The USS Sacramento burst from warp with a mild shudder. Ahead, the planet Boreth and its moon loomed, one ghostly, pallid orb suspended in the darkness alongside the feeble, snowy glow of its sister.

“Approaching standard orbit,” remarked Emilia Parr, the executive officer, her voice cool and resolute, her fingers dancing lightly at her chair’s console. “Ensign, hail the monastery.”

It took a moment before Captain Ayres felt adjusted to the system, his eyes focusing on Boreth and the disconcerting feeling of otherworldly silence that enveloped it. There was no bark of a Klingon welcome, no routine chatter among nearby vessels. Only a deep, ominous drone of white noise permeating every frequency.

The oppressive quiet shattered when T’Vaan spoke up, “Captain, sensors are not registering any communication, in subspace or from within the system. Nor is there any beacon or automated signal.”

A deep frown darkened Ayres’s features, “Any sign of jamming?”

“None at all,” she replied evenly, “It is not a form of interference of which I am familiar”, the young Vulcan sounded perplexed.

The word ‘blackout’ echoed inside their minds like a cursed prophecy. During their trip to Boreth it had become apparent that there was massive scale subspace interference, unevenly distributed. For their journey from Vulcan the ship’s sensors had identified fleeting communication in some systems, total nothingness in others. It felt like phantom echoes dancing on the edge of detection, subtle distortions in subspace like the whispers of a hidden threat. But Ayres was a practical man, he believed that spirituality or the supernatural was the purview of the utopian or the doomed, though he had quietly shared in the crew’s disquiet and concern.

Ayres’s gaze shifted to the stoic Klingon monks – Komex, Margon, and Divok – whom he had invited to the bridge for their final moments before disembarking. As the unsettling feeling grew, he regretted that courtesy. Komex’s eyes widened as he looked toward the planet of their monastic home, growing larger on the viewscreen, and he growled in a low voice, edged with worry, “And time shall prepare us for the final battle”.

Then, a sharp, insistent ping declared its presence – a hostile lock.

“Unknown vessel decloaking, danger close to the fore” Kincaid announced, as a sturdy Klingon battlecruiser materialised. Its sharp curves and edges sliced into the dark like a scar drawn in warning. Many more ships decloaked around them.

“Message incoming,” Ovindar interjected from operations.

”On screen”, Parr replied and the viewscreen revealed an ancient, heavily scarred Klingon commander whose countenance burned with suspicion.

“Starfleet,” he pronounced gravely, “you are intruding in a restricted sector. Identify yourselves and prepare for boa-”, he caught sight of the three monks and cut himself off with a gutteral sound, “You are known,” he waved away another Klingon officer half in view, “Captain Ayres, you were due here days ago. I am General Rartek, I command the fleet here and your guests are well known to me. Komex, I thought you already lost in some glorious battle!”

Captain Ayres maintained his composure. “General, we had some difficulty in our journey and I’m sorry for the delay. I suspect you’re also suffering communication failures.”

The general’s gaze was unyielding, “More failures than that, captain! No word from anywhere. The ships I sent have not returned. And your brethren, Komex, are even more strange and secretive than usual!”, Rartek was trying to sound angry but the words were edged with uncertainty, “Ayres, you will rendezvous with Captain Kulok’s ship – the Torash – in high orbit, offload your guests, and depart immediately.”

And with that, the channel fell dead.

With a slow, almost sardonic exhale, Ayres observed dryly, “What a warm welcome.”

“We will prepare” Komex murmured from the edge of the bridge, all three Klingons were tense beyond measure.

”Thank you, Komex. I – and the crew of the Sacramento – have been honoured to bring you home,” Ayres nodded to the Klingons, he was unsettled by their sudden change but eager to see an end to this mission and reunite with the fleet. The monks left the bridge.

”T’Vaan, scan the monastery and check that we’re not about to beam our guests into something unexpected”, the captain felt agitated.

Her reply came steadily: “The monastery is intact, no visible damage, with many Klingon lifesigns. But our passive sensors are reading substantially lower levels of heat and energy than I would expect given the climate conditions on the surface.”

Ayres’s eyes remained fixed on the image of the world below, as dread-filled instincts pulled at his stomach, “Stay alert,” he commanded, “bring us into formation with the Torash and follow their lead”.

The Sacramento and bird-of-prey moved together closer to the planet. The bridge crew worked in silence, professional but uneasy, as the ship manoeuvred into transporter distance. Ayres stood and paced the bridge, moving naturally toward Kincaid at the tactical station and then back around to stand in front of his command chair. Parr glanced up at his back, herself uneasy but trying to remain concentrated on the short readouts from her chair’s small console and listening for any alerts from the crew.

”Transporter one is ready to send the delegation to the monastery, captain”, Parr looked back up at Ayres, who did not turn back.

”Great, go ahead”, he breathed out longer than normal.

No sooner had he spoken than the monks were beamed down, a seamless transfer that in turn did nothing to lesson his anxiety.

Seconds after the beam ended, alarms tore through the silence of the bridge.

“Multiple signatures!” bellowed Kincaid from tactical, his voice a stern authority, “Three… no, eight ships inbound!”

Ayres pivoted sharply to his chair, sat, and refocused on the screen. They appeared suddenly, like bolts of vengeful lightning – unknown ships, fast and ruthless and designed for annihilation. Seemingly emerging from nowhere, they barreled through space, unleashing torrents of fire before the Klingon contingent could mount any defence.

General Rartek’s monstrous flagship absorbed a barrage of brutal, direct hits; its port side ripped apart as shrapnel from its structure spiraled helplessly into space. Another bird-of-prey exploded in a brilliant but despairing light. The Torash, in formation with the Sacramento veered violently to return to the rest of the Klingon fleet.

“Raise shields. Arm all weapons!” Ayres roared, his voice steely with resolve. “Divert emergency batteries to the phasers. Helm, follow the Torash!”

“Captain, they’re striking with surgical precision,” observed T’Vaan “This is a well-prepared assault”

Following the swifter and far better armed Torash, the Sacramento dove headlong into the battle. For one terrifying heartbeat, they watched as torpedoes from the unknown enemy streaked across the stars and collided with another Klingon battleship, halting its approach as multiple explosions rippled across its hull. The bridge crew’s anxiety was replaced by adrenaline.

Three more ships materialized out of nowhere – faster and deadlier than the Sacramento could ever imagine to be. One of them unleashed a burst that struck directly at the Sacramento’s starboard side. The ship convulsed violently; power flickered erratically and consoles erupted in a rain of sparks.

“Shields at forty percent!” Ovindar bellowed urgently, the Bajoran’s hands tapping at her console as she ducked out of the way of a cascade of sparks from overhead.

They had not even fired yet, Ayres thought fast, trying to catch-up with the chaos, “Kincaid, return fire at will. Everything you’ve got”

The Torash flew past the front of the Sacramento, suffering a terrible series of hits from the newer enemies as its disrupters continued to fire. Ayres watched as the Sacramento’s feeble response had no noticeable impact on their attackers.

”Match fire with the Torash!”, Ayres shouted at Kincaid, “let’s see if we can punch back together”

The Torash, with its nimble arcs and experienced warriors, fought back with skill. The Sacramento followed in its wake, adding firepower to the Klingons and receiving some protection from the ships’ proximity to their more powerful ally. Hit by a barrage of disrupters and torpedoes from the Torash and a sustained phaser blast from the Sacramento, one of the smaller attacking ships rolled unnaturally and exploded.

That fortune did not last long. The two remaining ships concentrated their firepower on the Torash, rippling strikes across its shields as they buckled under the sustained energy. Small explosions erupted along the Torash’s hull.

”Bring us in front of the Torash! Divert power from the weapons to the shields,” Ayres commanded on instinct.

”Captain,” Parr reached out and placed a hand on his arm, “we can’t take that punishment”

Ayres shook his head, jaw tight, looking directly at her, “It’s what there is”.

The Sacramento surged forward, absorbing two volleys of enemy fire intended for the Torash. The first barrage battered their shields; the second tore through the hull like a scythe through straw. Deck plates moaned in protest as conduits burst in sparkling showers of light and smoke.

In a breathtaking, horrifying moment, darkness swallowed the ship.

When emergency lights flickered back to life – a weak, pulsing red reminiscent of a faltering heartbeat – the bridge was shrouded in smoke. Captain Ayres, blood oozing from a deep gash on the side of his head, gripped his armrest, “Status report!”

After a moment heavy with dread, Ovindar’s ragged voice, “We’re down to backup systems. The warp core is stable. Life support on emergency backup. Captain, we’re not going anywhere”

Outside, the attackers were regrouping with chilling efficiency. Within the battered, dimly lit bridge, the crew braced for imminent annihilation. Ayres locked his gaze on the screen as the enemy closed in relentlessly.

The two attacking ships simply detonated. The shockwave battered the Sacramento, causing further fires to spark around the bridge. A Klingon cruiser, flanked by three birds-of-prey, pushed through the explosions, their momentum carrying them beyond the sight of the Sacramento and the Torash and back into the battle.