The smell of blood tainted the air. A thick metallic odour that eeked out from the stone walls and into the nostrils with invasive, sickening tendrils.

Dynem snorted slightly as he ruffled the end of his snout in distaste.

“Are you okay?” Dasranika whispered.

“Can’t you smell it? The tang of death?”

“Slightly dramatic, Dynem, but yes.” Her thoughts flashed back to a mission to Kyrolia II, where a terrible accident had necessitated Starfleet’s aid. The smell of blood and the sound of wailing mothers had latched onto the young officer’s soul so early in her career, the feeling was terrifyingly similar. But there was no wailing here, just the unforgiving beat of feet upon the stone.

Their silent guide, a hulking and scarred Zhelicar who had refused any attempt at conversation on the journey, came to a sudden stop and waved towards a nearby opening.

“Nysstiss is in there,” he grumbled. “I leave you here.”

“Thankyou, I hope we’ll see you again.” Dasranika offered a hand forward towards the mountain man, who eyed it with a large purple eye.

“I doubt it,” he snarled before turning and continuing down deeper into the shadowy corridor.

The smell of blood was thicker here at the mouth of the cavern. A miasma of hot metallic sips that scraped at the throat angrily, and Dasranika gasped audibly as they took a step inside.

In the long stone room, rows and rows of bronze scaled Zhelicar lay prone on makeshift beds, cobbled together from larger boulders and patchwork leather sheets. Each giant sported a plethora of wounds; hastily bandaged gashes, awkwardly splinted broken joints, barely patched sucking penetrations. A trio of smaller Zhelicar moved between the beds, tending to the wounded with their massive clawed hands. At the far end, a dozen forms lay on the ground, covered in woven shrouds.

“This is what passes for their sickbay,” Dasranika realised with a hesitant whisper, her throat thick with the claggy, miasma-ridden air.

“And morgue.” Dynem hissed, his tongue leaping out and retreating sharply back into his skull. “I can’t taste anything antiseptic. I doubt there’s much in the way of advanced med-tech.”

“I’m assuming that one is Nysstiss.” Dane motioned to the lone Zhelicar standing vigil over the shrouded bodies several metres away.

“Dynem, did you bring the medkit?” Dasranika turned to the Selayan officer, her eyes pleading with him to have channelled his trademark paranoia.

“An emergency one, yes,” he tapped the small grey case slung over his shoulder. “But…”

“Do what you can,” Dasranika ordered. “Bring more supplies down from Hart if necessary.”

“I’d do a lot better if I could bring down Dr. Rimsomar.” Dynem cast an eye around the room. He was barely a medic, let alone an emergency paramedic for an unfamiliar species.

“No, no more people. Just do what you can to help.”

With a reluctant nod, Dynem set off towards the nearest Zhelicar and, picking a tricorder from his case, began assessing the wounded.

“What are you doing?”

A voice echoed around the chamber, a heavy baritone that vibrated through the stone and Dasranika’s bones.

“We want to help,” she replied directionless, turning back towards the line of shrouded bodies to find that the huge form of Nysstiss had silently appeared behind her. His large skull hung over her predatorily, and her heart skipped a beat as she realised she could probably fit wholly inside the massive jaws with room to spare.

Dane took a step back in surprise as he towered over the pair, and the trilling of Dynem’s tricorder ceased as he subtly reached for the phaser on his belt.

“We are only here to help,” she repeated, raising her open palms warily.

Nysstiss levelled an eye to hers, the foremost teeth of his long jaw almost scraping the smooth stone at her feet. She thought she might drown in his massive purple eye, bisected with a slender dark pupil.

“Why?” He hissed, his hot breath sending a shudder across Dasranika’s skin that she barely held back.

“Because we can,” she whispered, mustering every steel nerve in her body, hopeful her tone was confident as much as it was empathetic.

“The Concord would not like that.”

“I don’t care.”

Nysstiss grinned along his massive jaw.

“Nor do I,” he replied with what Dasranika could only presume was the Zhelicar equivalent of a smirk. Nystiss waved a bulky arm towards a nearby nurse who had silently slipped closer to Dynem, sending her back her patients. “We are grateful for any help you can offer, though it may not matter in the long run.”

“Why?” Dane took a tentative step forward as Nysstiss leaned back, easing the tension of the conversation.

“Because we will likely all soon join them.” He jerked his massive head to the row of shrouded bodies, which Dasranika could now see extended off into another adjacent chamber. Dozens and dozens of Zhelicar bodies lay silent and still beneath bright hand woven cloths. Delicate floral blooms stretched across their surface in a rainbow of colours. Dasranika felt a sudden weight in her stomach at the thought that the Zhelicar must’ve known beautiful flowers at some point, though where in this midnight mausoleum they had witnessed them she couldn’t imagine.

“We’re hoping to avoid that,” Dane insisted. “We’re hoping we can resolve this situation peacefully.”

Nysstiss scoffed, the drumlike noise bouncing off the smooth stone walls and rattling the pair’s chest.

“The Concord has made its choice already. With every rise of the quota and every honeyed word that drips from their golden tongues. Every command to dig deeper, further, quicker. Every punishment for missed deadlines or short deliveries.” He slumped onto a nearby boulder, which groaned in protest at his massive bulk. “They do not make peace, not with Zhelicar.”

“Why?” Dane took a step forward towards the suddenly sullen man.

“Why?” Nysstiss hissed. “You cannot make peace with your lessers. Would you ask the pickaxe to work harder or strike faster? No. You simply work it harder.”

Dasranika’s heart broke so loudly at his words that she thought she heard it ringing from the stone surfaces. The great form of Nysstiss seemed so fragile and timid all of a sudden, a wounded creature slumped on his rock.

“The Envoy said there was a rebellion. What happened?” Dane asked, placing himself down on a nearby boulder opposite.

“An accident in the deepest vein. We warned them that the stone wouldn’t hold, that the bones were weeping. The Concord officers instructed us to push further.” Nysstiss’ voice cracked, his great teeth grinding against one another. “The tunnel collapsed and we lost all who were within.”

The rows of shrouded bodies twitched in the tiny breeze, and Dasranika caught a glimpse of the Zhelicar violently scratching against cotton and stone.

Curled claws pushing against the thin veil of incalculable weight.

Contorted faces, twisted in fear and panic.

Dozens of fearful faces begging for another breath.

“Was Syrris amongst them?” She whispered, unable to tear herself away from the flailing forms of the dead.

Nysstiss lept to his feet and pressed his face towards her, his sadness instantly melting away beneath the fire of his anger.

“Where did you hear that name? Did the Concord tell you of her?” His massive eyes narrowed to atomically thin slits. “They do not deserve to speak her name!”

“We intercepted a transmission on approach,” Dane offered as he leapt forward, reaching out with an arm between the two. “A speech that mentioned her by name.”

“Who was she?” Dasranika asked without flinching, her nerves turning as hard as the stone that surrounded them. She already knew the answer she feared was coming.

The anger within Nysstiss evaporated as a well of tears began forming across the edge of his long eyeline.

“My daughter, barely ten cycles,” he choked out.

Dane took a sharp breath.

“A child.”

Dasranika had to fight the urge to reach out to him, to hold him close. He had never been able to face the loss of a child, whether a stranger’s or their own. Each cut him to shreds like a surgeon’s blade. Instead, she turned back to Nysstiss.

“What did the Concord say?” Dasranika could feel a storm brewing in her chest as she looked longingly through the corner of her eye to her husband as he fell back onto the boulder, his face turning ashen.

“An unfortunate loss of assets.” The giant man looked like he might weep fiery streams of lava, like he might gnash and wail against the stone at any moment. “They have not children but those laboured forth by vats of ice and glass. They could not understand their crime.”

Dasranika took a deep breath and reached out to grasp a long digit on Nysstiss’ giant hand. Like a tiny child clutching at a protector, she wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed.

“I get it,” she whispered. “I do.”

The pair gazed into each other’s eyes for an eternal moment, a shared experience that transcended genes and species and stars linking them like a diamond filament in the air.

“I get it.”