Cal's War Pt 5: To The Edge of the Earth Part 1
Posted on Fri Jul 24th, 2026 @ 10:08pm by Lieutenant Callum Cowan
5,101 words; about a 26 minute read
Mission:
Flashbacks
Location: RF Wayfarer
Timeline: Early 2381
For Squadron 17, the early days of the Borg invasion had felt surreal in the way only an extinction event could.
Against all expectation, they'd done well.
Their rescue crews had taken risks that, under almost any other circumstances, Starfleet would have called reckless. Somehow, those risks had paid off. Convoys had escaped. Colonies had survived. More people had come home than anyone had dared hope.
Relatively speaking...
Things were going well.
Until they weren't.
"Delta Flight's gone."
Mateo Alvarez stood in the doorway of their compartment for a moment before tossing the PADD he'd been carrying onto the makeshift table in the centre of the room.
It landed with a dull slap.
"What?" Sam was on her feet immediately. "How?"
"Ambush."
Mateo lowered himself into a chair with the sort of weariness that seemed to have become permanent over the past few weeks.
"They were ambushed."
Cal frowned.
"The Borg are setting traps now?"
Mateo rubbed at his eyes before answering.
"Looks that way."
The room fell quiet.
Finally Cal spoke again.
"...How?"
Mateo let out a slow breath.
"They crippled a civilian convoy."
Nobody interrupted.
"They waited."
Another pause.
"When Delta committed to the rescue..."
He looked down at the table.
"...they dropped on top of them."
Silence.
"They destroyed the convoy."
"And Delta."
"No survivors."
The words hung heavily in the compartment.
Emily, unusually, had nothing to say.
When she finally spoke, it was little more than a whisper.
"That's awful."
Mateo nodded once.
"It gets better."
Nobody believed him.
He looked around the room.
"Hayes has arranged fighter escorts."
Sam folded her arms.
"...For us?"
"For every rescue squadron operating near the front."
She raised an eyebrow.
"And they're supposed to stop the Borg?"
Mateo gave a tired little shrug.
"They're supposed to make the Borg think twice."
Sam considered that for a moment.
"...Do they?"
Another silence.
Nobody answered.
Eventually Emily glanced around the already cramped compartment.
"...Where are they putting them?"
Mateo looked around too.
The compartment had somehow become even smaller simply by imagining more people inside it.
"They're billeting with us."
Emily blinked.
"...Seriously?"
"Apparently."
She looked from bunk to bunk.
"...We're already sleeping practically on top of one another."
"It's going to get very cosy."
Across the room, Cal glanced towards Emily.
She looked back at him.
The corners of her mouth twitched.
He could see it coming.
She was trying.
She really was.
Then she snorted.
One tiny, completely involuntary laugh escaped.
Cal immediately lost the battle himself.
Mateo stared at them both.
"...I'm discussing operational changes."
Emily raised a hand apologetically, still trying not to laugh.
"I know..."
"It's just..."
She looked around the compartment again.
"...Where?"
Even Mateo couldn't quite help the smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"Escorts arrive tomorrow," He announced.
"Let's hope they're as good as they say they are."
Alpha Flight had gathered in the launch bay to watch their new guests arrive.
One by one, sleek **Valkyrie-class** starfighters settled onto _Wayfarer's_ already overcrowded flight deck. Deck crews darted between them with practised efficiency, towing one fighter clear almost as soon as its engines wound down to make room for the next.
Even Alpha Flight had to admit...
The landings were immaculate.
The final craft wasn't a fighter at all.
A compact Type-6 shuttle glided gently onto the deck.
Its ramp lowered with a quiet hydraulic whine.
The occupant announced himself before anyone caught sight of him.
"What a dump."
A gruff voice echoed around the bay.
The steady thump of heavy footsteps followed.
"Can't believe they expect people to live like this."
Owen Reilly, standing to Cal's left, reacted first.
"...Who is _that?_"
Cal glanced towards the shuttle just as a stocky Tellarite emerged from the ramp, toolkit slung over one shoulder. He paused only long enough to survey the hangar with theatrical disappointment.
"Who thought this state was acceptable?"
"Me."
Owen stepped forward immediately.
"And who's asking?"
The Tellarite looked him up and down before letting out a low, rumbling snort.
"I can't believe you work in this..." He waved a hand around the hangar.
"...sty."
"Not good enough to work anywhere that isn't spotless, are you?" Owen shot back, closing the remaining distance between them.
The Tellarite barely reached Owen's shoulder.
Neither seemed remotely bothered.
For a heartbeat they simply stared at one another.
Then the Tellarite's face split into a broad grin.
A deep, gravelly laugh escaped him.
"Chief Petty Officer Brok."
He thrust out a hand.
"Sabre Squadron's chief flight engineer."
Owen accepted it without hesitation.
"Lieutenant Commander Owen Reilly."
A beat.
"I fix everybody's problems around here."
"So I noticed."
Cal watched the handshake continue for slightly longer than seemed necessary.
He leaned towards Mateo.
"...What did we just watch?"
Mateo opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Thought for another second.
Then quietly admitted,
"...I have absolutely no idea."
As Brok turned to continue his inspection of the flight deck, he paused after only a couple of steps.
Without looking back, he said matter-of-factly,
"You've got a plasma injector mounted backwards."
Owen frowned.
"It's not."
Brok turned slowly.
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It absolutely is."
Owen folded his arms.
"...We'll see."
Without another word, the Tellarite set off towards Engineering.
Owen followed immediately.
"You know, for somebody who'd only just arrived, you've got an awful lot of opinions."
"I've got eyes."
"And they're clearly faulty."
"They're calibrated."
"So's our plasma injector."
"Not if it's backwards."
"It isn't backwards."
"It is."
Their voices gradually faded into the maze of corridors leading deeper into _Wayfarer_.
Cal watched them disappear.
A long silence settled over Alpha Flight.
Finally he glanced towards Mateo.
"...Should we stop them?"
Mateo watched the pair vanish around a corner, their argument showing no signs of ending.
He considered the question for a moment.
Then quietly shook his head.
"...I don't think we'd survive getting between them."
Emily snorted.
Sam simply smiled to herself.
Somehow, despite having known one another for less than a minute...
The two engineers already sounded like they'd been arguing for years.
The mess hall had rarely felt so full.
Tables that normally sat in neat rows had been dragged together into one long, slightly crooked arrangement stretching almost the length of the compartment. The result left barely enough room to walk around the outside, forcing anyone wishing to reach the far end to squeeze apologetically behind occupied chairs.
Somewhere along the way somebody had decided that if two squadrons were going to spend the foreseeable future trusting one another with their lives, they ought to share a meal first.
Cal had a suspicion that somebody had been Mateo.
Lieutenant Commander Nathan Cross insisted it had been his idea.
Neither seemed particularly interested in settling the matter.
"Whatever the reason," Cross announced as Alpha Flight entered the mess, "nobody's sitting with people they already know."
A chorus of theatrical groans answered him.
"Come on," a voice called from near the galley hatch. "You're Starfleet officers. Socialise."
Emily glanced towards Cal.
"He's annoyingly cheerful."
"I heard that!" the voice protested.
"I wanted you to."
Laughter rippled around the room.
For a moment nobody actually sat down. Officers hovered awkwardly around the long table, each waiting for somebody else to make the first move.
Emily solved the problem.
She marched around to the opposite side of the table, dropped into the empty chair beside the blue-skinned Andorian and smiled brightly.
"There."
She folded her arms triumphantly.
"Problem solved."
Almost immediately chairs began scraping backwards all along the table.
The ice had broken.
Cal found himself settling between a Joined Trill officer and a Vulcan whose posture was somehow even straighter sitting down than most people managed standing.
The Trill smiled first.
"I'm Jaxa."
"Cal."
She gestured towards the empty seat beside her.
"Sit."
He did.
Only after he'd settled did he notice the familiar constellation of silver spots disappearing beneath her uniform collar.
"I've never actually met a Joined Trill before."
Most people might have worried whether that was the right thing to say.
Cal simply sounded curious.
Jaxa recognised the difference immediately.
"No?"
He shook his head.
"I've met Trill."
A small pause.
"...Just not one who's had several lifetimes."
That earned a genuine laugh.
"I like that."
She extended a hand.
"Jaxa Renn."
He shook it.
"Lieutenant Callum Cowan."
Beside him the Vulcan inclined her head.
"T'Rel."
"Pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mutual."
Cal smiled.
"I've never met a fighter pilot who says that before."
"It seemed appropriate."
"It does."
Across the table a familiar argument had already begun.
"...That's definitely mounted backwards."
"It definitely isn't."
"It definitely is."
Cal looked up.
Chief Petty Officer Brok and Owen Reilly stood nose to nose at the end of the table, one bearded Tellarite and one increasingly exasperated Irish engineer already deep into what appeared to be a very committed disagreement.
"They've only known each other about five minutes," Cal observed.
Jaxa listened for another moment.
"...Do they dislike each other?"
Mateo answered without looking up from unfolding his napkin.
"No."
A beat.
"They're engineers."
That somehow explained everything.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lieutenant Benji Okafor, who wrestled an oversized storage crate through the hatchway before dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud.
Emily leaned forward curiously.
"...What's in there?"
"My mother."
She blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
Benji patted the crate affectionately.
"Her cooking."
Another round of laughter followed as he unclipped the catches and lifted the lid.
The smell escaped first.
Warm bread.
Rich spices.
Slow-cooked stew.
Fresh herbs.
One by one he began unpacking carefully wrapped containers until almost the entire centre of the table disappeared beneath them.
Emily stared.
"...Is that..."
Benji looked up.
"Hm?"
"...Real food?"
He laughed.
"You lot have been living on nutrient loaf?"
Silence.
It wasn't exactly a guilty silence.
More the sort shared by people who had gradually accepted something completely absurd as perfectly normal.
Sam rubbed the back of her neck.
"...Mostly."
Benji blinked.
He looked around the table, searching each face in turn, apparently hoping somebody would contradict her.
Nobody did.
"...Right."
He rolled up his sleeves with renewed determination.
"Well I'm not letting that continue."
Before anyone could protest he was already serving generous portions onto plates.
Mateo made one token attempt.
"You really didn't have to—"
Benji pointed a serving spoon at him.
"No."
Mateo wisely stopped talking.
"You especially, Flight Lead."
Cal accepted his plate with a quiet thank you before taking his first bite.
He stopped chewing for a second.
"...That's incredible."
Benji grinned.
"I know."
Conversation resumed naturally after that.
Not forced introductions.
Just people talking.
Emily was trying to convince Shras th'Zarath that rescue pilots flew every bit as aggressively as fighter pilots.
Shras looked deeply unconvinced.
"You drive buses."
Emily looked scandalised.
"We drive _fast_ buses."
"You drive buses."
"They're very agile buses."
"They're buses."
Across from them Sam and Lieutenant Taren Fenn had drifted into conversation about Bajor.
Cal only caught fragments as he spoke with Jaxa.
"...What made your symbiont choose fighters?"
Jaxa smiled over the rim of her mug.
"Actually..."
"It wasn't my first choice."
"No?"
She shook her head.
"The Renn symbiont spent a lifetime as an engineer."
Another as a diplomat."
"A scientist."
"A doctor."
She shrugged.
"Eventually it wanted to try something exciting."
"So..."
"It picked me."
Cal laughed.
"I hope it wasn't disappointed."
"It hasn't complained yet."
Beside him T'Rel quietly unpacked a small metal tin.
Cal watched with interest as she measured leaves with meticulous precision before heating water to what appeared to be an oddly specific temperature.
"You've done that three different ways."
"Correct."
"Why?"
"The flavour changes."
"...Really?"
She looked at him.
"Would you like to know why?"
His face brightened immediately.
"Absolutely."
By the time she'd finished explaining mineral content, steeping times and the chemistry of aromatic compounds, Cal had somehow acquired a steaming cup of Vulcan tea and an entirely new appreciation for how much thought could be invested in something he'd previously assumed involved little more than boiling water.
Across the table, Cross watched him drift effortlessly from one conversation to another.
One moment he was asking Benji about West African spices.
The next he was listening to T'Rel explain Vulcan tea ceremonies.
Then he was asking Fenn thoughtful questions about Bajor's reconstruction after the Occupation.
He never dominated the conversation.
He simply listened.
Asked questions.
Remembered the answers.
Cross glanced towards Mateo.
"...He always like that?"
Mateo looked up from his meal.
"...Who?"
Cross nodded subtly towards Cal.
He was now listening intently as Jaxa recounted one of her previous host's spectacularly unsuccessful attempts at hoverball.
Mateo smiled.
"...Yeah."
"He collects people."
Cross watched for another few moments before smiling into his own mug.
"...I can see that."
Hours seemed to pass without anybody noticing.
Empty plates gradually replaced full ones.
Stories replaced introductions.
Arguments became jokes.
Even Owen and Brok's ongoing debate about plasma injectors had somehow softened into the comfortable rhythm of two engineers who had discovered someone equally stubborn.
"...It's still backwards."
"It isn't."
"It will be by tomorrow."
"I'll prove you wrong."
"I look forward to it."
By the time the evening finally drew to a close, Cal found himself looking slowly around the length of the table.
An hour earlier every face had been unfamiliar.
Now Emily was laughing loudly enough to make even T'Rel's expression soften by a fraction.
Shras was attempting to explain Andorian ice climbing to Benji, who seemed convinced every mountain should simply be avoided.
Owen and Brok had already wandered off into a discussion about impulse manifold tolerances.
Cross caught Mateo's eye from the opposite end of the table and quietly raised his mug.
Mateo returned the gesture.
Outside _Wayfarer_, the Borg continued their relentless advance across the quadrant.
Inside her overcrowded mess hall, for the space of one ordinary evening...
The Federation felt whole again.
Morning arrived gradually aboard _Wayfarer_.
The lights brightened almost imperceptibly.
Somewhere further down the compartment a curtain rasped open, followed by the familiar sounds of boots hitting the deck and somebody muttering about coffee.
Cal stirred first.
For a few blissfully confused seconds he simply lay there, wondering why he felt... comfortable.
Then he remembered.
Emily.
She was still asleep beside him.
Curled comfortably beneath his arm, breathing slow and even, completely oblivious to the world beyond the curtain.
He smiled to himself.
Normally she'd have been gone long before now.
The thought made him glance towards the chronometer.
"...Em."
Nothing.
He chuckled quietly.
"Emily."
A sleepy noise emerged from somewhere beneath the blanket.
"Mmm..."
"We've overslept."
One eye reluctantly opened.
"...Have we?"
"Quite a bit."
She looked at him.
Then at the chronometer.
Then back at him.
"...Oh."
A beat.
"...Oops."
Emily eased the hatch open as quietly as she could.
She leaned out into the corridor, looked one way, then the other.
"Clear."
Cal slipped through after her, easing the hatch closed behind them with as little noise as possible.
For a brief moment they allowed themselves to believe they'd managed it.
"...Morning."
Both of them froze.
Sam Vance sat quietly in the far corner of the compartment, one leg folded beneath the other as she cradled a steaming mug of coffee in both hands. She'd clearly been awake for some time.
She regarded them over the rim of the mug with an expression of complete innocence.
Emily slowly closed her eyes.
Cal sighed.
"...Morning."
"I hope you both slept well."
Neither of them answered immediately.
Eventually Cal nodded.
"...Exceptionally."
"Good."
Sam smiled warmly before returning her attention to her coffee.
That appeared to conclude the conversation.
She offered no teasing remarks.
No knowing grin.
Simply another quiet sip from her mug as though two officers emerging from the same bunk after sunrise was the most ordinary thing in the galaxy.
Emily looked sideways at Cal.
"I don't think she was sitting there by accident."
"No," Cal agreed quietly.
"I don't think she was either."
Breakfast proved considerably quieter than the previous evening's feast.
Not through any lack of conversation.
Simply because nobody possessed much appetite.
Benji wandered proudly between the tables carrying another tray of food.
"Anybody?"
A chorus of polite refusals greeted him.
Emily looked mournfully down at a single untouched slice of toast.
"I don't think I need to eat again until Tuesday."
Across from her Cal gave a thoughtful nod.
"I'm still full."
Benji looked genuinely offended.
"I cooked too much."
"You cooked perfectly," Sam assured him.
"Our stomachs are the problem."
Brok looked up briefly from his coffee.
"Speak for yourselves."
Nobody appeared remotely surprised.
The mood shifted almost imperceptibly the moment they stepped into the briefing room.
Conversation dwindled.
Commander Hayes already stood at the front beside a glowing tactical display while Lieutenant Commander Nathan Cross occupied one side of the room with the rest of Echo Flight gathered nearby.
Suspended above the briefing table, a holographic image of several civilian freighters rotated slowly in silence.
Hayes waited until everyone had settled before speaking.
"Approximately three hours ago we received a distress signal."
The convoy expanded across the display, each vessel highlighted in amber.
"Civilian engineering convoy. Multiple vessels reporting cascading systems failures. Several are now adrift."
Cal noticed several heads lift.
The similarities were obvious.
One of Echo Flight's younger pilots spoke before anyone else could.
"...Sounds a lot like Delta Flight."
Nobody corrected her.
Hayes gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
"It does."
The room fell quiet once more.
"Which is why we're approaching this differently."
The display changed.
Instead of half a dozen rescue craft spreading across the convoy, only a single Danube-class runabout remained.
"If this is another trap," Hayes continued calmly, "we're only presenting one target."
Nathan Cross folded his arms.
"Echo Flight will remain with them from departure until recovery."
Hayes inclined his head.
"Continuous escort."
A rescue pilot towards the rear of the room frowned.
"Can one runabout carry everybody?"
Before Hayes answered, Mateo had already begun quietly working through the figures in his head.
"If the convoy's report is accurate..."
He paused only briefly.
"...Just."
Hayes allowed himself the smallest nod.
"That was my conclusion as well."
The schematic of the runabout enlarged above the table.
Some of those present recognised it immediately.
Hayes allowed the room to settle before continuing.
"The only Danube currently available for immediate launch is Runabout Sepik"
The holographic image rotated slowly above the briefing table.
Cal recognised her immediately.
"Our only tactical variant."
Several unfamiliar faces looked up.
Hayes noticed.
"Shuttle Eight didn't originally belong to a rescue squadron."
A second schematic appeared alongside the first, highlighting the differences.
"She was reassigned during the mobilisation from a tactical reserve unit. Unlike our other runabouts, she still carries a forward photon torpedo launcher."
The launcher assembly glowed softly beneath the bow.
"Truthfully," Hayes admitted, "it's of very little use to us."
A few heads nodded.
"We're rescue pilots."
"We don't go looking for fights."
He glanced towards the back of the room where Owen and Brok stood together.
"Engineering had finally managed to find enough breathing room to begin returning her to a standard rescue configuration."
Owen nodded.
"We were due to start stripping the launcher off this morning."
Brok folded his arms.
"Which was approximately five minutes before the distress call arrived."
Owen sighed.
"...Something like that."
"So," Brok continued with a theatrical shrug, "the launcher stays."
Hayes gave a small nod.
"The work has been postponed."
The schematic disappeared.
"Once this mission is complete, Engineering will resume converting Sepik into the rescue craft she was always meant to be."
Cal found himself studying the image for another moment before it vanished.
It seemed somehow fitting.
A rescue ship carrying a weapon she'd never needed.
Hopefully...
Never would.
"You're flying, Cal. I'll be in the number two seat."
Mateo spoke matter-of-factly as he stepped back into Alpha Flight's living compartment, the doors sliding shut behind him. There was no drama in his voice, no ceremony. It was simply another assignment.
Cal nodded once and rose from his chair, already reaching for the few belongings he carried on almost every mission.
"And us?" Emily asked, gesturing towards Sam. "We'll come too?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
Mateo reached up and pulled his flight jacket from where it hung over the rail of his bunk before slipping one arm into the sleeve.
Emily frowned.
"Why not? We haven't got anything on. There's—"
"No space."
He said it gently this time, but with the same certainty.
"We can fit everyone from the convoy aboard in one trip, but only if it's just the two of us."
Emily opened her mouth to argue again.
"What if something happens?" she asked instead. "You might need help."
"If something happens," Cal replied calmly, gathering his gloves and helmet from the small shelf beside his bunk, "we'll have the fighters."
He looked across at her with an easy smile.
"And then we'll come home."
"But..."
"No buts."
Mateo fastened the collar of his jacket and looked between the pair of them.
"Just... be patient."
His expression softened.
"We'll be back before you know it."
Sam had been watching the exchange quietly from her bunk.
"They'll be alright," she said.
It was reassuring in theory.
Less so in delivery.
Emily noticed.
So did Cal.
Nobody mentioned it.
Eventually Emily let out a reluctant sigh.
"...Fine."
She folded her arms with exaggerated annoyance.
"I still don't like it."
Cal stepped over and gently squeezed her hand as he passed.
"I know."
For just a second she held onto it before letting go again.
"Be careful."
"Always."
He smiled.
"Well..." a pause, "...Usually."
That finally earned the smallest smile from her.
As the compartment doors slid open once more, Mateo glanced back.
"Come on."
Cal picked up his helmet and followed him out into the corridor.
The doors closed behind them.
Silence settled over the compartment.
Emily continued staring at the hatch long after it had disappeared from view.
It wasn't that she doubted either of them.
Far from it.
She trusted Cal's hands at the controls more than anyone else's.
She trusted Mateo to bring his people home.
But something aboard _Wayfarer_ had changed over the past few days.
Delta Flight had proven just how quickly a routine rescue could become something else.
The war had a habit of changing everything in the space of a heartbeat.
And after losing one flight...
None of them could bear the thought of losing another.
The launch felt stranger than Cal had expected.
Sat in the pilot's seat of the runabout _Sepik_, her ungainly forward torpedo launcher jutting from beneath the bow, he and Mateo watched through the forward canopy as Echo Flight launched one by one into the darkness beyond _Wayfarer's_ flight deck.
Each Valkyrie-class starfighter accelerated away with startling urgency, disappearing into the black before peeling gracefully into a wide holding pattern.
They looked impossibly quick.
Cal glanced sideways.
"Our turn then, I guess?"
Mateo didn't look up from his displays.
"Just don't hit anything on the way out."
A beat.
"I don't want our new friends thinking we don't know what we're doing."
Cal smirked.
"I'll do my best."
The impulse engines rose to a gentle hum beneath them as _Sepik_ lifted clear of the deck.
For a moment she hovered motionless within the cavernous launch bay.
Cal rested one hand lightly on the controls.
Took a slow breath.
Then eased the runabout forward.
The floodlights lining _Wayfarer's_ flight deck blurred past the canopy before abruptly giving way to the endless black beyond.
Stars flooded into view.
Ahead of them, seven tiny contacts swept around in perfect formation, converging smoothly on the runabout.
The open communications channel crackled to life.
"Alright, bus driver..."
Benji Okafor's unmistakably cheerful voice filled the cockpit.
"You ready for some fun?"
Mateo answered before Cal had the chance.
"No."
There wasn't even the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.
"We're ready to rescue a convoy and come home."
Benji sighed theatrically.
"...You rescue pilots really know how to spoil a good day."
Two of the Valkyries darted effortlessly across _Sepik's_ bow before climbing steeply above the runabout, rolling gracefully onto their backs as they passed overhead.
"Come on," Jaxa Renn laughed over the comms.
"Why so serious?"
Cal watched the pair complete the manoeuvre with effortless precision before glancing sideways at Mateo.
Mateo simply shook his head.
"Show-offs."
"I heard that," Jaxa replied.
"You were supposed to."
Another fighter slipped beneath _Sepik_, briefly appearing through the lower canopy before climbing back into formation.
Cal couldn't help smiling.
They really were showing off.
"That's enough."
Nathan Cross's calm voice immediately settled the frequency.
The playful chatter disappeared almost instantly.
"Echo Flight, assume escort formation."
Almost as one, the fighters spread into their assigned positions around the runabout.
The transformation was remarkable.
One moment they were laughing.
The next they were utterly professional.
Cross continued.
"Confirm navigation solution to the convoy."
One by one acknowledgements followed.
"Echo Two, ready."
"Echo Three, ready."
"Echo Four, ready."
"Echo Five, ready."
"Echo Six, ready."
"Echo Seven, ready."
Cross waited.
"_Sepik?_"
Cal glanced once more at his navigation display.
"Course confirmed."
"Very good."
A brief pause followed.
"Formation."
Another heartbeat.
"Engage warp..."
"...Three."
"...Two."
"...One."
Eight warp fields blossomed into existence almost simultaneously.
For the briefest instant the stars stretched into brilliant lines of light.
Then, in perfect unison, Echo Flight and the runabout _Sepik_ vanished from _Wayfarer's_ sensors, leaving only the quiet darkness of space where moments before an entire rescue force had been assembled.
The fighters dropped from warp first.
One by one the seven Valkyries reappeared in perfect formation before _Sepik_ emerged a heartbeat later, the runabout settling neatly into the centre of the escort as though they'd been flying together for years rather than a single day.
Ahead of them, the convoy drifted silently against the stars.
Even at a distance it was obvious something had gone terribly wrong.
The lead freighter hung completely lifeless, every running light extinguished, its hull slowly rotating with no sign of manoeuvring thrusters attempting to correct it.
The second vessel had fared little better. Both nacelles remained attached, but their engine housings had been blackened almost beyond recognition. One plasma exhaust glowed a dull, angry orange where something deep inside continued to burn.
Only the final ship retained any obvious signs of life.
Even then, only barely.
Life support still registered on sensors, but a ragged wound stretched almost the entire length of her port side, venting a shimmering trail of warp plasma into space.
Nathan Cross's voice immediately cut across the formation.
"Alright, Echo Flight."
His tone had changed completely.
Gone was the easy humour from launch.
"Elise. T'Rel. Sweep the far side of the convoy."
"Copy."
"Benji. Jaxa. Begin a perimeter patrol of the area."
"On it."
"Shras. Taren."
A brief pause.
"You stay with the bus."
Cal would've rolled his eyes.
Mateo had already done it for both of them.
---
Cal's fingers moved instinctively across _Sepik's_ communications panel.
A second frequency opened.
"Freighter _Telluride_, this is rescue craft _Sepik_. Please respond."
Silence.
Only the soft hiss of open space.
He tried again.
"Freighter _Telluride_, this is Federation rescue craft _Sepik_. Do you copy?"
This time something answered.
The speaker crackled violently.
"...rride..."
A burst of static drowned whatever followed.
"...ha—"
More static.
"...ing..."
Nothing.
Cal exchanged a glance with Mateo.
"Freighter _Telluride_, if you can hear me, we're making our approach. Assemble your crew in your shuttle bay and prepare for evacuation."
He released the transmit key.
"Here goes nothing."
Mateo folded his arms.
"We've had worse."
"Have we?"
"...Probably."
---
_Sepik_ eased ahead.
Her escorts remained exactly where they should, one fighter holding position to either side while the remaining five spread into a wider screen ahead.
Cal resisted the urge to fly directly for _Telluride_.
Instead he began a long reconnaissance pass around the convoy, letting the runabout's sensors build a clearer picture before committing himself.
Something nagged at him.
Not the damage.
He'd seen far worse.
It was...
The emptiness.
No escape pods.
No shuttle traffic.
No drifting cargo.
Nothing.
Just three wounded freighters floating alone.
"Something feels..."
"Off?"
Mateo didn't even look up.
"...Yeah."
Cal nodded slowly.
"I can't put my finger on it."
Mateo watched the sensor display for another moment.
"Nerves after Delta Flight?"
"...Maybe."
"We'll be alright."
His voice remained calm.
"Pick everyone up."
"Go home."
Cal smiled faintly.
"...Yeah."
---
They were halfway towards _Telluride_ when the comm system crackled again.
"...Telluride..."
"...hard..."
"...back..."
"...watching..."
Cal frowned.
Without thinking he nudged the throttles forward.
_Sepik_ surged ahead.
Neither he nor Mateo could make enough sense of the transmission to understand it.
But Cal's instincts had already decided.
Whatever they were trying to say...
It mattered.
"_Telluride_, your transmission is unreadable," Mateo replied.
"Repeat."
Static.
Then—
"...we were hit..."
"...they're..."
"...watching..."
"...waiting..."
Benji's voice broke the silence.
"...That doesn't sound encouraging."
Another burst of interference.
"..._Sepik_..."
"...they came out of nowhere..."
"...never saw..."
"...waiting..."
Cal abandoned the reconnaissance circuit entirely.
_Sepik's_ nose dipped.
The runabout accelerated directly towards the surviving freighter.
"_Telluride_, open your shuttle bay. We're inbound."
He doubted they'd hear him.
But if they could...
They'd know help was almost there.
---
"Contact."
Ensign Elise Carter's voice cut sharply across the formation.
"I have a contact."
Every cockpit immediately went quiet.
"Single vessel."
A heartbeat.
"Borg probe."
"Oh, good."
Benji sounded almost relieved.
"I was beginning to think nobody was coming."
Cal looked sideways.
"I'm continuing."
Mateo didn't hesitate.
A single nod.
"Keep going."
---
"Echo Flight."
Cross was already issuing orders.
"Escort pair stay with _Sepik_."
"The rest of you, with me."
Five Valkyries immediately peeled away, their formation tightening as they accelerated towards the distant probe.
The remaining two settled even closer to the runabout's flanks.
Like faithful guard dogs.
Cal watched them through the canopy for only a moment before returning his attention to _Telluride_.
Almost there.
Then the voice arrived.
Cold.
Emotionless.
Inescapable.
"We are the Borg."
"Lower your shields and surrender your ships."
"You will be assimilated."
Cal couldn't help it.
"I thought they wanted to exterminate us this time."
Mateo gave the faintest huff of amusement.
"Maybe they changed their minds."
Another beat.
"Keep going."
He looked through the canopy towards the slowly growing freighter.
"We're almost there."
Cal rested his hand a little more firmly on the throttles.
"Oh."
A tiny smile crossed his face.
"Good."
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