The pulse of Helios is reassuring, the constant repetitive hum from the tall warp core is a steady rhythm that I can attune my breathing to. The uniformity of a chugging engine at the heart of a ship has always calmed me down. Here in the emergency ejection controls on deck 15 it was at its loudest, echoing throughout the titanic bay that stretched up skyscraper-like to the dorsal edge of the ship.

It seems strange to think that I should feel so calm here, surrounded by so many possible dangers. The cold void of space flies past us less than an arm’s reach away, beyond the ejection bay doors. Even the smallest crack in their slim yellow and red striped form would mean the end. Down the small crawlway ahead of me I can see the giant antimatter pods, rows of volatile universe warping matter suspended precariously in thin magnetic fields. Yet here in the place of danger, I feel my most serene.

In for 2 pulses, out for 2 pulses.

I’d first visited my little shelter just before we departed Starbase 72 six months ago, the engineer in me wanted to see every corner of our new home. After all, one can hardly head into the unknown without taking the full measure of one’s newest ally. I’d squeezed through the tiny crawlspace atop the battle pod, the great cannon of Helios waiting patiently beneath my belly. Hundreds of miniature suns trapped in sleek black torpedo casings, silently slumbering. I’d had my lunch in the tiny forward overwatch on deck 8, barely more than a closet with a window that overlooks the great outer doors of the shuttle bay. And finally, I’d found my way here, to the empty emergency deck, where few would ever step foot, where I had finally found comfort.

In for 3 pulses, out for 3 pulses.

The order of engineering is comforting, each problem has a solution and each fault a fix. Despite all their idiosyncrasies, starships are predictable beasts of metal bones and plasmatic arteries; a logical and ordered approach will inevitably lead to the solution of its ills. It is so much simpler than people, so much simpler than diplomacy, so much simpler than being the captain. People bring confusion, they make choices you cannot understand and inevitably they make mistakes.

In for 4 pulses, out for 4 pulses.

Had I been wrong to send Bib and his team so far into unknown territory without our backup? Beyond the safety of the Federation and the long arms of Starfleet, the galaxy was inherently unpredictable. Had I thrown them to the wolves of Pamack Base, knowingly steered them into the Syndicate’s hungry mouth where the pirates would gladly gobble them down into the shadows? The refinery was only a small outpost, mastered by a barely notable criminal yet on reflection, danger must surely lurk in every corner. My heart had stopped when Nikashri informed me the team were out of contact, that their signal had disappeared and they were unresponsive to comms. Had I lost another group of officers, of friends, to my misrecognition of the danger?

In for 3 pulses, out for 3 pulses.

I chide my foolishness as I sit between the antimatter and the void. This last year had proved that even within the embrace of the Federation the unpredictable was seemingly inevitable. The Lost Fleet and then Frontier Day. The Borg and Exodus. The Labyrinth. We had found ourselves with broken hearts at the culmination of each. Bib and his team are capable officers who, between them, have decades of skill and knowledge. They are easily some of the brightest and most competent people I have ever had the pleasure to serve with; they would be able to handle anything that tiny moon had in store for them. Not least the Syndicate and its grubby, clawing fingers.

Why then do I feel like I’m writing their eulogy?

In for 2 pulses, out for 2 pulses.

I spy Nikashri hovering behind a bulkhead, summoning the courage to interrupt my mental see-sawing. Her eyes are deeply set within her skull as she fidgets and shuffles on her long legs.

“Yes, Chief?” My voice sounds weary and I worry that she will see my doubts laid bare.

“The T’Nang has joined us at warp, they’re matching course and speed.” Her voice holds an audible tension and I suddenly feel sorry for her, she is now by virtue of rank and role the ship’s XO, a role that comes with its own weights and worries. Ones she never expected to have to bear.

“Captain Molkor?”

She takes a step in and lays a padd down on a nearby structural bulkhead that rings the small room, before returning to the safety of the archway of the small portal.

“He has collated several strategic options based on the Empire’s recent intelligence-gathering operations. He would like to discuss options for engagement and…” Her voice cracks “… recovery.”

The pulsing of the warp core fills the room again as we both fall silent. We both know what options are on the table without reviewing the padd. Extract or recover. We would not leave our friends to the mockery of the Syndicate.

“Have we had any instruction from Captain Varen?” I ask, hoping my superiors can see a solution that I cannot.

“Only that he will attempt to re-route some assets, possibly Durandal to provide support. He trusts you to make the best assessment and judgement.” Her voice doesn’t support the Bajoran Task Force leader’s statement.

I agree with her lack of confidence but say nothing, instead attempting to slow my breathing once again. People bring uncertainty.

In for 1 pulse, out for 1 pulse.

“What should I tell Captain Molkor?”

“Tell him to give me thirty minutes to review his reports. Then we’ll meet to strategise.”

“Yes sir, thirty minutes.” She turns and begins to walk away to the turbo-lift at the centre of the bay.

“Nikashri?” She stops but doesn’t turn towards me, her whole body seems tense, she realises the duty she will soon have to fulfil. She will take her seat on the bridge next to me and lead the crew into danger, whatever we find on Pamack Base.

“We will find them. Alive.” I force the words out, desperate for them to be true for my own sake as much as hers.

“Yes Sir.”

With a few steps and the quiet hiss of the turbolift doors, I am left alone once more with the steady, predictable hum of the warp core. I reach for the padd and begin looking for a way out of the chaos in my haven of order.

In for 1 pulse, out for 1 pulse.