CHAPTER FOUR

  AFTERMATH

  ? Camelot — Main Bridge

  The Camelot drifted through space like a wounded animal, her hull scorched, her lights flickering, her engines barely holding. Emergency power hummed weakly through the decks.

  Acting Captain Philip Banks stood at the center of the bridge, hands gripping the railing as damage reports scrolled across the dim consoles.

  “Helm,” he said quietly, “status of propulsion.”

  The helmsman shook his head. “Warp drive offline. Impulse at twenty percent. We can limp to Deep Space Fourteen… but it’ll take hours.”

  Philip nodded. “Do it.”

  Kita approached, her expression grim. “Sir… Sickbay is overflowing. Dr. Sarir has triage teams in the corridors.”

  “And Engineering?”

  “Dax is stable, but unconscious. Miller’s team is holding the warp core together with emergency field generators.”

  Philip exhaled slowly. “All right. Let’s get this ship to the station.”

  But the bridge crew could feel it—

  the enemy wasn’t done.

  ? Sickbay — The Mystery Deepens

  Dr. Sarir wiped blood from her hands—someone else’s—and moved to the next biobed. Crewmen y in rows, some unconscious, some groaning, some eerily still.

  Nurse T’Lira approached. “Doctor… the Romun survivor is awake.”

  Sarir nodded and stepped into the isotion alcove.

  The young Romun officer trembled as he sat upright. His eyes darted around the room.

  “They took them,” he whispered. “All of them.”

  Sarir crouched beside him. “Who?”

  “The command crews. They weren’t killed. They were… selected.”

  “Selected for what?”

  The Romun swallowed hard. “For study. For… harvesting.”

  Sarir felt a chill. “Why only the command staff?”

  “Because they lead,” he whispered. “Because they think. Because they resist.”

  He grabbed her wrist.

  “They’re not done.”

  ? Science Lab — The First Autopsy

  The creature’s remains y on the biobed—if “remains” was the right word. The EMP pulse had destabilized it, leaving behind a half solid, half liquid mass of metallic tissue and translucent flesh.

  Lt. Kita and Lt. Devore stood over it, tricorders humming.

  Kita frowned. “It’s not a lifeform as we understand it.”

  Devore nodded. “And not a machine either. It’s… both. A biomechanical hybrid.”

  Kita tapped her tricorder. “Look at this. The tissue is rewriting itself. Like it’s trying to reassemble.”

  Devore stepped back. “Is it alive?”

  “Not anymore,” Kita said. “But it’s not dead either.”

  Philip entered the b, fnked by two security officers.

  “What do we know?”

  Kita turned the dispy toward him.

  “Sir… these creatures weren’t boarding us to kill us. They were boarding us to interface with the ship.”

  Philip frowned. “Interface?”

  “They were trying to merge with the Camelot. To make it part of themselves.”

  Devore added, “And the command crew? They weren’t killed. They were taken for a reason.”

  Philip’s jaw tightened. “Find out why.”

  ? Engineering — The Warp Core Under Guard

  Foxtrot Team stood watch around the warp core, weapons drawn. The air still smelled of ozone and scorched metal.

  Lt. Jessica Miller knelt beside Dax, who y unconscious but stable.

  “Hang in there, Chief,” she whispered.

  A console sparked overhead.

  “Sir,” a crewman called to Miller, “we’ve stabilized the core, but the alien energy signatures are still embedded in the systems. It’s like they left… fingerprints.”

  Miller nodded. “Keep scanning. If they come back, I want to know before they phase through the walls again.”

  ? Bridge — The Alien Ship’s Next Move

  OPS’ console chirped weakly.

  “Sir… long range sensors are partially online.”

  Philip turned. “Anything on the alien vessel?”

  OPS swallowed. “Yes, sir. It’s… it’s not retreating.”

  Kita looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s moving,” OPS said. “Slowly. Deliberately.”

  Philip stepped closer. “Heading?”

  OPS hesitated.

  “Deep Space Fourteen.”

  The bridge fell silent.

  Philip’s voice was low, steady, grim.

  “They’re going after the station.”

  Kita whispered, “Sir… if they took the command crews from four ships… what will they take from a station?”

  Philip didn’t answer.

  He stared at the stars ahead.

  “Helm,” he said, “maximum impulse. Get us to Deep Space Fourteen.”

  The Camelot limped forward, wounded but unbroken.

  And somewhere ahead, the enemy waited.