Chapter Text
The relief convoy plodded along at a stately warp five, comprised of two dozen of the gargantuan Continent-class freighters escorted by four starships. The convoy’s destination was Kontrellis IV, a Cardassian Class-M planet whose atmosphere had been laced with biogenic-disruptors during the final days of the war, a particularly nasty form of nanite engineered by the Dominion.
Over the past year Federation relief teams had made numerous attempts at thwarting the disruptors, but had only found middling success in slowing the planet’s ecological collapse. The self-replicating nanites attacked bacteria on the surface and plankton-analogues in the world’s oceans, undermining the foundation of all life on the planet.
Now agriculture had collapsed as crops withered and died along with tens-of-thousands of animal species which were unable to take sustenance from the blighted plants and grasses of the once fertile planet.
The convoy’s cargo holds were filled with emergency foodstuffs, industrial replicators, and the parts for the first of many atmospheric processors needed to maintain the oxygen-levels in Kontrellis IV’s atmosphere as its biosphere died.
Aboard the oldest of the escorting starships, a communications display lit up, indicating the detection of a rare and cherished commodity while on escort duty, something out of the ordinary.
Lieutenant (junior grade) Olivia Juneau’s boredom was interrupted by the incoming transmission, weak though it was. She glanced back to the command chair, addressing the ship’s first officer. “Commander, I’m picking up what looks to be an automated distress beacon. Point of origin is somewhere in Sector 23448, in the vicinity of the Liko system.”
Commander Liana Ramirez set down the padd she’d been reading and tried to stop the look of relief from settling on her features. Someone else’s misfortune should never be cause for celebration, she reminded herself, but convoy duty was so damnably dull.
“Try and get a better fix on the origin, Lieutenant,” Ramirez ordered before toggling the comms. “Captain to the bridge.”
A moment later, Captain Donald Sandhurst and Lt. Commander Pell Ojana arrived from the ready room, their drudging personnel review happily interrupted by the developing situation.
The thin and somewhat gaunt looking Sandhurst seated himself the command chair as Ramirez vacated it and assumed her usual station in the lower bridge well. “What have we got, Olivia?” he inquired.
Juneau rattled off the nature and specific coordinates of the transmission, adding, “I’ve inquired with the Gormra Array, and they identify a Bajoran Banik-class freighter as being at those coordinates.”
Ramirez gave Sandhurst an inscrutable look. “I wouldn’t put it past Cardassian insurgents or the Maquis to use a Bajoran freighter to stage an ambush, Captain.”
“Certainly smells like a trap, sir,” Pell agreed.
Sandhurst cocked his head as though weighing the odds. “Only one way to find out.” He gestured at Juneau to open a channel, and as the circuit chirped active he issued, “This is Captain Sandhurst of the Federation starship Gibraltar. We have received a distress beacon from your ship. Please relay the nature of your emergency and what assistance you require.”
He then eased back into the command chair. “See? Wasn’t that easy?”
Juneau touched a hand to the micro-earpiece in her left ear. “Signal from Königsberg, sir. Captain Urut is ordering us to break away and investigate the distress call.”
Pell frowned, the expression enhanced by her wrinkled Bajoran nose-ridge. “We’ve got a Defiant-class with us, and Urut wants us to go and take a look?”
“We are the most expendable,” noted Lieutenant Pava Lar’ragos from the tactical station immediately behind the captain’s chair, “technically speaking.”
Pell directed a piercing look towards the smaller but well-toned El-Aurian man. “You say that like you enjoy getting thrown to the wolves.”
Lar'ragos made a show of his exaggerated shrug. "Each according to his gifts."
A smirk flit briefly across Ramirez’s features. “So, we go stick our hand in the box to find out what’s inside?”
“Right,” Sandhurst affirmed. “Operation High Hopes and Low Expectations.”
Pell rubbed the back of her neck in a sure sign of exasperation. “You know how this is going to go, right? Does anyone remember what happened last time we responded to one of these?”
“Asteroid belt,” Lar’ragos muttered, providing an abbreviated summary as though reciting a shopping list. “Big fight. Maquis. Border Service. Irradiated captain. Dry-dock repairs.” He smacked his lips, “Andorian hors d'oeuvres.”
At Ops, Juneau turned back to shake her head at Lar’ragos, mouthing a horrified, “No!”
“Now, now,” Sandhurst chided. “We have a duty to respond, investigate, and assist where possible, regardless of whatever happened last time.”
“Response incoming, sir,” Juneau announced with a hint of surprise.
“Patch it through,” Sandhurst ordered, turning to share a raised eyebrow with Ramirez.
“Federation vessel, this is the Bajoran transport Rushaan, in transit from Bajor IV to the Nyberrite Alliance with passengers and cargo. We have been attacked by a Yelnar combat skiff and were able to make an escape. Due to damage suffered in that exchange, our warp engines have now failed and we are restricted to sub-light speeds. We believe more Yelnar ships are on the way to intercept us.”
Sandhurst turned to give Ramirez a questioning expression. “Yelnar, Commander?”
“A former vassal species to the Cardassians, sir. Their planet was conquered at roughly the same time as Bajor. However, the Yelnar were employed by the Cardassians as enforcers, keeping other subject species in line. Their planet was freed from occupation half a decade before Bajor, and they’ve kept a pretty low profile since then. They don’t trade with their neighbors much, and tend to stick to themselves.”
“Any idea why they’d jump a Bajoran transport?” he asked quietly.
“None, sir.”
Sandhurst looked to Pell. “Ojana, anything?”
The Bajoran officer shook her head. “The Yelnar were notorious on Bajor for being the lapdogs of the Cardassians, but I can’t recall any of them ever being posted there. We occasionally ran across them at Cardassian installations off-world when I was with the resistance. I don’t think there’s any diplomatic or commercial contact between Bajor and Yelna now, at least none that I know of.”
Sandhurst opened a navigation display on his armrest console, checking figures before toggling the comms open. “Rushaan, we are presently five hours from your location at maximum speed and are on our way. You may want to look for a good spot to hole up until we arrive.”
“Understood, Gibraltar. We’ve located a tendril of the McAllister nebula that we can reach at impulse within the hour. I’m sending you the coordinates. We’ll see you when you arrive.”
“Any idea why the Yelnar would attack you?” Sandhurst inquired. “It’s a bit out of their way, and according to my officers they’ve never been known to engage in much piracy.”
There was a pregnant pause before the voice responded, “No. No reason we can come up with, Captain.”
Pell snorted and Ramirez made a skeptical face.
“Mister Lightner, set coordinates for that rendezvous and engage at warp eight.” Sandhurst turned to Pell, raising a finger to belay the protest she’d opened her mouth to voice. “Yes, I know this whole thing reeks of ambush, but we’ll take every precaution.”
“Hmm,” Lar’ragos mused from behind him. “Reeks of Ambush.”
“Don’t say it!” Juneau called back from Ops.
“Good band name,” Lar’ragos assessed with mock gravity.
Juneau groaned.
Sandhurst sighed.
* * *