drained his glass, prompting the two captains to stand with him out of respect. “I’ll be in touch. If I had to guess, Captain Okusanya is probably champing at the bit to help you with your engine problems,” the admiral said. He started to leave the ready room. “By the way, I pushed through your request for the mission orders for the Banting. I’ve granted you access to the entire astrozoan database. Good luck, Fleet Captain.”

With that, Admiral Dahlgren was gone as soon as he arrived, leaving the newly-minted Fleet Captain Lancaster with Alesser to contemplate their next moves. Lancaster reached up to run a finger along his new rank insignia, warming to the idea slightly. They had their work cut out for them. The original mystery handed down to them by the Enterprise-D still had chapters left to tell. It was now their privilege and their burden to ensure that the Farpoint cnidarians didn’t get further caught up in this new war.

Still, even in the gravity of the moment, Lancaster couldn’t help but laugh.

“How mad do you think Okusanya is going to be when she finds out I’m still her boss?”