The First Morning [SB51]

Posted on Wed Dec 17th, 2025 @ 1:42pm by Captain Rovak & Ambassador Oriath Velt
Edited on on Wed Dec 17th, 2025 @ 1:43pm

7,994 words; about a 40 minute read

Mission: Histories
Location: USS Tylesh, Bajor System
Timeline: 2395 (Before 'Herding Cats')

Rovak had been sitting in the lounge area of Captain Velt’s VIP quarters on the USS Tylesh for almost half an hour. He had been told the Captain would only be a few minutes when he was first invited aboard from DS9. He was not entirely unsatisfied with the outcome, however. Sitting comfortably, he saw for the first time with his own eyes, the opening of the wormhole. The ship was moving now.

The great opening swallowed the ship whole, and soon, the mysterious inside of the trans-galactic gateway was revealed. Rovak stood and watched through the window, fascinated by the spiralling tendrils of energy. He was not expecting an experience so... sensational. For what seemed far longer than it was, he took in every part of the great tunnel, wishing with great regret that he had the forethought to bring his holocamera. But there was nothing to be done for it now.

Before long, the Tylesh emerged, and they were in the gamma quadrant.

The Tylesh, a Sovereign-class named after the 5th century Bolian Imperator, was leading the convoy of six dedicated towing vessels and the USS Rall, a Galaxy-class ship. The eight vessels carried a precious cargo between them, suspended in high density tractor beams. In the middle of the convoy, the massive bulk of Starbase 51 was pulled along like a buoy lost at sea.

Finally, the doors to the Captain’s private office opened. The Caitian Captain emerged, what seemed to be a smile worn across his feline features.

“Lieutenant Commander! My sincere apologies. We’ve only just arrived in the Quadrant and the Cardassians are already making demands.” Captain Oriath Velt, the new Commanding Officer of Starbase Fifty-One boomed, as though meeting an old friend. He crossed the room to his Vulcan XO and shook his hand firmly.

“I understand Captain. No apology is necessary, I was given a unique and agreeable opportunity to witness the wormhole.” Rovak responded, offering a Vulcan salute as the Caitian released his hand.

“Good man. Take in the sights.” Velt clapped Rovak on the arm and moved to the other side of the room, where a wooden cabinet sat. It looked hand-made, probably Bajoran. “Drink?” He asked.

“Thank you, sir.” Rovak said. They were, after all, not technically on duty, although they were both in uniform.

“Any preference?” The Captain asked, looking at a pair of bottles, and leaving them both on the top of the cabinet.

“Whatever you are having, sir. Do you not use the replicator?” Rovak asked, curious.

“Oh no. By the goddess, no. I can’t stand that synthetic swill. Don’t get me wrong, the replicator is probably the greatest invention in history, but it’s no way to mix drinks. Besides, I don’t really believe in synthahol.” As he spoke he mixed two drinks, crossed back to Rovak, and handed one to the man.

“Cheers.” Velt said, and the two men clinked their glasses together and took a drink.

“Curious. White Russian?” Rovak asked.

“You know your Earth drinks. Good man.” The Captain said, taking a seat. Rovak was initially slightly concerned by the way the Captain lapped his beverage, but then remembered the difficulty Caitians had with drinking from containers.

Rovak sat down across from him.

“I’m glad to have you here Mr Rovak, truly. Admiral Reardon couldn’t recommend you highly enough. Nor Commander Kincaid. How is he, anyway?” Oriath asked with genuine concern.

“He was recovering well last time we spoke. I admit I have not heard from him for several months.” Rovak responded.

“Good to hear. You went above and beyond to save him, truly.” Oriath said, raising his glass before taking another lap.

“I did only my duty, sir.” Rovak responded, taking a sip. Compliments were never something he was entirely sure how to deal with.

“Well, be modest if you want, but I feel a lot safer knowing you’re around.” The Captain grinned.

“Thank you, sir.” Rovak said impassively, nodding slightly.

"I understand you have a daughter. My Masdri is 10, she'll be glad to have someone else to talk to at dinner." Velt said warmly. There was a holo of himself, his blonde Trill wife, and the blonde Trill girl he spoke of. Though Masdri was evidently not his progeny as she was a full-blooded Trill, he'd married her mother before she was born and been the only father she'd ever known.

"Indeed. T'Shan is only seven, but many of her educators have said that she is three to five years ahead of her cohort in both Vulcan and Andorian standards." Rovak rattled it off conversationally, while he couldn't experience pride in the accomplishment as such, he could still find an excuse to work it into a discussion.

“Fantastic. I’ll be heavily involved in getting our diplomats organized and safe for the first little while, I’ll need you to manage station operations and crew matters until then, which will mean basically everything else inside and beyond the CIC. Are you comfortable with that?” The Captain asked.

“Yes, sir. I noticed we are the only crew aboard, when will others be arriving?” Rovak raised an eyebrow, he had been strangely unable to find information about the rest of the crew compliment in the database.

“Most of the support staff are on the Rall. I believe Security will be arriving later in the day on the Zhao. There have been some problems at Command with getting approval for Gamma Quadrant deployment. All the other governments have been getting in the ear of the Personnel Department and raising all kinds of hell, even this late in the process. We may have to deal with a skeleton crew for a time. But just make sure nobody tries to push past the queue. We don’t want the Dominion having anything to take as a sign of hostility.” Velt looked out the window for a moment, then back to his drink, then back to the window.

“Oh dear.” Velt said.

“Sir?” Rovak asked, then looked towards the window.

“Welcoming party.” Both men put their drinks down, and headed towards the bridge. Velt replicated a pair of detox capsules to cleanse them of the alcohol, each took theirs as they went, and was entirely sober by the time they reached their destination

Out the window, a pair of Dominion Battlecruisers, flanked by a dozen smaller vessels, were drifting slowly towards them.

-

“This is Captain McKenzie of the USS Tylesh. We bring greetings from the Alpha Quadrant.” Rovak and Captain Velt sat beside him, in the first officer and guest’s chairs on the Sovereign class bridge. It was a well-lit room, the sort of peacetime comfort lighting designed to induce relaxation and efficiency.

The Dominon battlegroup lurked menacingly. Bug ships did loops around the larger frigates and battleships, all surrounding the two largest battlecruisers, each formidable enough for a Sovereign class starship alone.

“I repeat, this is Captain Zeke McKenzie of the USS Tylesh. We bring greetings from the Alpha Quadrant.” He muted the audio channel with a button his chair.

“That’s the thing to say, right? We bring greetings..?” He whispered to Velt as hushed as he could manage and still be heard.

“Yes. You’re doing fine. Keep it up.” Velt reassured him with a low purr. McKenzie took his finger off the mute.

“Hello there.” A calm and lilting voice came through the speaker. No visual. “On behalf of the Most Sublime Founders and their Dominion, I welcome you to the Gamma Quadrant.” It was a familiar whispery inflection. The rubbery slick accent of a Vorta.

“We are ready to install the Starbase as per treaty stipulations. Do we have your permission to proceed?” McKenzie asked.

“Just a moment.” The Vorta hurried, like it had been called away. Still no visual.

“Just a moment.” He said again.

“Who is the leader of your consular mission?” Ayol's voice returned after almost a minute. Velt had begun to tap his forefinger claw against the armrest on his seat.

“I am. Captain Oriath Velt. Commanding Officer, Starbase 51.”

“Ah. You’re a… Caitian.” He said like he was trying to find it on a list to tick it off.

The Captain seemed slightly taken aback by the remark. His ears perked up, before quickly flattening. “I am indeed. Do we have your permission to proceed?” He looked vexed, but got on with it.

“We would request the pleasure of the company of your consular leader. For a face to face conversation. Once we have conversed, your installation process may begin. Assuming it can do without you for just a few minutes.” There was still no visual. No way to tell which of the ships in the small armada contained their leader. The Dominion were nothing if not private.

“I can be over with the Ambassador and my First Officer in five minutes.” Velt instructed, standing, and pulling at the back of his uniform jacket to uncrease it, and pull out his mane with a stretch of his neck.

“Delightful.” With a beep, the Vorta’s signal was gone. The swarming grey and purple ships remained. They were long, and angular. Predators. Rovak remembered the dread they once inspired. The death they inflicted so callously and with such ease.

Velt looked edgy. It seemed to hit him all of a sudden, like ten years on his shoulders and face.

“This is where, by all our calculations, the shit hits the fan. If they’re going to try something, it’s going to be now, while we’re aboard. You won’t know which ship we’re on. They’ll probably beam us between three different sites before we get there. Just to be sure. Thorough bastards.”

“Security can hook you both up with dermal transponder strips. We can have you out within four seconds as long as shields are down.” Captain Mackenzie suggested. He was a large Māori man, dark and strong of figure, with a complex facial tattoo.

“Mr Rovak, what do you think?” Velt asked his XO.

“The first time we greeted the Dominion they destroyed a Galaxy-class starship with a suicide attack. I believe if they did not want us here, they would let us know.” Rovak counselled. That scenario had been running through his head every time a Jem’Hadar fighter took a wonky turn in their spiralling, orbiting flight paths.

“Hmm.” Velt grumbled to himself.

A door at the back of the bridge swished open.

“I believe it would be dishonest to expect anything but good will from them at this point, Captain. The Dominion invited us here. They have showed us courtesy and have not done us harm. They have honoured the treaty of Bajor to the letter. And besides, as hostages we would be considered of little value when compared to the men and women aboard our ships.” Rovak apprised coldly.

“Speak for yourself, Lieutenant Commander.” The voice was a woman’s, she appeared from behind the science console. “I think my husband and I make very valuable hostages.” She passed by Rovak and Captain McKenzie, and sat in Captain Velt’s lap.

“Forgive my wife, Mr Rovak. She’s used to sparring with Klingon High Councillors and Cardassian Archons for practice. Ambassador Tyell Orliss, my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Rovak.”

“A pleasure.” She said, smiling to Rovak. She made a Vulcan salute. He instinctively responded. She was a striking woman, elegant and poised. Rovak wondered if hers was the beauty what was considered by the term classical. A Trill, blonde. She kissed her husband on the nose, and tugged at the fur under his chin. Rovak looked away. Some of the bridge staff looked slightly uncomfortable. Captain Mackenzie seemed to be chuckling quietly to himself, reading the display on his armrest.

“Captain McKenzie, you know my wife, the Ambassador.” The two nodded to each other. Rovak saw a hungry weariness in her eyes. A studying, wolf’s sight. She wore the purple uniform of the diplomatic corps, an Ambassador's pin on her collar instead of rank.

“When did you get so formal. I’ll have you know Mr Rovak, that my husband didn’t wear shoes for any of the 2380’s.”

“Fascinating.” Rovak responded with emphatic neutrality. “Should we ready an away team?”

“No, no. None of that.” Oriath stood then, lifting his wife, before placing her on her feet as he stood himself all the way up.

“Three of us. That’s all. Vorta don’t waste time. Phasers?” He asked Rovak, who stood at the question.

“I cannot imagine a situation aboard that they would improve.”

“Good point. Come on, then. McKenzie, mind if we borrow your transporter pad?”

“All yours, Captain.”

Rovak, Orliss and Velt left the bridge together then, climbing into the turbolift.

“I understand you’re a security man, Mr Rovak.” The Ambassador began, “What got you into a red uniform?”

“Ennui.” Rovak responded. Tyell laughed, her casual drunk diplomat’s laugh. One could be forgiven for thinking she was in her lounge room, rather than the bridge of a starship.

“You didn’t tell me he’d be funny, Ori.”

“Oh please. I’m much funnier.” Oriath retorted.

“I can assure you Ambassador that I am not funny.” Rovak insisted.

She laughed gently at that, too. She seemed immediately comfortable. Perhaps this was her way. Her diplomatic airs. Rovak already felt a small rapport with the woman, though they’d engaged little more than pleasantries.

“What should we expect when we arrive?” Rovak asked, hoping to get them back on topic.

“Not much. Some Jem’Hadar to escort us in. Then standing for a few minutes until we make sure both sides are on the same page. Dotting the I’s and crossing the t’s. If it takes longer than twenty minutes your first meal on the promenade is on me.” The turbolift stopped, and they followed the colored strip on the floor until they were in the transporter room.

They each took their position.

“Wish us luck.” Velt called out to the young Bolian transporter technician.

“Good luck.” She responded with a giggle as the transporter hummed to life, and they disappeared into the shimmering, disassembling blue energy cloud.

-

Rovak arrived in an unfamiliar transporter room. The Captain, and his wife the Ambassador stood next to him, apparently unharmed. He felt a strange sensation in his fingertips, like they’d been split or cut open, it was a sensation he remembered disagreeably, the sting of Dominion transporters.

“Are we all still here?” Velt asked.

“Near as I can tell.” His wife responded, looking at her own fingers, clenching and expanding them to rush the sensation out.

“I am fine, sir.” Rovak added.

“Good man. Chin up, my dear. They’re coming.” Velt told his first officer and wife, respectively.

As though beckoned, a fivesome of Jem’Hadar entered through the door on the other side of the small room. Ambassador Orliss folded her hands behind her back.

“You are the Consular Mission.” Their leader stated, though it probably should have been a question.

“We are. I am Captain Oriath Velt, this is my –“

“Come.” The Jem’Hadar cut him off, turned on his heel, and disappeared through the door, his group in tow. Each carried a polaron rifle. Rovak noted the weapons seemed smaller, sleeker than the varieties he'd come into possession of in the war, and since. Even the Dominion must have had R&D.

The Captain rolled his eyes, his wife seemed similarly unsurprised and unimpressed. They stepped off the platform, keeping in step with the Jem’Hadar before they disappeared from view.

They passed through a hallway at first, the unmistakable uniformity of Dominion design surrounded them. Unmarked doors and oddly familiar hallways wound past unmarked. Finally they reached a door where two more Jem’Hadar were already standing outside. They looked older, fiercer. Like the Alphas they had seen towards the end of the war. Their guides formed a row for them to pass through, and the guarded doorway opened.

Inside, a Vorta stood from behind a circular table. The room was as non-descript as the others, except for the chairs, which looked not entirely ergonomic. Some sort of mist seemed to pool around their ankles. Rovak wondered if it was just for mood. The room was lit by nine pillars of light that seemed to emerge from the ceiling, and fade into an all-around brilliance that illuminated the dull room.

“On behalf of the founders of the Dominion, Captain, Ambassador, Lieutenant Commander, I welcome you all to the Gamma Quadrant. I am Ayol. I will be Vorta liaison to Starbase 51.” He smiled, a long, thin smile, almost like that of a Denobulan. It disconcerted Rovak, and brought his attention to the fact that this Vorta did not look entirely as he remembered them to.

“We thank the Founders for their grace and courtesy. I am Captain Oriath Velt. This my first officer, Mister Rovak. And this is my wife, Ambassador Tyell Orliss.” Velt gestured to Rovak and his wife with his large right paw.

“Delightful to meet you all.” Ayol said with a smile, taking a seat. Rovak and the others did likewise. He sat up suddenly as his rear end touched the seat, it was cold, hard, and oddly shaped, seeming to dig into his tailbone. He attempted to shuffle into a comfortable position, but there was none to be found. The Captain and his wife did not seem to be having any such trouble.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look entirely as I expected you would.” The Captain said. He looked just as puzzled as Rovak felt.

“No, my apologies. I am one of the new breed of Epsilon Vorta, born of the glory of the Founders. We are bred especially to liaise with our new friends in the Federation. We have been granted many gifts by the founders, more independence, more creativity, and a look and function that is more… human. That is what the Federation wants, after all, is it not? For everything to be just a bit more human?”

“Do we look human to you, Vorta?” Velt growled, an unexpected fury welling up inside him. The Vorta recoiled, before regaining his composure. He did not seem to realize the offence in what he had said.

“With respect, Captain. They do.” Ayol said, referring to Rovak and Tyell.

“They are not. My lady wife is a Trill, seventh host to the exalted Orliss symbiote, my first officer is a Vulcan, the product of generations of pure desert logic. There is more to the Federation than the homo sapiens. I suggest if you are to avoid such embarrassments to the Founders in the future you take the time to learn the difference.” Tyell put a hand on her husband’s paw. It seemed to calm him. His breathing slowed, and the growling in his throat ceased.

The Vorta looked for a moment as though he might break down and cry. He smiled, and a laugh crested momentarily, but was discarded. “I must apologize, truly. For all the gifts the Founders have given us over our ancestors, eyesight was not one of them. My unconditional apologies for any offence I may have caused. I am the first Ayol. I am in a sense, a prototype. Any feedback you can provide will certainly improve my performance. Thank you.” He was thin and pale as Rovak had remembered his species being, but seemed to lack the ridged aural organ that seemed to run from their jaw up through their hairline. His lips and chin seemed spotted with patches of what seemed like shaved facial hair. He still had strange hairstyle that he remembered the Vorta sporting, but it was swept back instead of wrapped around the ear-structure. It went down well below whatever it was he listened with, which were sleeker and pointier than even Vulcan ears.

“Now, of course, there is the matter of formalities to discuss.”

“Go on.” The Captain said, his mood having improved somewhat, though there was still a bite to his words.

“As per the terms of the agreement, there will be a Starfleet presence of no more than five ships of capital variety within Dominion territory at all times.” The Vorta began. The Captain nodded and agreed, as did his wife. A similar process went on for a while, the Vorta going through his checklist, and the Captain and Ambassador agreeing what Federation diplomats had spent months hammering out. Rovak began to think of other things, knowing his input was not required. He began to dwell on the potential arrangement of his quarters. He had seen a rough outline of what the Ithaca-class quarters had looked like, but it would depend on whether Starbase 51 had been refit or not.

If it had there was every chance it would have holographic windows, one of the few luxuries he had found himself coveting. There were many horizons he had photographed himself that he would quite like to install for display. He would be able to set all of them, to change regularly. The Valiaan mountains on Romulus, scattered now amid the void. The Lyrian sea, red at sunrise. The snowfields of New Siberia, where Surtha paced across the horizon.

No. Don’t think about her. Not now, he told himself. He needed his wits about him. As he looked up, attempting to tune into the conversation and out of his own thoughts. As he looked up, he realized the Vorta was not speaking. Neither was the Captain. Was it his turn to say something? Had his opinion been requested and he’d been so inattentive?

The lights died. Rovak tried to turn his head, but found he could move only his eyes. They rolled around in his head, trying to see all he could. The low background hum of the ship had disappeared. There was silence. No breathing, no evidence of time or life.

There was a large, distant sound. Like decks of a starship twisting against their will. The room seemed to hum and shake. A screeching, rubbery sound came from somewhere Rovak could not see. He could not blink, but his eyes did not feel dry.

The lights flashed, like strobes. Sometimes one at a time, in random order, other times all together. They all flashed off for longer than Rovak was comfortable with. The terrible noises outside continued.

When the lights flashed on again, there was an owl in the middle of the table. They flickered and danced, throwing vile shadows and strange silhouettes.

Rovak moved his eyes around the room as the lights flashed. The Vorta was frozen mid-sentence. The Captain seemed frozen, but attentive. The Ambassador was looking at Rovak. Her eyes moved too. They betrayed her terror.

Rovak was not afraid. He knew instinctively that the experience was out of his control. He embraced it. He hoped to learn from it, and that it would not result in oblivion. He looked to the owl. It was alive, moving, looking between them, with its sideways glare. Something new seemed to fade in and out of the noise in the backs of their minds. Like an orchestra, rising and falling. It faded to the edges of perception, and back into the fog of distant and unnameable noise.

“When the angels return,” a voice, familiar and omnipotent came from the direction of the owl. “You will know them by their love. You will know them by the rivers of blood in their wake.” The voice came from all around them, just beyond their ears, even vibrating in their teeth.

“When they guide you to your end, you will weep with joy.” The owl raised it’s wings, extending them as far as they would spread. It screeched, and the lights died once more. The terrible sounds outside rumbled and roared louder and louder, until a crescendo was reached, and Rovak thought his ears might bleed and his teeth shatter.

The lights returned, and the possibility of motion with them. Rovak felt his calm return to him as he regained control of himself. The Vorta was still talking. The Ambassador, gasped suddenly and sharply, like she’d been left naked in the tundra. Velt turned to her, shocked by her apparent sudden discomfort.

“Tyell? What’s the matter?” She breathed heavily and held herself. She looked across to Rovak, and then back to her husband. “I’m fine.” She mastered herself quickly, rubbing her shoulders. “Sorry. I had breakfast in the Ferengi establishment on DS9. I’m fine.” She smiled to the Vorta, putting her hand on her husband’s. The conversation resumed, her eyes went back to Rovak when she was sure her husband and the Vorta were wrapped up with one another.

Her breathing was returning to normal, but he could see her fear remained.

The Captain and the Vorta continued unabated, until they reached their desired conclusion.

“Well Captain. The Founders will be pleased to hear this. You may commence your installation at your earliest convenience.” The Vorta finally concluded his list. He seemed pleased.

“Thank you, Ayol. And my compliments to the Founders. The Federation will always make peace our highest priority. I am glad we can share that vision with them.” Velt said proudly.

The Vorta stood then, and the diplomatic party did likewise.

“When arrangements are made for the Founder to come aboard and security is deemed adequate, our delegation will arrive on your station.” The Vorta crossed the room to them.

“We’ll get everything ready as soon as possible.” The Captain nodded, offering his large paw to the Vorta. After a moment’s surprise and hesitation, the Vorta repeated the gesture. The Captain shook his hand firmly. He seemed astonished, even afraid of the gesture at first, but soon grew comfortable. He shook the Ambassador’s hand also. Rovak offered a Vulcan salute to Ayol, who tried to reciprocate the greeting, but seemed unable to will his fingers into making it. After a few mangled attempts, he simply bowed.

“Allow me to escort you all back to the transporter room. I have no doubt you are eager to get settled in aboard your new home.” His whispery voice was a strange comfort, no doubt the intended effect.

They returned in silence to the transporter room.

“It was delightful to meet you all. Until next time.” The Vorta smiled his far-too-wide smile, and the trio disappeared into the harsh disassembly of the Dominion transporter.

“And you, Ayol.” The Ambassador smiled, her unease buried deep.

Even as his thoughts dispersed as he was transported, Rovak was fascinated by the strange events that only he and Ambassador Orliss seemed to have experienced. Fascinated, and somewhere beyond the command of kolinahr, afraid.

-

As they materialized on the transporter pad back aboard the Tylesh, Ambassador Orliss fell to her knees and rejected her latest meal.

“Tyell?” Her husband dropped to his knees to hold her hair and her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Medical team to transporter room one.” Rovak instructed his chest badge after tapping it.

“No.” Tyell wiped her mouth and stood up, needing her husband’s aid for just a moment.

“I’m alright. I just need to lie down.” She looked as though willpower alone was keeping her conscious.

“It would be advisable to be scanned regardless, Ambassador. There is a noted trend of spontaneous illnesses manifesting in the aftermath of Dominion transporter use.” Rovak quoted the Bashir Report.

“No. I told you, I just need to lie down.”

“Tyell, we may need to beam aboard the station before 1400. The Romulans and the Klingons will be arriving within twenty minutes of one other. I can’t keep them away from each other by myself.” Velt said in a way that sounded supportive, but was less so when one considered the words.

“We have two docking rings. If you can’t guide two diplomatic parties to embassies hundreds of decks apart without them meeting, you should consider a yeoman.” The Ambassador said, stepping down from the transporter. “It’ll be fine, I’ll get in a nap and have lunch with Masdri. We’ll both beam over before the Cardassians arrive.”

“Mister Rovak, get me a yeoman.” Velt said, perhaps unaware that there was not simply a crate somewhere packed with them that Rovak could requisition.

“As soon as possible, sir.” Rovak responded. They could barely get the staff the needed aboard. A Captain’s yeoman would require lots of facetime with frustrated diplomats and administrators. That was time he needed to get a staff aboard by Bajoran sunset. He noted her reference to the Captain’s command of the station as ‘we’. It troubled him. But she wasn’t well, it would not reflect positively to focus on a moment of weakness. He put it out of his mind, but kept an awareness of it layered in his opinion of her.

“Operations, clean up in the transporter room.” Captain Velt said, supporting his wife as she was slowly getting her balance back.

“I’ll be fine. But if Rovak could walk me back to our quarters that would be lovely.” Tyell said, standing herself up and touching her husband on the nose with a gentle and articulate fingertip.

Rovak nodded, and tapped his combadge. “Cancel medical team to transporter room one.”

“Ambassador, I –“

The transporter room doors opened, and a trio of blue-uniformed medical officers ran into the room, nearly colliding with Tyell and her husband. Rovak decided not to finish his sentence. They breathed heavily from exertion, having run all the way from sickbay. Emergency response. Out of practice, Rovak noted. “This emergency has been cancelled. Thank you for your prompt response.” Rovak instructed them. They all wore different looks of frustration, but didn’t say anything. They left without a word, though the young Caitian girl carrying the resuscitation kit looked at the Captain for a moment longer than Rovak was comfortable witnessing. The Captain looked back until she disappeared beyond the closing doors.

“Alright. Get some rest. Make it over when you can. If we can’t have you at 100% we’d be cheating ourselves, and them.” Captain Velt kissed his wife and made his way out of the transporter room.

A young operations Crewman entered with a small cleaning kit, similar to a phaser. He was de-atomising the Ambassador’s accident when the doors closed behind them. The walked slowly and in silence to the Captain’s Quarters. The Ambassador looked towards him now and then, with what looked like some kind of bitter disdain. Rovak did not understand.

“Come in.” She announced as they reached the door. It opened for her, and they stepped inside. “I need a drink. Would you mind?” She gestured to the Bajoran cabinet her husband had poured the white Russians from earlier. Rovak noticed their glasses from earlier were still sitting there, though they were conspicuously empty. He cleaned them in the replicator, and filled them both with betazed bitters, lemon squash and cubed ice. When he returned to the cabinet, he poured a generous serve of tequila and Lurian ovkod into each, one of the few drink recipes he knew of.

He gave one to the ambassador, who was sitting on a couch facing out the Sovereign-class ship’s slanting windows. He sat in a single lounge chair at the other end of the couch.

They both took a sip simultaneously, neither wanting to speak first.

“I assume we both experienced the same phenomenon during that meeting?”

“That appears to be the case.”

“I want to say that’s good. It means I’m not crazy. But it raises a series of questions.”

“It does indeed.” Rovak took another sip.

“Do you think it was the Dominion?” She asked plainly.

“No. I can imagine no scenario where they benefit from that experience taking place.” Rovak calculated.

“I’ve never experienced that in my life. Nor has Orliss. We’re both agreed that we’d be just as happy to pretend it never happened at all.” The Ambassador crossed one leg over the other.

“An ideal situation, Ambassador, but an impractical one. To pretend would be futile, and I believe also unwise. Whatever we experienced, we experienced for a reason.”

“What the hell is an angel, anyway?”

“A concept shared in many early Earth mythologies, a sort of warrior-servant of the deity central to the Abrahamic faiths. Varities appear in both winged humanoid and abstract form. They served as messengers and warriors of the creator entity.” Rovak explained from memory.

“Why are we hearing about Earth mythology from Earth animals in the Gamma Quadrant?” She asked, her eyes still lost out in the stars.

“I do not know. But we can ascertain two facts from that. Firstly, that the experience was transmitted to us in Federation Standard. There are no analogies in the Vulcan language that would reach that precise translation. Secondly, that whom or whatever was responsible for our experience has a familiarity with human language and culture.” Rovak deduced.

“I went into the diplomatic service because I didn’t want to deal with this shit.” The Ambassador complained, crunching a piece of ice between her teeth. “I read all the unclassified early mission reports. Prancing deities and omnipotent beings screwing around with Federation crews for their own enjoyment. The weird occurrences and the nonsensical reports that get classified as Unreliable due to Unidentified Interference. They don’t happen in diplomacy. There’s always a cause. Someone to blame, even if we don’t know who they are, we know they exist.” She seemed wistful.

“In Starfleet Security we are prepared for the very real threat of experiences completely out of our control. We learn that there will be situations where phasers and logic are of no value. The advice dispensed came from an old Earth mantra, I believe. ‘Keep calm and carry on.’ I believe I saw that message on posters when I was at the Academy.” Rovak explained, becoming aware of his potential oversharing as he took another sip. “What do you wish to do?”

“I don’t know. Mysteries aren’t my wheelhouse.” She looked to Rovak for the first time since he had sat. “I think perhaps they’re yours.”

Rovak finished his drink. Her gaze, unsettled as she was, was undesirable. There was a severity to the woman in her current mood. He did not find it agreeable.

“I will do what I can, Ambassador. If you will excuse me.”

“Help me up.” She asked. Rovak moved from his seat to where she sat, and held her arm as she rose. She didn’t seem like she really needed the help.

Rovak became aware that they were being watched. At the other side of the room, a young girl was sitting silently, looking at them.

“Masdri? How long have you been there?” Tyell asked, seeming to scold her with the question. The girl stood up from her seated position and made her way into one of the distant rooms. The Ambassador muttered something under her breath.

“Have you got any children Mister Rovak, other than your daughter?” She asked as she escorted him to the door.

“I have a son.”

“What does he do with himself?”

“He is an Ensign in Starfleet, but beyond that I am not certain. He has been on classified assignment for some time. He will send a message every few weeks to confirm he is still alive.” Rovak did know that he was working on slipstream technology at Cellis Station, but he wasn't sure if the Ambassador had the appropriate clearance.

“Well, nice that he lets you know.”

“Yes, it is.”

Tyell leaned against the doorway as Rovak passed through it.

“I’d prefer if the experience weren't discussed with my husband until we know something more about what happened.” The Ambassador requested, putting her hand on his arm.

“Of course. Feel better, Madame Ambassador.” He left her then, she offered a tired smile. Rovak began back towards the bridge.

-

“Welcome back.” Captain Velt said to his first officer as he emerged on the Tylesh’s bridge.

“Is the installation on schedule?” Rovak asked, hoping to get to the point.

“Everything’s underway now. We’ve achieved equidistance from the wormhole to DS9. Station is running on the Rall’s Warp Core right now, and we’re sending across an umbilical as soon as we get into range.”

“The Dominion?” Rovak asked.

“They’ve left a few frigates. A dozen bugs. They’re patrolling the border around both sides of the wormhole.”

“Forgive me for asking Captain, but how does the other side of the wormhole work precisely? What happens if one is to attempt entry through the other side of the wormhole?” Velt enquired.

“Nothing. The effect on spacetime means it’s only accessible as a spacetime manifold through the visible front. There is no back. You might collide with someone who is entering or emerging, though.” The man explained, his words curled slightly by his Māori accent. Rovak wondered if the scientist in him was frustrated by being forced to simply sit around and use his sensors to monitor hull stability in the station instead of collecting data.

Starbase 51 was moving slowly closer on the viewscreen. The Rall was already there, plugged in through a rear connection. The large slabs of transport carriage still attached to Starbase 51’s superstructure were still being arranged by the tug ships, two were already carrying the loads back through the wormhole.

“How’s the crew coming along?” Velt asked, knowing full well the difficulties they’d had. Diplomatic vetoes for confirmed kills on the species represented. Interference from the Council and the President to acquire specific favours for interest groups close to their ears.

“Not well, sir. Three more department chiefs were rejected by Admiral Kohen’s office for diplomatic reasons. I have been able to acquire several officers who would capably fill assistant department head positions. I feel most would be up to the challenge of leadership until we can acquire staff with the necessary experience for long term posting.” Rovak explained.

“Goddess damn the council for this. They want me to run a station when 70% of available crew have got in a barfight with or shot a member of a race who wants to have relations with us. And those same races insist that they not be present. Sometimes I feel like someone in Starfleet wants us to fail. Have you got me a yeoman yet?” Velt went from fiery to cheery so quickly Rovak barely noticed.

“Not yet, sir. But we do have a fully staffed security compliment on the Zhao. We will be taking almost half their engineering and operations crew to tide us over until additional transfers can be finalised.” Rovak said. “I believe our Counselor is also presently aboard Deep Space Nine.”

“What about the Marines?” Velt asked. There was a distant, muffled rumble as the ship connected it’s umbilical power supply at the rear to Starbase 51. Magnets and forcefields would do the rest, aligning the necessary systems with flawless magnetic precision.

“I was not aware we would be taking on a compliment, sir.” Rovak raised an eyebrow.

“We need Marines. We’re a Starfleet installation with a diplomatic and civilian compliment.”

“We have a security department. I have provided references for Lieutenant Commander Flynn.”

“I know, Rovak, I know. I don’t like the idea of marines any more than you do. But if anything happens, we’re prepared. With any luck at all they’ll train all day and night and stay out of everyone’s hair. Colonel Suthrik will be aboard tomorrow.”

“You have acquired a Marine Commander?” Rovak asked, feeling suddenly circumvented.

“I knew you weren’t going to do it. Not with two hundred other things to do. I know you’d never admit to liking or disliking anything, but you dislike marines.” The Captain seemed slightly annoyed. It almost resembled a scalding.

“You are correct in your assertion that I would not admit that.”

“Be that as it may, I’ll have Oh and Shelby and every other hardass in Starfleet Command wanting to hang me by my tail if anything goes awry and we don’t have marines to react to it. Did you get a chance to read the report about the Romulans?”

“Not as yet, sir. I understand we will be receiving an Ambassador Creon from the Empire later today.”

“Well he’s not going to be alone.”

“Sir?”

“Since the Republican movement came to power in the reformed Senate there’s been widespread riots and unrest across the Empire. A significant numb34 of worlds have broken away from military control since the dissolution of the Old Senate. Many have rallied behind the Republicans.”

“These facts are not unknown to me, sir.”

“Republicans have banded most of the Eastern Romulan Empire into declaring official secession from the Star Empire. They’re calling themselves the Romulan Free State.”

“Along the Klingon border.” Rovak noted.

“Unfortunately. They want us to have dealings with them but they seem to be ruled by conservative minds. They want peace and co-operation, but they’re still Romulans. To them any other way of life is a perversion of Romulan law.”

“That seems a simplistic analysis, Captain.” Rovak rebuked.

Both Rovak and the Captain were now speaking without looking up from their pads.

“Maybe. But the Republicans have none of the Imperial advantages, except the Tal Shiar. The Galae lost about a fifth of its ships to Republic deserters, and about the same number of the legion, but the rest are firmly on the Imperial side.”

“Why would they join Imperialists over the senate?” Rovak asked.

“The Praetor plans to free the Remans. More than half of the Romulan military are still keeping slaves. They’ve been given their own region of space from what remained of the Empire. They’ll be sending an Ambassador also.”

“Sir, I trust you are aware of the inherent risks involved in bringing a single military-trained Reman aboard, let alone an entire delegation. They are a species quite gifted in telepathic violence and known for unscrupulous mental practices. Even from a distance.”

“We can’t not negotiate with them because they’re psychic, Lieutenant. The same could be said of Vulcans. Except for the distance thing. But until they invent some way of preventing that we’re just going to have live with it.” Velt said, sounding like he wasn’t trying to dismiss the point.

“Do you suggest I ask them politely to not invade anybody’s thoughts, sir?” Rovak asked.

“If you think it would help.” That amused the Captain. “Thank you, Mister Rovak.”

“For what, sir?”

“For challenging me. And getting me a working crew. I know this was all thrown together in a hurry. The Dominion don’t like to wait. Honestly I was skeptical about a man who spent four decades as a Junior Lieutenant.” Velt said, finally looking up from the device. "But since meeting you I've been remembered that, despite the hair, you're a Vulcan."

Rovak looked around the room. Nobody else seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. Even Captain McKenzie was busying himself with something on his screen. The crew of the Tylesh had been most accommodating Rovak had experienced during this installation. Of course, he had never been involved with a starbase installation before.

“Thank you, sir. I would prefer to think that it was due to the high standard of performance I maintained that they could not afford to lose me.” Rovak responded.

Velt laughed. “Yes, of course.”

Rovak wasn’t sure whether that was a criticism. He chose to ignore it.

“Alright gentlemen, here we go.” Captain McKenzie announced to the pair, who both looked up from their pads. On the screen, the Starbase was taking form. The armoured sections were all removed and lined up neatly, the last of them being attached to the tow vessels.

“Engineering team to bridge.” A voice came through the bridge audio network, distinctly Bolian in its cheer.

“Bridge here.” McKenzie responded.

“Requesting permission to beam aboard Starbase to begin activation proceedings.” The voice came again.

“Granted, Engineering Team.” Captain Velt announced with a superfluous nod.

“Save us some champagne.” The voice responded.

“Don’t push your luck.” Captain McKenzie interjected with a sly grin.

The display on the bridge screen showed their presence in the lower engineering core, through the still, unlit outer hull.

“Might we see their feed, Captain?” Velt asked McKenzie.

“Engineering team, please activate feed.” McKenzie instructed, holding down a button on his armrest.

“How’s that, sir?” The voice responded.

“Ops, where is it?” McKenzie asked the young Bajoran in the console next to flight control.

“Sorry, sir. Coming now.” The ops officer tapped at his LCARS screen until the view from the lead engineer’s EVA helmet appeared on the screen.

They were inside Starbase 51’s Main Engineering bay. The fusion reactor dominated the centre of the room, rising from the floor to the roof, though completely dark. Only the lights from the EVA suit’s emitters lit the inside of the room.

The lead Engineer looked back at his team, in the middle they seemed to be carrying a device to jumpstart the core. Rovak did not know what they were called, but he had seen enough to know their purpose. After a few minutes of walking across the room, they finally lowered the device next to the core.

The Engineers each took removed an interface plug from one of the sides of the nonagon structure, and carried it out across to a different point at the Fusion Reactor’s base. Once all nine were secure, the engineers returned to the fusion igniter.

“Activation on your command, Captain Velt.” The lead engineer reported.

Velt looked to Rovak, who gave a gentle nod of approval.

“Let’s bring the old girl back to life. Commence activation.” Velt's tail swished excitedly about his ankles.

The Starbase returned to the main viewer, with the Engineer's view minimised to the bottom left hand corner, beneath the topical engineering readings.

One by one, the little windows on the wheel-shaped station began to illuminate, as the main reactor room began to illuminate, as the fusion reactor came to life, fuelled by the stores of the Rall and the Tylesh. The entire station soon began to glow, looking distinctly alive in a way it hadn't before then.

They waited a few minutes, watching as the Engineers checked and stabilised the reactor for initial start up proceedings.

"Looks like it's taking, sir. Big board says green. She's running clean and smooth. Reactor is in start up mode. Should we bring the computer core online?" The lead engineer asked, looking around the room, perhaps unknowingly, at the chest of one his co-workers, who cut quite an impressive figure even in the EVA suit.

"At once." Captain Velt instructed, trying with great difficulty not to laugh at the Bolian's obliviousness to his own perspective.

"Can do, Captain. We'll report back when we get there." The Bolian's feed disappeared, likely as they were removing their EVA suits now that life support systems had activated.

"Well. I think we'd better let our people on DS9 know that they're needed." Velt instructed Rovak, who got up from his seat with a nod, and moved to the Communications console at the rear of the bridge.

"Open a channel to Deep Space Nine." Rovak instructed the chubby saurian at the console. They did so, and DS9's communications officer appeared on the screen.

"Commander Rovak, what can we do for you, sir?" A middle-aged Bajoran in Operations gold asked.

"Get me Alex Flynn."

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