The five members of the away team disembarked from the Orpheus in the ship’s main shuttlebay still wearing their EVA suits. Captain Bowman was waiting there, along with Doctor Sriarr M’Ress, who was holding his medical transporter. He walked pointedly around them, taking readings. 

“Well,” he said, closing his tricorder with a snap and placing it in his pocket, “You’re all mildly irradiated, but I wouldn’t worry about growing extra limbs.” He pulled a hypospray out of his pocket and placed it against each of their necks, injecting the solution with a soft hiss.

Garion smacked his lips together and screwed up his face in disgust after he was injected “Eugh. That stuff tastes like being electrocuted.”

Dathasa gave him a look that was both disbelief and amazement. “How do you know what being electrocuted tastes like?”

Craig swooped in behind Garion, throwing one arm over his shoulder and slapping him in the chest with the other. “It happens to him a lot.” he said with a smile. “All the time, probably almost daily.” 

 Scott strode forward now, causing the pair to break apart. “Commander Cruikshank, I want a full spectrographic and historical analysis on that transponder.” he said, in a very business-like way, “If we can pull any information from it at all, see that it’s pulled.”

“On it, Captain.” Craig replied diligently, and immediately left the rest behind, heading for his lab. 

Once there, he began tinkering on the small transponder. “Computer, begin log.” he said to his lab. The computer trilled in response, and he began to speak. 

“Chief Science Officers’ Log, Stardate 2402.5. We recovered a transponder from a ruined EVA suit that belonged to the USS Winslow. Serial markings confirm it belonged to a member of the Winslow’s science team, but since she was a science vessel, that’s hardly a surprise. What’s impressive to me is that it managed to stay intact for thirty-nine years. What I’m attempting to do now is isolate its memory core in the hopes that I can find telemetry data, or maybe even an audio recording.” 

He tapped away at his console. 

“Oh, hang on. If I run a deep-level diagnostic…”

His voice trailed off, then he gasped. 

“Look at this. It’s short, and it’s highly degraded, but I found an audio log. I’m trying to clean up the audio… There! I’m going to play it back now.” The lab filled with the high pitched, static whine of old degraded audio.

–survived the crash. I stayed with the ship as long as I could. I headed for the mountains and found the mines… beneath them.

[STATIC] 

Still running. Lights, power…life support. A lab I think. Mixed signatures. Cardassian, Human, Ferengi…

[STATIC]

…I sealed it. I couldn’t risk it getting out. If you find this… bury it all.

Craig remained silent for a few moments, letting the information wash over him. Finally, he resumed speaking. “Most concerning, I think, is the phrase ‘I sealed it’. I wonder what ‘it’ could be. Plus, the identification of multiple biosignatures suggests… collaboration, perhaps? I have to prepare this for the Captain. End Log.”

The computer trilled its response, and Craig began compiling his newly uncovered information. Within minutes, there was a chirp from his communicator.

Bowman to Commander Cruikshank. We are ready for you.

“Yes Captain, I am on my way.” He answered, and left his lab for the conference room.

The conference room was silent as the recording ended, the echoes of the long dead Starfleet Officers voice hanging in the air like smoke. Captain Bowman sat with his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his folded hands.

Craig was the first to break the silence, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m not sure what happened down there, but I have verified that that EVA suit was from the Winslow. Whatever that lab was, it was active, and it was hidden. This was not just a mine.” 

“No, it was a tomb.” Garion said, jumping to his feet and pacing the floor behind the seated officers. “We all heard it. He sealed it. Told us to bury it. We can’t just ignore that.”

“We need to understand it though, Garion.” Vail pointed out. “If this was some kind of illegal research, we need to know. It could explain why Starfleet brass buried the whole mission.”

“It could be a trap.” Dathasa interjected. “Old or not, they kept that lab running for a reason. We don’t know if anyone, or anything, is still down there.”

Tom nodded in agreement. “We should gear up and go back down there, sweep those tunnels and destroy anything that’s down there, moving or not. We need to end it, like that officer tried to.”

Garion stared incredulously between Dathasa and Tom. “You want to storm some forty year old Cardassian death trap based on nothing more than a garbled message and a hunch? We’re not marines, for fucks sakes, we are supposed to be explorers.”

“We can’t just ignore it, Garion.” Craig said quietly. “If something is down there, and it gets out later…” he paused for a moment. “What if we wind up with another Winslow?”

Bema finally spoke, his voice calm and thoughtful. “We’re caught between risk and responsibility. We weren’t set here for this, but we’re the ones that found it, and I don’t put much stock in coincidence out here.”

Scott raised his hand in a call for silence. He looked at each of his officers in turn, then spoke. “Garion, I hear you. We are not here to risk lives lightly, but Vail and Craig are right. We need to figure out what was, or is, going on down there, and if it is a threat,” he nodded to Tom and Dathasa, “Neutralize it.” He let the silence hang in the air for a moment before he went on. “You will return to the surface, and get to the bottom of this. If there is something down there we were not meant to find, it’s all the more important that we do.”

The team nodded their heads in approval, except for Garion, who was shaking his head. “I still think this is a mistake.”

Scott looked him directly in the eye. “If it is, I will take all of the responsibility. But if we don’t, and other people get hurt, that’s on all of us.”

Bema was the first to stand. “Alright team, get some food, and rest. We’ll head back to the planet’s surface at 0800.”

Dathasa stood in the Erikson’s armory, checking over her equipment. This was a place where she felt comfortable, like she knew what she was doing. The clicks and whirs of charging coils always seemed to give her comfort, like a well-worn sweater. 

Bema entered the room quietly, the swoosh of the doors being the only indication he had arrived. He crossed the room to the equipment rack, his hands folded loosely behind his back. 

“A tad excessive, no?” He asked, eyeing the plasma grenades and armoured vest she had laid out on the table in front of her.

“I like to be prepared.” She replied, not looking up. 

“There’s preparation, and then there’s expecting a war.” Bema said, cocking an eyebrow.

“What’s the difference?” She asked him, finally turning to look him in the eye. The two officers regarded each other for a long moment, in silence.

Bema took a step forward, dropping his hands and placing them palms down on the table’s cold, metal surface. “Look, I need you on point tomorrow, not chasing ghosts and shadows. Whatever happened down there is ancient history.”

“History doesn’t leave transponders blinking in the dark, Commander.” Dathasa replied, coolly. “You heard that message, same as me. Something survived down there.”

“Yea, I heard the message.” Bema shot back, his voice calm but firm. “I also heard fear. And desperation. That man sealed those doors for a reason, and if we go in half-cocked, looking for a fight we might just find one.”

Dathasa let out a sharp sarcastic laugh and took a step back from the table. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a cadet, Commander, I’ve seen more blood spilled than you think. I know how to walk into the dark.”

Bema’s stance softened. His eyes saw a young woman, hardened by years of death and torment. “That’s what worries me.” he said, “You’ve spent so long in the dark, I’m worried you’ve forgotten what the light looks like.” There was a silence after he finished that stretched out between them. 

Dathasa turned her face away from his, then back, her jaw tight. “I’ll follow your lead.” she said thickly, “but something moves down there…”

“I won’t ask you to hesitate.” Bema said, cutting her off with a slight smile. “Like that would do any good anyway.” There was another long pause, where the two officers stared at one another.

Dathasa nodded curtly and said, “I’ll be ready.” 

Bema watched her a moment longer before he moved back towards the door. As the doors slid open, he turned back to her. “See that you are.” he said, then turned and left.

Dathasa sat down on the bench behind her, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She was used to being told what to do, either by her Tal Shiar parents, or her own instincts, but Bema’s words hadn’t been orders, they had been an honest expression of concern, and for some reason she felt unsettled by that. 

‘I’m worried you’ve forgotten what the light looks like’. She scoffed. He wasn’t wrong, but he also didn’t understand; or maybe he did. Her fingers tightened on her forehead. I gave my word I would follow his lead, she thought, but she felt a burning deep inside to take control, to fight. It was the instinct that kept her alive for so long, but yet…

She sat there in the armory, alone, for a long while, pondering. Is this what real support feels like? Real, maddening, honest trust? She took a long, deep breath, then she stood. Leaving the armory, she walked the familiar line to the door of the ship’s main lounge. 

The door to the lounge opened, and Dathasa stepped inside. The lights were low, and the lounge was mostly empty. She crossed the room to the replicator. “Mint Tea, hot.”she said, and the mug materialized with a soft chime, aromatic and steamy. She scanned the room quickly, and found Vail sitting at a corner table with her boots kicked up onto the chair opposite. Her uniform jacket was hung over the back of her chair, and she was nursing a tumbler of something dark. She looked up and her eyes met Dathasa’s, and Vail gave her a single small nod. 

“Plenty of room over here.” she said, motioning Dathasa to join her at the table. Dathasa made her way over to the table and sat, sipping slowly on her tea. Neither woman spoke for a while, and Dathasa found some comfort in the silence. 

Finally, Vail broke the silence. “Do you always look like that when something’s eating at you?”

“No,” Dathasa replied with a faint smile, “Only when I’m trying to decide if I’m scared, angry or both.”

Vail raised an eyebrow, and cocked her head slightly. “And?”

“Still undecided.” Dathasa said, taking another sip of tea. 

Vail swirled her drink around lazily. “Let me guess,” she said with a sigh, “Bema giving you the side eye about keeping your cool?”

Dathasa huffed a breath, “Yea, something like that.” 

Vail dropped her boots off the chair and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “Look, I get it. You and I come from fire, and blood, and bad decisions that should have killed us, but we survived them anyway.”

Dathasa’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t speak or look away. 

“You don’t think I know what it’s like?” Vail asked, “to be in a briefing room and feel like you’re the sharpest one there? They’re talking diplomacy, and you’re marking weak points and plotting exits?”

Dathasa stared down into her tea. “I’m trying to be better.” 

“You are better, Dath.” Vail said, with a firm, supportive tone. “But don’t confuse caution for regression. It’s okay to be wary, you just can’t let it isolate you anymore.”

Dathasa finally lifted her head and met Vail’s intense gaze. “Sometimes I feel like a loaded weapon, on a ship full of scientists.” 

Vail chuckled softly. “You are, sweetheart, but so am I. And so is Tom. Starfleet doesn’t want saints, they want survivors like us who can choose mercy.” She raised her glass in mock toast. “That’s what Scott saw in you. That choice.”

Dathasa blinked for a moment, then smiled. Vail was blunt, but there was warmth behind her words, and that brought Dathasa comfort. She brought her mug up to meet Vail glass, and they clinked them together. 

Vail flashed a mischievous smile. “Now, let’s get you something stronger than that tea. You know, to celebrate or whatever.” 

Before Dathasa could respond, Tom Sargent strode up to the table, casting a long shadow over the smooth surface. “Did I hear something stronger?” He asked with a smile, “I can be persuaded.”

Vail grinned widely and clapped her hands together. “Perfect, the circle of trust expands! Dathasa is having a crisis of self, I am being vaguely wise, and now you’re here so we don’t have to drink alone.”

Tom grinned, and dropped himself into the chair next to Vail. “Sounds like a hell of a night. I’m in.” 

Dathasa rolled her eyes, and smiled. “Just promise me whatever we’re drinking, it doesn’t involve bloodwine.” 

Vail flashed a wink as she headed to the replicator. “Ah ah, no guarantees.”