Chapter Text
* * *
“I can tell you’re concerned,” said Steenburg, a deliberate understatement, and glanced sidelong at her XO. “Out with it.”
Chester looked around at the ready room, a few of Steenburg’s prized orchids askew on the desk, and several completely without their pots–a lot of things had gone flying in that last explosion–and sighed. “We’re breaking every temporal reg in the book, sir. I know we need help, but at what price? It’s not a matter of whether we might be contaminating the timeline, it’s a matter of how badly. They’re going to come over here, and they’re going to see things they shouldn’t, things that won’t be developed for years or decades, and we frankly don’t have the capacity to manage that. It’s an enormous risk, and we’re not just risking ourselves, or them, we’re risking our present.”
Steenburg leaned back in her chair. “Yes. It’s a risk. But we don’t have a lot of choice. We aren’t getting out of this ourselves, Diane. And regulations or no regulations, right now our job is to bring these people home safe. There’s a Federation ship out there able to help. It might be from the wrong year, but sacrificing even one of my crew’s lives with help so close is not something I’m willing to do.”
She watched Chester’s face a long moment, searching to see if the younger woman understood the point she was making. “Sometimes,” she said, “you get backed into a corner, and you don’t get a choice between right and wrong. You get a choice between bad and worse. Right now, we’re in one of those corners, and we’re very, very lucky. Because those people out there offering us a hand are Starfleet, just like us. They’ve sworn the same oaths. They have our values. So right now, the best thing we can do, for the people aboard this ship who trust us, is to trust them to uphold our oaths and our values when we can’t.”
Chester frowned down at the table, uneasy. It seemed like an impossible thing to ask of anyone. Steenburg watched her patiently, and a little sadly; the war had promoted promising young officers like Chester very quickly, and while she was shouldering the exec’s duties well, at moments like this it became clear just how much she’d missed in such an accelerated rise through the ranks. Still too fond of the rules, still looking for the Academy-approved solution.
“Now go get some sleep,” she said. “Before you fall over.”
Chester gave her a dry amused look. “Yes sir.”
* * *
Hours later, reports began to filter back from the rescue and recovery teams sent aboard the starship from the future, and some of Bedivere’s moderately injured crew were beamed aboard Reykjavík for treatment with those more serious cases left to newer ship’s more advanced medical interventions.
Glal shepherded the away teams, making sure any scan data collected by Reykjavík personnel were erased prior to returning to the ship, and trying as best he could to prevent any temporal contamination from affecting the proper flow of history.
He wasn’t happy about it by any stretch of the imagination, but if there’s one thing the old Tellarite knew after more than forty years of Starfleet service, it was how to follow orders.
Trujillo sat in her ready room, trying to formulate how she might broach the subject of this cross-temporal event with Starfleet Command. The longer she waited to report back, the worse the potential consequences for her, but she dreaded surrendering the admittedly illusory control over the situation that she now wielded.
DeSilva’s voice carried across the intraship. “Bridge to Captain Trujillo.”
She tapped her communicator in response. “Go ahead.”
“Sir, we’ve just picked up a distress signal from a nearby Lissepian freighter. They report having come under attack by an unknown vessel, the description of which seems quite similar to the schematics we were provided of the Jem’Hadar ships. The signal was cut off mid-sentence and we’ve been unable to raise them.”
Trujillo stood. “On my way.” She severed the comm-channel and closed her eyes briefly. “Shit.”
She stepped out onto the bridge a few paces away, just as DeSilva was initiating yellow alert. “Hail the Bedivere.”
“Channel open.”
“This is Captain Trujillo to Captain Steenburg. Be advised that we’ve just received a distress call from a freighter in this sector that appears to have come under attack from a ship bearing an uncanny resemblance to one of your Jem’Hadar ships. With your sensors offline just after your arrival here, is it possible an enemy ship managed to egress the area without your seeing it?”
“Entirely too possible,” said Steenburg. She sounded grim, but not particularly surprised. “We didn’t restore even basic capacity until an hour after you arrived. They could have thrown a parade on the way out and we would have missed it.”
“That,” Trujillo assessed, “is decidedly sub-optimal. You haven’t told us much about this enemy, and for just cause, but if one of them is running amok in Federation space, I’m going to need hard facts. Are they as dangerous as I’m presuming?”
“Yes,” said Steenburg. “And the Bedivere is in no condition to chase them down for you. Mr. Bena is estimating at least another two days before we’ll be able to warp out of here under our own power, let alone do anything more vigorous. There are two possible courses of action that ship may take, both of them,” the corner of her mouth turned up as she echoed Trujillo’s phrasing, “decidedly sub-optimal. Either they’ll deliberately attempt to disrupt Federation history–the enemy’s intelligence-gathering ability has been formidable–or they’re running out of white, the drug used to control the Jem’Hadar. Without it, they will go into withdrawal, and anything and everything in their path will become a target.”
Trujillo raised a damning eyebrow. “They use drugs to control their soldiers? I hate them already.” She reached up to close the front flap of her uniform blouse, fastening it at the shoulder. It was a subtle sign to her people, combat was in the offing. “I’m obligated to pursue them and defend Federation lives and property. Given that their weapons systems are almost certainly more advanced than ours, we’re already at a distinct disadvantage. What assistance might you be willing to offer, Captain?”
“I can send my executive officer and my tactical officer with you,” said Steenburg. “They’ll be able to advise you on appropriate countermeasures and tactics.”
“Thank you, Captain, I accept your offer of assistance. We’ll be departing in the next ten minutes. I’ll need to recall Commander Glal as well. Would you prefer we return your injured personnel currently in our sickbay? I don’t want to jeopardize their recovery by taking them into battle again unnecessarily.”
“I think it would be a good idea. Our capacity is a lot better than it was, and I don’t want to impose on yours under the circumstances.”
“We’ll begin sending them back immediately,” Trujillo advised. “Are you able to spare our engineering personnel as well? I suspect we may be needing them.”
“We can look after ourselves, and I agree.” Steenburg frowned. “Frankly, I don’t like the idea of sending you off after them alone, but we’re short of options here; letting them continue to merrily frolic in Federation space while we patch up is unacceptable. I’ll see if we can find a few tricks to tuck up your sleeve. Fighting fair and DTI will just have to lump it.”
Trujillo nodded appreciatively. “I’ll accept any help you can offer, and so long as we can stop the threat, I’m not especially concerned with the political consequences. Lives before legalities.”
That provoked a wolf’s grin from Steenburg. “I think I may just borrow that turn of phrase, Captain.” She glanced at one of the other officers on the Bridge, then back at the viewer. “Your people are on their way over, as are Commander Chester and Lieutenant J’etris. Good luck…and good hunting.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll do my best to return your people in their original mint condition. Reykjavík, out.”
* * *