“Any word from the team working with Vocast?”  Helena Dread had walked slowly back to her ready room, taking the time to process her rage at the El-Aurian doctor.  It would do her no favors to inflict her residual feelings on those around her.  

Commander Milton Ford looked up from the couch, several PADDs around him, “She’s dying.”

Dread frowned, “I know the doc…,”

He handed over his PADD, “Vocast’s dying.  It had started well before we left, but they weren’t sure what the readings told them until yesterday.  They spoke with Vocast at length, and she confirmed it – she’s known she was dying for quite some time…she thought this situation with the El-Aurian might change things..”

Helena sat on the couch opposite her XO, “I wish I could say it’s a surprise she kept it from us…but it isn’t.  What does this mean for Lieutenant Fowler?”  Her medical-minded thoughts went to work with various scenarios.  “I’m sure Vocast doesn’t have an answer.”

Ford replied, “She doesn’t.  They did say in the report that even with Fowler under sedation, Vocast and her are holding conversations; at least, that’s what Vocast told the team.  No matter what we do, those two will be together in mind and spirit until we figure out how to break them apart without harm coming to Fowler.”

Helena asked, “How long does Vocast have?”

“At the most, a month.  At the least – two weeks.  They sent over the scans of Vocast’s head.  Page seven on the report.”

Dread flipped to it and scanned the images, looking for critical markers or identifiable areas.  There wasn’t much.  It was a mind of unusual design without correlation to a human brain.  “Another dead end.  Have the results sent to the science team at Montana Station.”  She turned to Ford, “The JAG on Montana Station has requested we transfer Doctor Galdrid Ahon to their custody.  I told them she was dying.  They want her there to be at least advised of the charges.”

Milton grumbled, “Archibald was never my favorite.  I do not doubt that he’s out here for a reason.  When JAG sends you out into the far rimward, you’ve led a career of either stupidity or arrogance.  Or both.”

Helena was amused.  Sector Judge Advocate Archibald Davidson was fifty-four years old.  She guessed that Ford and Davidson had probably become acquainted over the years.  Being right in this situation was good and bad.  Good, because she liked being right.  Bad because bad blood between officers generally leads to bad things.  Dread did not like bad things.  “You and Davidson are acquainted?”

Ford rolled his eyes, “There is a reason why he’s ranked as commander in the role of Sector Judge Advocate.  That’s usually a captain rank and above.  We’ve clashed on a couple of cases over the years.  First in security, then in counseling.  He’s a yappy dog that you just can’t help but want to kick.”  He sighed, “Sorry, captain.  That’s not terribly professional.”

“I’ve said worse in my ready rooms.  I’d rather know what and who we’re dealing with than hear a rosy old tale.” She sat back on the couch, “The truth is, I’d rather send her to him so I don’t have to worry about her down there in the brig.  The Hopkins and Atascadero have the situation down below well in hand.”  She thought for a moment longer, “Let’s get her to her court date.”

Milton stood, “I’ll set course for Montana Station; let ‘em know we’re headed their way.”  He gave her one last look before heading for the bridge, “Davidson is tenacious, captain.  He’s the best and the worst of a JAG officer. They may have put him out here so they can ignore him…but he won’t ignore us.”

Helena let his warning hang in the air as the door closed behind him.

It was never boring in the Montana Station Squadron.