“We’ve got a problem.” Fleet Captain Geronimo spoke as he stood at the head of the oval table in Squadron Briefing Operations. On the display screen was a map of the rimward sectors where rogue scientific operations had been observed, detected, and reported. “There are concerns about what kind of projects and people have escaped or moved into the rimward. We’ve been given a provisional list of key names of the last twenty years. However…Captain?”

Captain Ki spoke from her chair near the front. “There is growing sentiment within Intelligence that there could be additional names from before that period. We are working on enhancing that list.” Her eyes were sharp, and a quiet bitterness filled her words.

Attention turned towards the two starship captains at the table—Captain Helena Dread of the Gagarin and Captain Malcolm Thorne of the Cushing. Fontana told them, “Your assignment is to start where the Perseverance left off – P961. We’re assigning a considerable amount of the station’s civilian science crew and their director, Theodora Walker-Halsey, to you. Gagarin is there in case things get messy, but Captain Dread has a stellar science team that will be assisting.”

Captain Ki looked around the table, choosing her words carefully. “The subjects identified in Starfleet’s report and ours are considered dangerous, possibly even armed. We want them located and brought in for questioning. There are rumors of some cooperation occurring between certain operators. We need information and details on what they’ve worked on and are now working on. You have your orders.”

Helena walked down one of Montana’s many wide corridors, Thorne keeping pace silently as she spoke, “So much for shore leave.” Malcolm didn’t reply, and his thoughts went to his trained veteran Starfleet and civilian crew. They would be integrating a fresh senior staff, and only some positions were being filled. They had told him that eventually he would have an executive officer and someone to fill the position over sickbay and medical. Serving on an Olympic class certainly carried prestige with it, but there were plenty of options in the Fourth Fleet to satiate those wants and desires. “You with us, Captain Thorne?” Dread had come to a halt, and he had continued walking.

His head snapped up, startled. Malcolm walked back, sheepish, “My apologies, Captain Dread. I’m still working through a half-filled command team. My mind was elsewhere.” The look on her face made him wonder if she believed him. He had heard of Helena Dread in passing. His research and her reputation had given him pause.

Dread looked into his eyes, amusement passing across her face before it tightened. “I am well acquainted with the feeling. I’m down an XO and chief of science, so that’s fun. Even better, they’re the same person.  Damned Shore Leave.” She stepped off and continued, and Thorne resumed his place at her side. They turned a corner and entered a turbolift. She asked, “Your path to the chair is unusual.” He blanched at the straightforward question. She was as blunt and brutal as they said she was.

“It was not my preferred journey.” Her eyebrows rose, and her eyes returned to boring a hole in him. The doors to the turbolift flew open, and they resumed their pace through Montana Station.

She had pulled out a PADD, talking as she worked and walked. “You don’t like to explain things very much, do you, Captain Thorne?”

He flinched at the accusation and resisted the sudden urge to furrow his brows at her. He felt as if he was back in a flag officer’s office being asked what he felt like were impertinent questions. The problem was, she was right. They turned a corner, and he replied, “I don’t often share personal stories with fellow command officers from other ships, Captain Dread.”

She chuckled as they moved towards the docking side of the station. “You haven’t been part of a squadron, have you?”

He gave up on not scowling and threw his eyebrows into a deep dive. “I have not.”  He wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

Another chuckle from Dread. “There’s always a learning curve, especially in the rimward. Captain Bradley on the Zephyr is still working through getting to know us all.” She explained as they turned another corner. “We’ve all been together in some form for the last few years. We’re not just fellow captains out here, Captain Thorne. We’re friends.” They neared the main docking area. She stopped and turned to him, her eyes softer than before. Her voice, however, remained tight. “Out here, we’ve only got each other. Nobody else will make it in time when we call for help. We’ve got each other, Captain Thorne.”

He felt the frown lessen and thought he saw the twitching of a smile at the corners of her lips. He decided to take a page from her book. “You have a reputation that precedes you.”

She shrugged, “I do. And it’s mostly true, and it’s intentional.” She leaned in closer, “But if anyone tries to come for anyone in my squadron, I’m coming for them, reputation and all. We’ve all come to believe that.” She stepped back, “You’ll come to it in time, Captain Thorne.” She checked her watch, grumbling, “I’ve got senior staff to brief and departure procedures to start. Orders have us departing in three hours.”

As she turned to leave, Malcolm asked her one final question, “Captain Dread…what if I don’t come to it in time?” His face was filled with concern. He took his job seriously, and her words had been quite serious.

Dread cocked her head to the side, appearing to think through his question. He regretted asking, given her reputation for not suffering fools, gladly or otherwise. She walked lazily back to him, her eyes looking unusually comforting. He wasn’t sure he liked it.  It looked incongruous to the rest of her face.  She replied, “It’s scientifically impossible, Captain Thorne. As diverse as we are, humans have this instinctual programming to defend those we connect with beyond the surface level. We can’t look away.”

“You’re very confident, Captain Dread.”

She rolled her eyes, and he felt comfort that her actions were back to matching up with her reputation. “Fontana wouldn’t let you hold that center chair if he didn’t think you’d fit in with us, Captain Thorne. Accept that, and we might be able to make some progress. And call me Helena.” She gave him a warm nod and stalked off to the Gagarin’s docking port.  She had both baffled and confirmed his suspicions about her.

He stood, staring at her retreating figure for several minutes, his mind working through their conversation. Her confidence, he was discovering, was contagious. The percentage of probability of his assignment to this sector and squadron having a net positive impact on him had ticked up.

He walked off to his dock, unsure what this new feeling meant.