Wake Me Up When September Ends, Part 2

Posted on Mon Feb 23rd, 2026 @ 3:25am by Commodore Wilkan Targaryen & Vice Admiral Loatha Targaryen & Commander Galatea & Commander Ash Randall & Commander Zhora zh'Roothi & Lieutenant Commander Sora Bernadotte & Lieutenant Commander Aidan Datari & Lieutenant Urvasi Elandorn & Lieutenant Rio Kholin MD & Lieutenant Amber Laurell & Lieutenant Herbert Barr & Lieutenant (J.G.) Dylan Blake & Ensign Sayori Nakai & Ensign Mirakylin Yumerieva

8,945 words; about a 45 minute read

Mission: 7. Guile
Location: Main Bridge, U.S.S. Enterprise
Timeline: 2439-08-13, 09:45

"Commodore on the Bridge " Galatea announced. Her holographic form shifted, her resolution sharpening into a crisp, ceremonial attention as the port-side doors slid apart. While they were facing a loaded gun, she ensured the ship still observed the weight of protocol.

As Wilkan stepped onto the Bridge, he took a single, silent second to center himself. The transition from the station's chaotic energy to the Enterprise’s controlled hum was visceral. The team from the Transporter Room moved past him as the enormity of command settled back onto his shoulders. This was his ship, his plan, and his era. Nothing would change that.

Stepping down into the command arena, the Commodore offered a respectful nod to Counselor Laurell as he passed. Instead of sitting, he stood before the Captain’s Chair, a pillar of authority. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the Bridge crew - the gathered authors of the history about to be written.

"I’m not going to sugar-coat this," Wilkan began, his voice dropping into a commanding resonance that demanded the room’s silence. "The Federation is on the precipice of war, and the only souls who can stop it are the ones on this deck right now. General Krennek has threatened to suspend the Khitomer Accords if we fail to acquiesce to his demands for the Gamma Quadrant." He looked to Kuzos. "Admiral Deix has denied that access. Peace is teetering on the edge of a bat'leth, and if we fail, the first shots of a galactic conflict will be fired here at Deep Space Nine."

He shifted his gaze to Loatha. "During the conference, Commodore Loatha Targaryen sensed a deception beneath Krennek's posturing. The Klingons are hiding something - something they are willing to risk a total war to protect. Our mission isn't just to keep the peace; it's to unmask the General's endgame." He looked around the Bridge one last time, his eyes piercing. "The question we need to answer is: what is worth a war with the Federation to the Klingons?"

"That's what's been itching my brain," Sora remarked as she entered the bridge behind the Commodore. "If the General came here to start a war, surely he would have brought more firepower. That out there is a perfectly ordinary Bird-of-Prey. Sure, it packs a punch, but it's definitely not the kind of thing you want to bring without backup when you come and provoke one of the most important Starfleet outposts."

She quickly scanned the bridge, and then made her way to her usual station at Operations, which was currently unmanned with all processes either automated or transferred to other stations. With a few swift commands, she accessed the live feed of the ship's sensors. "Krennek is an experienced commander," she continued her train of thought. "He knew from the start that the Federation would not agree to his demands. And he is not here with a fleet, there are no indications of cloaked vessels in the vicinity. So, what is he here for, really?"

A reading on the sensors caught her eye. "Hello, what are you doing here," she muttered to herself, narrowing the display parameters to get a better read. "Commodores, are there any Bajoran orbs on the station at the moment that I don't know of?"

Loatha moved with a predatory grace toward the center of the command well, her presence seemingly expanding to fill the space Wilkan had carved out. She didn't look at the main viewscreen; her focus was entirely on the data flowing through the Bridge, her telepathic sensitivity already vibrating with the friction of the station's mounting tension.

"There is an Orb," Loatha answered, her voice a cool, authoritative chime that silenced the ambient chirp of the consoles. She didn't look back at Sora, her gaze fixed on the tactical display. "The Orb of Prophecy and Change. It was brought to the Bajoran Temple on the Promenade for a private cycle of contemplation. Its arrival was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, known only to the Vedek Assembly and high-level station security."

Aidan listened to the conversation, keeping an eye on the power output coming from the Klingons and any other anomalies that might arise. "Klingons are always after victory," he said thoughtfully, and like most cultures they're after resources. The spoils of their victory. Most houses live for battle, don't they? There's probably nothing worse for them like peace time."

"Normally, that's true, Commander," Wilkan agreed looking at the Enterprise's Astrometrics Officer, "but the House of Korath are different. They're known more for their scientific capabilities than their military victories. It's very odd that they were chosen for this diplomatic assignment, they've not even been on the High Council for long."

"Prophecy and Change, eh?", Sora muttered as she looked at the sensor readouts again. "Anyone else run into some strange Bajoran mystic on the station who claimed to see the future?", she asked nobody in particular. "She was really rather strange. Anyway, would you say that trace elements of temporal disruption could be caused by that orb? Because from what I'm seeing here, someone on DS9 has been up to temporal shenanigans."

"I did," Aidan answered, "it was very peculiar....she said I was walking out of time or something. It was very vague..." He seemed a little troubled by the recollection. "She claimed I was listening to different conversations in different times, when really all I wanted was a few minutes for myself while half listening to a Klingon conversation."

Loatha’s eyes sharpened, her telepathic intuition snapping into place like a locking mechanism. She stepped forward, her posture radiating the seasoned authority of someone who had spent as much time navigating the politics of Deep Space Nine as she had the stars. "That was Opra," Loatha said, her voice dropping into a low, serious tone. "She isn't just a 'strange mystic,' Sora. She is a fixture of the station’s undercurrents. Some call her a prophet, others a madwoman, but she has a habit of appearing exactly where she needs to be when things are starting to fray. If she’s speaking about 'walking out of time,' then we aren’t just looking at a theft. We’re looking at a catastrophe," she looked at Aidan.

"Commander," Wilkan turned to Zhora, his voice tight and resonant. "Contact Captain Gunisi. Have him deploy a rapid-response team to the Temple immediately. I want a physical verification of the Orb, but tell him to lead with Tricorders because, if the House of Korath is involved, our eyes will lie to us before the sensors do. Double the guard, and tell Gunisi to authorize lethal force if he finds anyone attempting to capture the Orb."

Loatha, however, stepped forward, her expression tightening into a mask of diplomatic and legal caution. As the Sector Commander who resided on the station, she was acutely aware of the delicate threads holding the Federation-Bajoran alliance together.

"Wilkan, wait," Loatha interrupted, her voice a cool, authoritative chime that nonetheless carried a warning. "The Bajoran Temple isn't just a room on the Promenade - it's sovereign ground of the Republic of Bajor. Even Starfleet Security needs an invitation or a direct request from the Vedek Assembly to enter with drawn phasers."

Wilkan turned toward his wife, his expression unyielding. "I’m aware of the treaty, Loatha, but the Bajorans will find it much easier to forgive a jurisdictional trespass than the loss of a holy relic. If Krennek's people transport that Orb off the station, 'sovereign ground' won't bring it back. We secure the asset first, and I’ll handle the Vedek Assembly’s outrage myself."

"Like you handled Korath earlier?" Loatha didn’t flinch at his intensity, "They won't forgive it if they think we're the ones stealing it, Wilkan. If Starfleet enters that Temple with phasers hot, the Klingons will use it against us. They’ll claim they were there to save the Orb from us. Zhora, Gunisi can deploy security to the Promenade, he can turn on Transport Inhibitors, but he is not to raid the temple."

The Andorian XO nodded at the instruction: "Understood Commodore," she replied before crossing to the closest terminal to reach the station CO.

"Didn't he say tricorder rather than phasers?" Aidan pointed out, "I'd recommend tricorder only and carry transporter inhibitors. I also recommend alerting the Bajorans and let them handle anything in the vicinity of the Orb." He understood the delicacy of the situation and he was keenly aware of the tension as his own unreliable empathic senses decided to kick in. "Also sir, ma'am if I may..." The Trill hesitated, remembering how a prior CO decided that his companion was no more than a pet. "I have a unique companion who might be able to help, if the Bajorans allow it. He can guard the orb and alert them if anyone gets near. He can't take it anywhere because it's way too heavy for him so he can't steal it or anything."

He paused, drawing a deep breath as he glanced around, feeling very uneasy at the prospect of a catastrophe. "Some have met him ... And he's not dangerous. Not until he needs to be anyway."

Mira was at her station and keeping tabs of the power heart beat of the Enterprise. She was thinking about what was being said, about the posturing, then she hoped she was not being out of line with her thinking. "Captain, Engineering, I might have a guesses and suggestions.... bait and switch.

What if the Science Team re calibrates short range active scans to create an active transporter inhibitor blanket to be over the station as we report an active sensor glitch sciences and ops are trying to fix while we send over our personnel to create a net around the orb to catch whoever it is, without entering the sanctuary that is under guard by Commander Datari's companion, who seems to have an in?

What says there isn't already a team for the Klingon's on the station using the General's very beam out to do a sneak steal right now?

Also, what if there is a cloaked shuttle already on board for that sneak team so they would just head out to meet the General at a pre-determined rendezvous point when the General leaves, of course, his ship scrutinized and having found no Orb? Can science look for the unique cloaking device rest emissions to find it?

*muzzle cheeks flushing* That is.. erm.. what my underground group would similarly do to get medicines and provisions for those in need from under the watch of the Holy Valoran Warriors crusade to wipe us out."

The Trill nodded in approval of that idea. "Recalibrating short range sensors," he announced, "Galathea I could use your help with that. What are the chances of a cloaked vessel being hidden on the station? Is that at all possible?"

Sora listened to the conversation and Mira's theory, but something wasn't feeling quite right about it. "Commodore Targaryen, in this case specifically Loatha, you said that the Orb was being kept in the temple, which would make sense. However, the temporal disruption reading I received did not come from the temple, it came from the other side of the promenade. As I understand it, and correct me if I am mistaken, the Orbs are usually held in specialized containers, which are sealed to prevent any of their effects from leaking out. So unless the container was opened, there should not be any distortion around the Orb. So, either someone was using the Orb, or there's something else on the station that is causing these distortions."

Mira's face became one of confusion. 'Temporal disruptions? Promenade? Did the strike crew already make their move? If so... she just returned to her engineering panel. Things were farther along and those in upper management were in the know. She would just be there, and hoping her suggestions hadn't landed her into a write up.

Galatea’s holographic form flickered, her resolution sharpening as a priority alert chimed. "Excuse the interruption, but the long-range sensor net has just registered two incoming warp signatures. Identity confirmed."

On the main viewscreen, the stars distorted, yielding to a sleek, experimental silhouette and the sturdy frame of a Rio Grande-class vessel. "A Federation Shuttlepod and the Runabout Holana have just dropped out of warp," Galatea announced. "The Shuttlepod is broadcasting a priority docking request for Shuttlebay 3. Simultaneously, the Holana is requesting immediate clearance to dock with Deep Space Nine."

"Commodore," Galatea continued, her voice a focused rasp, "the Shuttlepod carries our Chief Engineer and Helmsman - assets we require at Battle Stations. However, the Holana’s arrival creates a significant sensor shadow near the Docking Ring. If there is a cloaked vessel waiting for an extraction as Ensign Mira suggests, this traffic is the perfect cover for their departure."

"Grant them permission to dock and order them to report to the Bridge immediately," Wilkan directed. He didn't dwell on the public debate with his wife; he simply filed the "sovereign ground" constraint away for later. His mind was already circling Sora's observation. If the Orb was shielded, why was the ship's sensor array screaming about temporal anomalies?

"Shuttlebay 3 doors are cycling," Galatea quietly noted. "Commander Randall and Lieutenant Elandorn will be on deck in sixty seconds."

Wilkan crossed his arms, his gaze intense. "We're missing something, something big." He turned his full attention to the Bridge crew. "This woman you encountered, tell me about her. Every detail."

"She approached me while I was having a moment for myself at the replimat," Aidan started, "and she told me I wasn't listening to just one conversation but more, and none were happening then and there or even in this year." He paused, recalling the odd conversation. "She said I was like a ghost walking through my own life and that I'm crowded...as if there's dozens of people trying to speak through me. And that time doesn't walk a straight line for me. Honestly sir, she made no sense at all, claiming I'm the one walking between, and a bridge carrying a weight." He paused again, this time looking less than comfortable. "She said a stone is going to land on me..."

Wilkan remained motionless, his fist resting beneath his chin - a classic posture of deep analytical synthesis. He processed Aidan’s report not as a collection of riddles, but as a set of coordinates. To a human, "ghosts" and "voices" were metaphors; to a Trill, they were the literal biological reality of Joining. He knew Aidan wasn't an initiate, but that didn't matter. If the chronometric energy was active, linear time was no longer a requirement for truth. Opra wasn't talking to the man standing on his Bridge; she was talking to a version of him that existed in a potential future - one where the "stone" had already landed.

His gaze flicked to Sora. He remembered her muted reaction to Admiral Deix’s orders - the lack of shock, the muttered comment. The pieces clicked with the audible snap of his fingers. "‘Could that be what she meant?’" The words escaped him before he could filter them, but he didn't retreat. He leaned into the revelation, his eyes sharp. "I can assure you, Commander Bernadotte, that is exactly what that woman was doing. She didn't just guess Admiral Deix's decision - she experienced it before I even opened the channel." He turned his focus back to Aidan, his voice dropping into a low, commanding resonance. "And she saw a future where you are Joined, Aidan. The 'weight' you carry is a symbiont."

"Commodores? Sir, Ma'am, if I may be permitted to add something that I now believe might be relevant to this discussion?" Rio spoke up, unable to contain what she knew any longer as the facts were unfolding fast. She didn't wait for the mandatory permission, such was her anxiety to add what she now realised was another piece to this puzzle.

"I met her too. She didn't tell me her name and I didn't think it important so I didn't report it to anyone but she spoke to me about confusing matters that made no sense to me at the time. She seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. She was carrying a case that seemed heavy and hard to hold level. She also seemed to be getting some pressure from an earring - I thought just a family Bajoran earring....... but it was larger than a normal one.... She said I was being shadowed, well, maybe there were two of me... or something, it made no sense, Sir, Ma'am? She claimed that I am carrying my past forward in a circular timefield and that I should reveal the "real" me? It made no sense and I'm sure I'm not hiding any part of myself.... I would know, wouldn't I? Does it have any significance do you think?" Rio looked at both Commodores one by one and shrugged. "I'm sorry not to have made more sense of it all...... but I swear I'm no traitor nor dopple-ganger, hiding anything"

Wilkan turned fully toward Rio, his expression softening from the hard lines of a commander to the focused intensity of a man who dealt in the currency of souls. He didn't just look at her; he looked at the space around her, as if searching for the very shadows she described.

"Doctor," Wilkan said, his voice dropping into a low, steady register that commanded the air in the room. He didn't wait for her to move before he continued. "You have nothing to apologize for, and you certainly have nothing to prove. In this fleet, we are trained to trust our eyes and our sensors, but Opra is playing a melody on a keyboard we haven’t even plugged in yet. If she told you that you are carrying your past forward, she wasn't questioning your character: she was identifying your 'temporal wake.'"

He stopped directly in front of her, meeting her eyes with a piercing, empathetic clarity. "She saw two of you because, in the proximity of those crystals, your 'now' is overlapping with your 'was.' You aren't hiding anything from us, but the universe might be hiding a version of you from yourself. You aren't a doppelganger; you are a resonance." Wilkan reached out, not quite touching her shoulder but offering the grounding presence of his proximity. "Rio, listen to me. I need you to trust that 'real' version of yourself, even if you haven't met her yet.

Wilkan He looked at Loatha, the tactical implications settling in. "If a local mystic can see this much just by standing near the 'leak,' imagine what the House of Korath can do if they get that Orb. They won't just predict our moves; they'll edit them out of existence."

"It’s not the Orb," Loatha said, her voice dropping into a register of chilling certainty. Her eyes remained fixed on the tactical overlay of the Promenade, her telepathic senses strained to the point of a physical ache. She finally turned to Wilkan, her expression tight. "You’re right that she’s seeing the future, but you’re wrong about the source. If anyone were accessing the Orb, the Bajoran monks would be screaming in agony, and the Temple's containment field would be lighting up our sensors like a supernova. No, this is something else."

Sora kept her eyes locked on her console. "She knew where I am from," she said, quietly. "Spoke of mirrors, that the face in the mirror had blinked. Like a warning. I assumed when you told me of the Admiral's decision that that was what she had been referring to, but I wonder. She also spoke of an empty throne inside me, that would have to answer for spilled blood. That I was searching for a way to escape from the monster I am to become." She shook her head. "I think I have an idea what the Klingons might really be after."

"Commander Randall reporting for duty, Commodore." The Chief Engineer announced, as she entered the bridge and headed straight to her engineering station. "Has anyone reported temporal anomalies?" She asked while she relieved the engineer currently manning the engineering station. "The bridge is very crowded right now." She observed, with a glance about her.

Mira was never so happy as to see Commander Randall come onto the bridge. She began the position hand off in letting Ash know everything was powered up and ready for an maneuvering and power demands by the ship.

Right behind Ash came Urvasi onto the Bridge. "Lieutenant Elandorn reporting for Duty, Commodore." She immediately headed for the Piloting station and sat down. Nobody had been there yet due to just bringing up the ship. She yiffered gently and in a small voice said, "Hello Enterprise, miss me?"

Aidan had gone very white at the mention of being joined. "Never," he whispered hollowly, shaking his head, "never again. I can't be joined again." Sora's words barely registered, nor did Randall's. The Trill seemed in absolute shock at the revelation.

Amber noted Aiden’s reaction, perhaps that was something he needed to talk about at some point. For now though it could wait.

Wilkan remained motionless, his fist resting beneath his chin—the posture of a man building a universe out of data points. He had processed Aidan’s report as a set of future coordinates, but as the Trill’s hollow whisper of "never again" echoed across the Bridge, Wilkan’s eyes snapped toward him.

The analytical mask didn't slip, but it tightened. He hadn't been looking at a potential future; he was looking at a catastrophic past.

"I stand corrected, Commander," Wilkan said, his voice dropping into a lower, more grounded resonance. He didn't offer a shallow apology; instead, he offered the respect of acknowledging the truth. "You aren't a bridge to what will be. You’re the scar tissue of what was. That makes you even more sensitive to this 'leak' than I realized."

He turned his attention back to the wider circle, integrating Aidan's trauma into the tactical map with ruthless speed.

After hand off, now freed of the panel, Mira looked around the room and was following the observations. She realized the lady she met was this Opra everyone was talking about. She swallowed, knowing she was already not in a good standing, but the Commodore had commanded, so she had to tell her tale.

"Commodore Targaryen, Ensign Yumerieva, I interacted with this Opra.. she never told me her name, but, the descriptions fit. I... went there to see if she could find any of my family's heirlooms, specifically a necklace and watch. She kept reiterating about the dead wanting to remain buried, do I really want to reawaken ghosts, and ghosts can be very hungry. She does have a lead on my father's hand-made watch, but nothing on my mother's necklace. I am just trying to find my true last name, to know my family. She was kind, shared tea, but had a warning about ghosts attached to my family. We.. our history might be something more than I know... what I know, is that my family is outcast, now gone.. just me." Mira shuddered, working her damnedest to not cry, not shrink, not feel overwhelmed in front of so much heavy brass. She managed to just be there, for now.

Wilkan turned his attention to Mira. His expression didn't soften into pity - pity was a luxury for a time of peace. Instead, his eyes narrowed, dissecting her story as if it were a fresh sensor sweep.

"I know exactly who you are, Ensign," he said, his voice clipped and efficient. "And I know the weight of the history you’re carrying. But if this woman is talking to you about 'hungry ghosts' while she speaks to Sora about 'empty thrones,' she isn’t just fortune-telling. She’s identifying structural fractures in our reality."

He stepped toward the center of the Bridge, the glow of the Yellow Alert catching the sharp lines of his uniform. He looked at each of them in turn treating them not as subordinates, but as components of a complex equation.

"Think about the variables," Wilkan commanded, his voice gaining a resonant, authoritative edge. "We have a survivor from a mirror-reality, a man who has already endured the severing of a Joining, and an outcast searching for a buried lineage. We aren't just a crew; we are a collection of chronometric anchors. Opra is targeting us because we are the nodes where the timeline is most frayed—the exact points where the House of Korath can gain the most leverage to overwrite this reality."

"The Orb isn't the target," Wilkan continued, his gaze like flint as he looked toward Loatha. "The House of Korath is many things, but they aren't looters. They’re scientists. They don't want a religious relic that requires a Vedek's permission to function. They want the source of the distortion Sora is tracking. The Orb in the Temple is a ghost—a spiritual red herring designed to keep us focused on 'sovereign ground' and diplomatic treaties while the real tactical advantage is sitting at a table in the Replimat."

He stepped closer to the tactical console, his voice dropping to a low, urgent vibration. "Krennek wants us to guard the Temple. He wants us to tie ourselves in legal knots while his extraction team secures the woman who is currently bleeding our future into her tea. The Orb is a distraction. She is the prize. We need to find her!"

Mira's gaze snapped up towards the Commodore. His summation was correct, it wasn't timelines converging, it was a single force connecting those timelines, and this Opra was the fulcrum. She was now no longer attached to the engineering console, she had Opra searching for her father's watch, and she had shared tea.... She swallowed heavy spit, then called out, "Commodore Targaryen, permission to beam to the Shard on DS9 and talk with her about the danger? She is searching for my father's watch for me, so I would be most welcome to chat with?"

Taking a deep breath, Sora stood from her seat and looked at Commodore Targaryen and his wife. "Centuries ago, the Terran Empire, led by Emperor Philippa Georgiou, laid waste to Qo'nos, rendering the planet nearly uninhabitable. And yet, by the time of this universe's Dominion War, an alliance between Klingons and Cardassians had been waging war against the Empire for a decade, and it was winning. The Empire only survived because the Romulans used the opportune moment and attacked the Klingons, forcing them to divert significant forces from the fight against the Empire to secure their own borders. In the end, the Empire and the Alliance signed an armistice, something almost unprecedented in Terran history, after the Klingons came begging for it."

She glanced at the Klingon ship docked at Deep Space Nine as she continued. "The Klingon leader that sent the message asking for said armistice was one Marshal Korath. He said he had seen the extinction of both our peoples at the hand of the Romulans, should the war between us continue. That is what our history books say. Of course, the Empire was preparing to resume the war against the Klingons when I was slipped into this universe, this time, while the conflict between the Romulan Republic and the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance had ground to a stalemate. I had always believed it to be Imperial propaganda, after all, the Empire was still losing. And then I joined Temporal Investigations, and learned of the secret of the monastery on Boreth."

Sora looked around at the rest of the bridge crew, searching for any indication that they knew what she was talking about, before continuing. "Boreth is not just a religious sanctuary, it also holds one of the most powerful minerals ever discovered. Time Crystals. I think Opra managed to get her hands on some. That's how she knew things she otherwise could not have. And that is why the Klingons are really here."

Still very pale, the Trill nodded slowly. "I concur," he answered, "but how did she get them, and where does she keep them. And more importantly, how do we get them away from her without doing any damage?"

Mira shifted to be back near Ash and remained at Parade Rest to be available for any orders, or to just be dismissed.

Loatha stood at the center of the Bridge, the Yellow Alert reflecting in her dark, focused eyes. As Sector Commander, her mind was already leaping past the local mystery to the theater-wide threat. If Sora’s history of Marshal Korath was repeating itself in this universe, the stability of the entire Alpha Quadrant was at stake.

She stepped toward the tactical display, her movements sharp and deliberate. "Commander Bernadotte," Loatha said, her voice carrying the absolute weight of her operational authority. "Your assessment of Boreth and the Marshal’s legacy is a sobering one. If the House of Korath is reaching for Time Crystals, they aren't just looking to win a skirmish; they are looking to win the century. We are no longer in a standoff over a religious relic. We are in a containment action for a temporal hazard."

She turned her gaze toward Aidan, her telepathic sensitivity picking up the "white noise" of his distress. "To answer your question, Aidan, we don't 'recover' them in the traditional sense," she explained, her eyes locking onto his. "Time Crystals aren't just minerals. They anchor themselves to the consciousness of the wearer. If Opra is the source, her synaptic pathways are currently acting as the containment field. Removing them safely requires a specialized transport that stabilizes the subject’s perception of linear time."

Loatha then shifted her focus to Mira. The Ensign was at parade rest, vibrating with a mix of fear and duty. Loatha’s expression didn't soften, but it did sharpen into a tactical decision. "Ensign Yumerieva, I hear your request. Opra has targeted you because your 'ghosts' provide a frequency she can tune into. You are her anchor. If we send a security team in cold, she’ll see them coming five minutes before they arrive."

Mira came out of parade rest, responded with, "Yes Maam," then went back to parade rest. She was noticed by the brass, she was noticed for her involvement with this Opra, but still no orders to transport to her. So, she waited, patiently, and hoping she was a good enough Command Duty Officer to keep being involved. She glanced to Ash, hoping everything she had prepared met Ash's approval.

Loatha turned back to the Bridge at large, her voice dropping into a register that signaled the end of the debate and the beginning of the operation. She looked at Wilkan, acknowledging his tactical lead while asserting her operational prerogative. "The objective is clear," Loatha’s gaze swept the room like flint. "Recover the Time Crystals, secure the woman, and arrest every member of the Klingon extraction team currently on that station. If the Qel'Poh so much as twitches their disruptor banks, Wilkan, you have my authorization to disable their engines. I want Krennek alive, he has a lot to answer for."

Enterprise's Captain turned toward his wife, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of the Bridge alerts. He didn't speak as a husband, but as a man who had spent decades navigating the razor-thin border between Federation law and the demands of the frontier.

"Commodore, forgive me," Wilkan said, his voice dropping into a calm, steady register that cut through the tension. "But we're limited in our options. General Krennek is a Klingon Ambassador, which means he has diplomatic immunity. We can't take him into custody - not without causing a diplomatic incident that could set the entire sector on fire."

Loatha’s reaction was instantaneous. She didn't shout; instead, her voice became a razor-thin wire, vibrating with a cold, terrifying clarity. She stepped into Wilkan’s personal space, ignoring the Bridge crew entirely. The shift in her posture made it clear that while he was a Captain on his Bridge, she was a Commodore whose world was currently collapsing under the weight of his "diplomatic" caution.

"Do not lecture me on the fire, Wilkan," Loatha said, her voice a low, lethal hiss. "I am well aware of the temperature. I just spent the last hour putting my entire career - everything I have built - on a chopping block to keep you and Kuzos out of the Brig. Admiral Deix isn't looking for a 'diplomatic incident'; he’s looking for both of our heads on a silver platter because of your previous 'discretions' with Krennek."

Wilkan’s jaw tightened, the muscle pulsing as Loatha’s words struck home with the force of a kinetic impact. She wasn't just pulling rank; she was reminding him of the sheer height of the cliff they were all standing on. It wasn't just about Loatha’s career or his own freedom, though the threat of a Federation brig felt cold and certain under Admiral Deix’s looming shadow.

The stakes were far more fragile than a couple of officer’s commissions. If Deix followed through and arrested Kuzos, the delicate, blood-soaked peace with the Dominion would disintegrate. Decades of diplomatic stabilization would be traded for a single cell door closing, leaving the Federation vulnerable on yet another front while the Klingons beat the drums of war.

This wasn't just a tactical setback; it was a total systemic collapse in the making.

Wilkan met Loatha’s gaze, the flicker of the Red Alert reflecting in his eyes as he absorbed the gravity of the "precautionary containment" she was ordering. He didn't have the luxury of caution anymore. "Understood, Commodore."

She turned her head slightly, her dark eyes flashing toward the tactical display where the Qel'Poh sat like a predator in wait. "Krennek has already threatened war this morning," she continued, her gaze snapping back to her husband. "He is using that immunity as a cloak to move weapons that can unmake our history. If we stand on ceremony while he extracts those crystals, there won't be a Federation left to fire us. Deix wants results, and the Klingons want a miracle from Boreth. I am giving you an operational directive to bypass the politics before the physics of this sector becomes 'optional'."

She straightened her tunic, the brief flash of personal fury smoothing back into the iron mask of a Sector Commander. She looked at Sora and Aidan, then back to Wilkan. "We don't arrest him for smuggling. We detain him for a temporal incursion. Immunity doesn't cover a localized collapse of the space-time continuum, and I’ll be the one to sign the paperwork justifying the 'precautionary containment' to the High Council."

Loatha turned to the rest of the Bridge, her command presence re-establishing itself like a physical weight. "If you're worried about the fire, start the extinguishers, Commodore. Prepare for a potential engagement with the Qel'Poh, I also want a Security team prepared for deployment to find Krennek and Lezku. Begin scanning my station for them, if they want a war over a pile of glowing rocks, let’s make it a good one."

"We have ten minutes until Krennek declares war," Loatha continued, "we need to make the most of them."

"Yes Ma'am," Wilkan replied, his voice regaining its resonant command. He crossed to the center seat, his eyes sweeping the Bridge. "Alright, people, the die is cast. Enterprise is on war footing as of this moment. Red Alert! All hands to battlestations. Prepare for emergency breakaway from the station. All available power to the tactical array."

Sora smiled. "Already ordered while I was in command. We are ready to break from dock at any moment, we are fully running on internal power. The crew is already at battle stations."

Urvasi called out, "Captain, Helm, moorings are showing ready to release, full impulse and warp flights available, adaptive courses for engagement with Klingon bird of prey entered, personal flying of Enterprise at the ready."

"All systems are a go, Captain." Ash announced, quietly.

He turned his attention to the viewscreen, the Qel'Poh looking less like a diplomatic vessel and more like a fuse waiting to be lit. "zh'Roothi, Kuzos, Barr, get your teams ready. We’re moving before the Admiral or the Ambassador can lock the doors."

"Understood," the XO replied, her tone taught with anticipation.

Kuzos watched the exchange between the two Commodores with the stillness of a statue. To an outside observer, he was merely waiting for his orders, but internally, he was vibrating with a profound sense of relief. He lived in the world of subtext and potentiality; he had felt the suffocating weight of Wilkan’s diplomatic hesitation like a physical pressure on his chest. Kuzos’s expression darkened slightly as he looked at the Qel'Poh on the main screen. He could sense the Klingon's arrogance through the hull—a cold, jagged pride. "General Krennek believes we are too civilized to break our own rules. He is about to learn that the Federation’s shadow is just as long as the Empire’s."

He tapped a sequence into his console, his lilac eyes narrowing. "Scanning the station for Krennek and Lezku's unique bio-signatures now. I am filtering for the chronometric 'haze' we identified earlier. If they are near those crystals, they will be glowing like stars in the dark."

Barr nodded and was just about to depart when a beep and light appeared on his console caught his attention. His hands began dance over his console as he wanted to find out what the problem was. He couldn't believe his eyes, "Commodore! Sensors are showing another ship entering sensor range. It's Romulan!"

Sora spun around. "What?" She glanced at her own console, confirming the readings from tactical. "Romulans. What do they want?" She groaned. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

"Timing is the one thing the Romulans never waste," Wilkan said, his voice a low, focused rasp that carried easily over the thrum of the Red Alert. "They wouldn't be here if they didn't already know the temperature of the room. They've been listening."

Behind him the sneer flickered across zh'Roothi face at the arrival of the Romulan vessel swooping in to peck over the fall out like a hungry vulture. Ever the opportunist their presence added a new level of urgency to the already complex and delicate situation.

He cut a sharp glance toward Sora, then toward Kuzos. "The Romulan Republic, or the Tal Shiar, doesn't cross the border for a 'pile of glowing rocks' unless those rocks represent a threat to their own continuity. If Sora’s history is right, and the Romulans were the ones who checked the Klingon-Terran war in the other timeline, they likely have their own records of Boreth. They aren't here to help us; they're here to ensure no one else wins. We need to find the Bajoran shopkeeper," Wilkan continued.

The Trill nodded. "Permission to send Sherlock sir? He's seen her, she knows him. He can lead a team to her, possibly." It has been quite some time since he'd been permitted to let the mini dragon be more than just a pet and he waited anxiously for an answer while he restarted the ships sensors. "Also, maybe we should find a way to stall the ambassador? Maybe send someone over there under the ruse of a talk?" His Klingon was a bit rusty but he'd volunteer if needed.

"The Klingons want the crystals to rewrite their glory. The Romulans want them destroyed so no one can rewrite their downfall. And we’re stuck in the middle trying to preserve a timeline that everyone else seems to find 'optional'." She turned back to Tactical, her fingers flying over the controls to link the Enterprise’s sensors with the station’s internal grid. "Aidan, deploy Sherlock with a security escort - low profile, non-lethal armaments only. If he finds Opra, he is to signal us immediately. We don't wait for a conversation; we beam her straight to a containment cell."

Wilkan looked at the Counselor, "I need you to do a review of General Krennek, all available information, I need an idea of his tactics. Commander Bishop will help you."

“Aye Sir” Amber nodded looking towards Bishop and giving him a nod.

Bishop shoved his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed despite the gravity of the briefing. "Krennek likes patterns. People who like patterns are easy to trip up. Come on, Counselor—let’s go find the glitch in his system."

Sora cut in. "As a Temporal Operative, I stand ready to assist where needed. Sure, I have transferred out of TI, but once you are a TempOp, you always will be one. One very important thing to keep in mind for whoever goes to apprehend Opra. Do not, under any circumstances, make direct contact with the time crystals. We do not know much about how they work, but we do know they can completely mess up your perception of time. On their own, time crystals cannot be used to affect the past, or future, only to see it. However, there are some theories that they can be used to power time travel devices. As such, they have the potential to cause major disruption to the space-time continuum if not handled with extreme care. As for delaying the Klingon, I believe he offered a resumption of talks, did he not?"

She shrugged. "Tell him that you have considered his demands and are willing to discuss them, and ask him to return to the station. Let's see how he responds to that."

Kuzos’s lilac eyes sharpened, his gaze fixed on a cascading stream of sensor data that had finally resolved from the chronometric noise. He didn't wait for the Romulan hailing frequency to open; the urgency of the data demanded immediate priority.

"Commodore," Kuzos interrupted, his voice a calm but piercing resonance that cut through the bridge's tactical chatter. "I have them." He tapped a command on his console, slaving a localized internal sensor sweep to the main viewscreen. A schematic of the station’s Docking Ring appeared, centered on a high-capacity storage area near the Qel'Poh. "General Krennek and the shopkeeper, Lezku, aren't at the tea shop. They have relocated to Cargo Bay 4, right outside of the Klingon Bird-of-Prey. More importantly..."

He adjusted a filter on his display, and a jagged, white-hot pulse of energy began to throb on the screen, overlaid precisely where the Bajoran and Klingon stood. "I am detecting the distinct chronometric signature of the crystals," Kuzos continued, his expression darkening with analytical concern. "The 'haze' is no longer dispersed; it is focused. The output is reaching a critical threshold."

"Sir," Bishop interrupted, "The Romulans have likely detected the same spike. Their arrival wasn't a coincidence; it was a response to the crystals' activation."

Loatha’s eyes narrowed as the schematic on the main viewer shifted to highlight the direct umbilical connection between Cargo Bay 4 and the Qel'Poh. The strategic reality changed instantly: Krennek wasn't just in a storage area; he was standing on the threshold of his own fortress. "He’s positioned himself at the one point where any Federation intervention looks like a direct assault on a docked Klingon vessel. He’s daring us to cross the seal."

Wilkan Targaryen turned back toward his Bridge crew, a plan formulating in his head. He walked away from the Captain's Chair and stood in front of the viewscreen, turning back toward the Bridge crew, "We're running low on options and time is in just as short a supply for us. Our plans change, slightly, to accommodate this new direction we're facing. Two teams will be deployed. Zhora, Kuzos, and Barr will lead a team of three Security personnel as the first wave against the Klingons to detain Krennek. Commander Bernadotte will lead the second team, including Sherlock, Commander Datari, Ensign Mira, and two Security Officers to detain Opra and recover the time crystals. We have three minutes, so we'll beam you right outside the Cargo Bay. Timing is critical..."

"... And I'll be going with you," Loatha interrupted.

Enterprise's Captain looked at his wife, "As Sector Commander General Order 12 would block you from beaming in..."

"Without armed escort," the other Commodore interrupted, "which I'll have. I'll be with team two. It's my station, it's my Sector, it's my mission."

Wilkan didn’t argue further. He knew that look in Loatha’s eyes; it was the same iron resolve that had kept the sector from splintering under her watch. "You heard the Commodore," Wilkan commanded, his voice echoing with the resonance of a final order. "Two teams. Two targets. One chance. If we fail to synchronize the containment, the Romulans will do our jobs for us with a plasma spread. Move."

As the Bridge erupted into a flurry of motion, Wilkan returned to the command chair. He looked like a man preparing to hold back the tide with a single ship.

"Aye, sir," Sora simly responded. "Galatea, initiate point-to-point transport to my quarters, and from there to the Transporter room. I'm not going in there without my rapier."

"Commander Sora, you will materialize in your quarters in three... two... one," the blue light of the transporter began to swirl around Sora.

Understanding why She and Sherlock were going along, Mira got near Aidan and followed him out to get to the transporter room, via his quarters to pick up his minidragon, and then to hers to pick up two deer sized capture nets her uncle insisted she take with her for 'vermin' in the jeffries tubes. However, this might be a time to use them to confuse or even try to capture those they were after.

Aidan too wouldn't go without his melee weapons. As he returned to his quarters he retrieved one of his swords and slid it securely across his back in it's harness, then clipped the ushaan to his left side, his phaser handle forward now secured to his right side. "Sherlock, meet me on the station," he told the blue since he had no need for a transporter.

Amber walked across to Bishop. “Let’s learn what we can about Krennek Commander.”

"Right," Bishop said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that got straight to the point. Nathan adjusted the cuff of his duty jacket, his movements economical and precise. He had the rugged, lived-in look of a man who spent more time in a crawlspace than a boardroom, and his piercing blue eyes remained fixed on the tactical display for a second longer than necessary before he finally turned to Amber.

He gestured toward a side console, his stride short and purposeful. "Krennek. He’s House of Korath, which means we aren't looking for a standard brawler. We're looking for a technician who happens to carry a blade," he tapped a command into the terminal, bringing up a wireframe of the station's lower cargo bays. "He’s wearing matte-finish combat plating. It’s designed to scatter active pings. That tells me he’s planning on moving through the shadows, not the front door. While the 'away team' is busy sharpening their rapiers, you and I are going to find the gap in the fence he’s planning to slip through."

"You read people," He looked at Amber, his gaze cool and assessing, "Tell me: when a man like Krennek is lying to a room full of Admirals, what’s his 'tell'? Does he get quieter? Does he get more formal? Give me a variable I can actually track on a sensor, and we'll catch him before he even touches those crystals."

Amber nodded hoping she could give the answers Bishop needed. “I would say to watch for that Klingon bravado, that pride they carry when heading into battle looking for an honourable death. Krennek is looking to make a name for himself, to earn that Klingon song that will tell of his great deeds in the years after his death. As for his ‘tell’ I’d say to watch for that moment of quiet, where he nods in agreement as he formulates his next move.”

Bishop didn't look up from the console immediately. He let Amber’s words hang in the air for a beat too long, his fingers dancing over the holographic interface with a rhythmic, detached precision. When he finally turned to her, his blue eyes weren't just "assessing"; they were scanning for the kill. "Honorable deaths and Klingon songs," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "How very poetic."

"You’re right about the pride. But a man like Krennek doesn't want to be a martyr; he wants to be a legend. And legends aren't made by dying quietly in a cargo bay. They’re made by being the only one left standing when the smoke clears. He’s looking for a shortcut. That 'Klingon bravado' is the curtain; the time crystals are the stagehands moving the scenery behind it."

“Time crystals” Amber paused to think on it. “These time crystals, do they show you the past and the future? Perhaps he’s trying to find a way to change something in his past? Something that would make him that legend?”

"The past is a heavy anchor, Counselor. Most men spend their lives trying to cut the chain. Krennek? He wants to weld it to a different ship," Commander Bishop explained, unmoving. He simply leaned back against the console, the line of his uniform as sharp as the edge of a blade.

Bishop tapped a key, and the wireframe of Cargo Bay 4 rotated, bathed in a cold, digital red. "You’re right. He’s not looking for an honorable death. He’s looking for a rewrite. If he can see the moment his House lost its luster, he doesn't just win a battle; he wins history. That’s the 'tell' you mentioned - that moment of quiet. It’s not agreement. It’s the silence of a man holding a Royal Flush while everyone else is playing Go Fish."

He straightened up, his movements fluid and deceptively casual, like a predator deciding it was finally time to skip the stalking and start the hunt. He checked the chronometer on his wrist, not a standard Federation issue, but something older, mechanical, ticking with a relentless, rhythmic heartbeat. "He’s positioned near the umbilical for a reason," Bishop said, his voice dropping to a low, textured hum. "It’s the classic back door. If the Federation pushes, he slips into the Qel'Poh. If the Romulans fire, he uses the station’s shields as a localized umbrella. He’s played us into a stalemate, and he’s waiting for us to blink. Hell, he probably was the one that asked to be docked there in the first place!"

He turned his head slightly, catching Amber’s reflection in the darkened glass of the viewscreen. A faint, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth—the kind of smile that usually preceded a loud explosion or a very expensive dry-cleaning bill, "But Krennek has forgotten one thing about 'legends,' Counselor. They’re usually written by the survivors. And I have a very strong allergy to being a footnote." He handed a PADD, "Here's everything you need to know. The Commodore will want to see this, when he's ready."

Amber nodded. “Then we both present this to him, it’s not just my work it’s yours too.” She smiled warmly.

Nathan Bishop didn't move. He simply leaned against the cold metal of the console, his posture effortless but his eyes never leaving hers. There was a stillness to him, the kind of stillness found at the center of a hurricane. When he spoke, his voice was a low, smooth baritone that felt like a secret shared in a dark room. "A partnership, then?" He let the words hang for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, ghost of a smirk. "Careful, Counselor. In my experience, 'our work' usually ends with someone getting shot at, and I’d hate to ruin your uniform. It’s a lovely fit."

He pushed off the console with a fluid grace, the mechanical ticking of his watch the only sound in the brief silence between tactical alerts. He didn't take the PADD back. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers just long enough to be noticed as he steadied the device in her hand. "Krennek thinks he’s playing 3D chess, but he’s forgotten that sometimes, the simplest way to win is to kick over the table." Bishop’s gaze sharpened, the warmth of his wit momentarily eclipsed by a cold, professional edge. "He’s waiting for a 'nod.' He’s waiting for that moment of quiet you described to slip through the umbilical. We aren't going to give it to him. We’re going to give him a headache instead."

He straightened his jacket, the movement sharp and impeccably timed. "Let’s go see the Commodore," Bishop said, gesturing toward the command chair with a slight, mocking bow of his head. "I’ve always found that the best way to deliver bad news is with a smile and a backup plan. Lead the way, Amber.

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