Reclining in the high-backed chair that was a match for the one in his office, Reyes regarded the image of Captain Adelard Nassir displayed on the computer workstation situated in one corner of his quarters. The incoming transmission from the Sagittarius’s commanding officer had come at just before 2100 hours station time, well after the conclusion of his normal duty shift but not so late as to have roused him from sleep.
“Sorry to disturb you, Commodore,” Nassir said, his voice sounding somewhat hollow as an effect of the data compression and encryption processes being used to push the captain’s transmission through however many subspace relay beacons currently separated the Sagittarius from Starbase 47. “But I figured you’d want to hear from us as soon as possible.”
Reyes chuckled as he rubbed his chin, which he had last shaved nearly twenty hours previously and now once again was rough with beard stubble. “Be thankful I’m still sober and wearing pants, Captain. It’s been a long day, but not so long as the last couple you’ve had. My compliments to your crew. That’s quite a talented bunch you have working for you.”
On the screen, Nassir nodded. “For which I’m eternally grateful, Commodore.” He then offered a wry grin. “You’ll be happy to know that Ensign Theriault is insufferably pleased with herself. The way things are going, there might not be enough room aboard ship to contain her ego.”
“Let her have this one,” Reyes replied. “Anybody who could pull off that stunt has to be good, or at least damned lucky, and sometimes that’s all you need.” He had read with fascination and no small amount of amusement the ingenious sensor tactic Theriault had employed in order to evade the Sagittarius’s Klingon pursuers while escaping from Traelus II. “Tell her the first round’s on me once you make port.”
Smiling, Nassir said, “She’ll be only too happy to collect.” The captain’s expression then turned serious. “I trust you’ve had time to review our other reports?”
“Yes,” Reyes replied. “They definitely make for interesting reading. The science teams here can’t stop talking about them.” That he found it so easy to slip into a form of code when talking even over an encrypted frequency surprised him, but as he had learned in short order upon taking command of Starbase 47, such measures were necessary in order to preserve operational security. No mention of the Taurus Meta-Genome by name was allowed in verbal communications, and any references to it in written reports were made using euphemisms, where the meta-genome was referred to as a “Type V life sign.” To further cement the disinformation campaign with respect to the enigmatic alien DNA, Federation and Starfleet life sciences data repositories listed that life sign as a form of primordial mold. It was true enough, given the circumstances surrounding the meta-genome’s discovery two years earlier, but no further mention of its unique properties or potential origin was to be found in those publicly accessible records.
“You know how those science types can be,” Nassir said. “Theriault can’t wait to get back to Traelus for more research. She thinks she’s really on to something there.”
Even without the specifics, Reyes knew to what the Sagittarius’s captain was referring. Ensign Theriault’s theory that the meta-genome samples found on Traelus II held several stark similarities to those discovered on Ravanar IV two years ago had been confirmed by one of Operation Vanguard’s dedicated science teams, lending credence to the theory that the same party was responsible for depositing the complex DNA on both worlds, and likely on a still-unknown number of additional planets. Whoever created the meta-genome, if they even still existed, appeared to possess a level of technological prowess—and by extension, far greater power—than previously believed. What would life be like on a world ruled by such beings? Had they eradicated all disease and suffering? Had they learned to traverse the stars in some manner so far unimagined by even the greatest known scientific minds?
And what of any weapons they may have fashioned? Where were they, and what would be the consequences if such ghastly creations fell into the wrong hands?
That’s the sort of thing that’ll keep me up nights, Reyes mused.
“I’m afraid Theriault’s out of luck,” he said. “According to Captain Desai, the Klingon Empire did in fact make official notification through the Federation Embassy here on the station of its intent to settle on Traelus II, well before you got there.”
On the viewscreen, Nassir’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How’s it possible something like that was missed?”
“Talk to Lieutenant Ballard,” Reyes replied. “You know those system glitches we’ve been having all over the station for weeks? The communications array looks to be just as prone to them as everything else.” Starbase 47’s chief engineer had assured Reyes that he and his team felt they were close to finally having a handle on the ongoing problems plaguing the station’s advance toward full operational capability, but at this point the commodore remained less than convinced.
“So, we’re saying we’ve definitely lost Traelus?” Nassir asked.
Nodding, Reyes replied, “Looks that way. The Empire’s notification was in order, and after review the Diplomatic Corps and the Federation Council have agreed that there’s nothing to be done. Traelus belongs to the Klingons now.”
“The Tholians won’t be thrilled about that,” Nassir said, “but that would’ve been true even if we’d gotten there first. It’s awfully close to the Tholian border, and that’s before you take into account how much the Tholians like to shift their territorial boundaries on a whim.”
Reyes knew it was a notion shared by many within the halls of leadership at Starfleet Command. Whereas the Federation would have been content to colonize the Traelus system—even as a cover for exploring Traelus II for further signs of the meta-genome or its creators—and leave the Tholians well enough alone, many of Starfleet’s foremost tactical minds worried about what the Klingons might do in such close proximity to Tholian territory. It would not be long before the Tholian government issued some form of protest at the Empire’s perceived encroachment, but how would the situation evolve or deteriorate from there?
And what if the Klingons somehow stumbled across the meta-genome, and from there discovered Starfleet’s interest in it?
“Stop trying to cheer me up, Captain,” Reyes said, attempting a small, humorless smile to soften the remark. “We’ll have to worry about the Tholians and the Klingons another day, and Ensign Theriault will just have to find another place to play. Anything else to report?”
Nassir shook his head. “Only that we’re tired, and that some shore leave would not go unnoticed or unappreciated.”
“Duly noted,” Reyes replied, tapping his fingers on his desktop. “I’ll do everything I can to get you some decent downtime once you get back, mission permitting. Safe travels, Captain, and we’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
Touching his right forefinger to his temple in an informal gesture of salute, Nassir said, “Thank you, Commodore. Nassir out.” His face disappeared in a burst of static as the subspace connection was severed, after which the screen shifted to depict a condensed version of the station’s current status schematic as displayed on the larger viewscreen in Reyes’s office. The commodore studied it for a moment, noting the few lines of text in red that detailed systems currently being serviced by one of Lieutenant Ballard’s engineering teams.
The sound of his door chime made Reyes turn toward the entrance to his quarters, and he frowned. Who would be calling on him at this hour, and in person, no less? “Come,” he called out, and was surprised to see Captain Rana Desai standing at the threshold as the door slid aside, her Starfleet captain’s uniform smooth and straight as though she had just donned it. Rising from his seat, Reyes glanced toward the chronometer on his desk. “Captain,” he said, his confusion mounting. “I’m sorry, did we have an appointment I’ve forgotten about?”
Desai stepped into the room, and Reyes noted that unlike almost every other occasion on which he had seen her since that first meeting in his office, she was not carrying the data slate that seemed to be an extension of her body. “No, sir, this isn’t duty-related.” She paused, looking about the room before continuing, “I’m sorry, Commodore. Are you busy?”
“Not at all,” Reyes said, gesturing with his hands to indicate that he was not otherwise occupied. “What can I do for you?” He heard her clear her throat, and she glanced at her hands, which were clasped before her and held near her waist.
“I . . . I just left my office,” she said, “and I was wondering if you might like to join me for a late dinner?”
Unable to keep the expression of surprise from his face, Reyes replied, “That sounds great, actually. I . . . I missed dinner. Paperwork. The life of the commanding officer, and all that.”
Stop babbling, you idiot.
Their first dinner had been a quiet, unassuming affair in the officers’ club, and while they had maintained a professional demeanor throughout the evening, Reyes could not help but sense that Desai had wanted something more, just as he had. Neither party acted on those apparent feelings, and their dinner concluded with Reyes returning to his office to catch up on reviewing backlogged reports, while Desai continued her efforts to settle into her new assignment. What Reyes wondered was whether the captain, like him, had simply sat at her desk, ignoring her work and ruminating on how the evening might have gone if either or both of them had chosen a different path.
Swallowing the odd lump that had formed in his throat, Reyes asked, “So, what are you hungry for?”
Desai seemed to ponder the question for a moment, and then Reyes saw her features soften before she stepped toward him. “I’ve decided I don’t want dinner. We can talk later about what to have for breakfast.” Reaching out, she grasped his head in her hands and pulled him to her.
Well, this changes some things, was the last rational thought to pass through Reyes’s mind before he surrendered it and everything else.