A cold, fridged planet, where darkness often ruled and daylight hours somehow brought even colder temperatures. Even as vastly developed as the planet had become in recent centuries, no one could escape the fact that large parts of Andoria remained a barren wasteland. Those areas that had been developed had taken on a life of their own, resembling the bustling metropolises of Earth, Risa and Trill, only covered in snow and ice. Those who braved the freezing temperatures outside did so for only minutes at a time, dressed in the warmest of garments, before seeking sanctuary in the warmth of the buildings that had sprung up from beneath the surface over the last hundred and fifty years. Just a dozen lightyears from Earth and one of the Core Territories, Andoria was a crucial cog in the development of the Federation’s idyllic lifestyle. Some would argue that while Earth was very much the picturesque heart of the Federation, seen on all the interstellar travel brochures, Andoria was actually more important. One of the most heavily defended systems in the entire Federation, the ice planet provided safety and security for the people of the Federation through the development of weapons and defensive technologies. Ablative armour had been designed there, and the latest torpedoes developed in manufacturing warehouses.

And it was Rear Admiral Kelsa Theron’s domain to oversee.

Sure, the Imperial Guard did all the heavy work, maintaining their own substantial defence force and military arm, but she had the final say on all Starfleet matters, and it was her opinion that often swayed the views of the planet’s ruling council. It helped that she was a native, a woman who had served countless Starfleet administrations on the planet since she had been posted there nearly 20 years ago. Rising the ranks to stardom, she was the one in the hot seat now, and had guided the system through troubling times, but nothing had prepared her for what had befallen the system just weeks ago.

“Any word from Silent Star?”

A gentle ceramic chime, delicate and distinct, reverberated through the silence like bells in a quiet room, almost rhythmic and melodic as she stirred her tea with the silver spoon she used to scoop several spoons of Andorian spice into her evening beverage. Looking up, she glared across the open tundra beyond the reinforced Starfleet Headquarters. It was apt that the view she was afforded represented the view out beyond the star system at present – bleak and ominous.

Behind her and seated on the opposite side of her ornately carved, rather spectacularly huge desk, a Trill in command red ran a nervous hand through his mop of brown hair.

“Nothing positive Admiral,” the man shook his head regretfully.

Wistfully, Kelsa lifted the emblazoned china cup to her blue lips and sipped the drink. Smiling, she turned away from the window and elegantly took her seat at the desk. Tea, it seemed, was the only thing that brought her joy of late.

Project Silent Star had been set up immediately after the system had fallen victim to a strange phenomenon. For weeks, travel beyond the system had been nigh-on impossible except for impulse drive. Sensors had ceased functioning beyond the edge of the system and communications had been silent ever since. No matter what they tried, no one could ascertain any news regarding what had occurred, or what was transpiring beyond. Someone on her staff had coined the area outside of the system as the ‘Dark Zone’. And it was. It was a dark void. Silent Star had brought together minds from across Andoria and the Starfleet divisions housed on the orbiting Starbase 7 in an effort to somehow figure out what was going on beyond the system, but no matter what signal they transmitted into the heavens, they got nothing but static. It was as if the galaxy beyond Andoria had just vanished.

“The team thought they had managed to intercept a communique from the Dark Zone last night, but the signal was simply bouncing off the moon’s atmosphere from a cargo ship we failed to detect,” the man looked incredibly sheepish as he relayed the report to the Sector Commander, but she waved off the failure.

“With all the bright and promising minds we have in this system, you’d think we’d be able to do something by now,” she sighed in frustration. And she was right, of course. “Alas,” she smiled, placing the cup on the desk, “perhaps this is just one of those times that our famed Starfleet engineers cannot perform miracles. What news from the fleet?” she asked, relaxing back in her chair.

Sitting forward in his, Captain Giarvar Kauhn picked up the data PADD that he had placed on the desk upon entrance to the Admiral’s planetary office.

“Second Fleet is reporting no changes. Fourth Fleet ships Franklin D. Roosevelt and Nova report no change in circumstance,” he reported, the same news as he had given pretty much every day so far. He reached over and presented the PADD to the Admiral. “Melbourne’s engine issues have been resolved though and Santa Fe’s weapons upgrades are complete, so there is some silver lining there.”

“What about the Imperial Guard?” she asked, taking ownership of the data PADD and perusing its contents.

“Same situation as before,” the Trill advised. “Warp drive issues have stranded three-quarters of the guard’s forces at Weytahn during war games. Latest estimates indicate it would take them several weeks to return. We’re in communication at least and General Th’shan has decided to hold the position for now.  Those left in the home system continue duties as normal.”

In the middle of the Captain’s report, the doors to the Admiral’s office opened and her Adjutant strolled forward. A Bajoran woman in Operations Gold, Lieutenant Commander Peri had served a variety of administrative roles across different postings before her arrival in the Admiral’s office. Usually, when she interrupted these meetings between the Admiral and her new friend, the Commander was smiling and endeavouring to lighten the mood, but not today. Today, she looked anxious and purposeful as she strode to the Admiral’s desk.

Once the Admiral and forgiven the intrusion, the Bajoran updated them. “There’s a situation developing Admiral,” Peri told. “You’re needed on the Starbase at once.”

Watching the change in the Commander’s expression as she relayed the news, the Admiral’s antennae dropped. She didn’t need to be a Vulcan to sense that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Just two minutes later, in two separate transporter beams, Admiral and Captain alike rematerialised on the transporter pad of Starbase 7, arriving in Station Ops adorned in scarlet red lights and amid the chaos and uncertainty of a red alert klaxon. Kauhn dutifully followed the Admiral as she made her way towards the command table at the centre’s heart.

“Report!” the Admiral barked, resting her hands on the work surface and sliding onto the stool at the head of the table.

“Sensors are detecting a distortion Admiral,” a Zakdorn officer in science blue told her, his dark eyes trained on the station in confusion. “If I’m reading this right, the distortion is…”

“Is what?” the Admiral asked, but when she didn’t get a reply, the Andorian leant over and glared across the table at the scientist. “What is the distortion, Lieutenant?”

Stepping around the table and gesturing towards the console, the Zakdorn moved aside for Captain Kauhn so he could ascertain the results of the sensor data himself. Once he had, he too had a puzzled expression, but he also had the wherewithal to share his findings with the Admiral.

“I don’t know how it is possible, Admiral, but the distortion is an Underspace aperture,” Kauhn told, tapping the controls and pulling the distortion up on the main viewscreen. Sure enough, a low-frequency tremor rippled through the area until several arcs of energy converged in one location. Spiralling tan swirls collided with particles both crimson and violet in colour until a massive explosion erupted in the heavens and revealed a stable tunnel.

“There’s no indication where the tunnel leads to,” the Zakdorn officer seemed to have regained his voice in the sight of the beautiful stellar phenomenon on the screen. “It’s approximately a light year from the station. The initial distortion wave triggered the station’s sensors.”

A second alert klaxon began to sound, drawing the Admiral’s gaze to the left of the Ops table.

“We’re detecting a metallic mass approaching the aperture,” an officer in yellow at tactical operations told, a look of great concern on her face. “It’s huge. Got to be some kind of starship,” the British human frowned.

“Standby weapons systems,” Kelsa rose to her feet, eyes glued to the screen as the energy swirled around the leading edge of the aperture distorted further to make way for the ship that began to emerge.

A great sigh from the Andorian seconds later brought the red alert status to an end, as all around the command centre breathed a sigh of relief. There, on the main viewer, where the aperture had once been, sat a vision of pure beauty. While many in the fleet marvelled at the newer, sleeker ships of the modern age, Admiral Theron was not so keen. She favoured the designs of old, which was why she loved her posting at her homeworld, overseeing the development of new systems and technologies that could bring ageing ships of the line up to modern standards. Ships such as the behemoth that filled the screen, angled towards the station itself and looked like an angel of mercy.

At a time when communications and reinforcements were next to impossible, the emergence of a Galaxy-class starship from beyond the Dark Zone meant one thing…

…they were no longer alone.