Five cutters lumbered forward, their gunports open and their formation precise. The scarring on their ablative plating said they meant business, that this wasn’t their first rodeo, but that wasn’t a real concern. If it came to blows, these trawlers would barely scratch their hull. The Polaris was one of the largest, most technically advanced spaceframes Starfleet had ever produced, while the approaching patrol had roughly the combined energy output of a Miranda. Still, none of them wanted it to come to that. They’d come here to help these people, not fight them.

“This is Fleet Admiral Allison Reyes of the Federation starship Polaris,” the admiral announced, her cadence tight as they transmitted over the ever-shrinking distance between them and the ships bearing down on them. “We are here in response to a distress call.”

The ships just kept moving forward, undeterred and without response.

“I don’t think they’re buying it, admiral,” Captain Bishop cautioned. He had some sense of why they were responding this way, the fear of the unknown, unknown people in an imposing ship showing up on your doorstep unannounced. Maybe one of the squadron’s more discreet ships would’ve made a better choice than their massive Odyssey class flagship.

“Or maybe they can’t hear us,” Fleet Captain Devreux suggested from beside her. The people of the Shackleton Expanse, restrained by the Shroud, had developed without the same degree of interstellar contact, so it was possible their ships weren’t even built to translate as wide a band of frequencies. He looked back at Lieutenant Commander Elena Mattson. “Encode translation matrix, all known interstellar and local permutations, and modulate transmission across the entire signal range.”

“On it,” Lieutenant Commander Mattson nodded curtly as she went to work.

As the cutters continued their forward advance, Fleet Admiral Reyes kept trying. “I repeat, this is the Federation starship Polaris. We come in peace. We are here to help.”

Whether they’d stumbled upon a frequency the ships were listening on, or they’d provided a rosetta stone for translation, or the near-desperation in the admiral’s voice had finally swayed their commander, Lieutenant Commander Mattson finally had some good news. “They’re responding. Primitive video protocol.”

Fleet Admiral Reyes breathed a sigh of relief. “On screen.”

The screen abruptly cut to a middle-aged man with broad shoulders, a grizzled beard, and a uniform of burnished copper atop gray fabric. He had the look of a well-worn soldier, and behind him, his bridge bore a similar look, dark amber underglows beneath dulled metal plating, all very utilitarian, lacking in any splendor or grace.

“Halt your advance!” the man demanded in a sharp tone, the sort that left no question to his perspective. “I say again: you are ordered to halt your advance at once!”

Not an ideal opening, Fleet Admiral Reyes frowned. Usually one at least started with hello. Oh well. “Slow us up, Omar,” she ordered of their flight controller. “You heard our new friend.” She needed to bring the temperature down. Stupid things could happen when nerves were high.

Lieutenant Commander Omar Reza nodded and backed off the throttle.

“Smart move,” the man nodded, either dismissive or unaware of the tactical discrepancy between his gunboats and the Odyssey-class heavy explorer they were racing towards. “State your purpose. Why have you violated the sovereign territory of the Choradian Protectorate?”

“That was not our intention, I assure you,” Fleet Admiral Reyes offered in a gentle tone, summoning up a warm smile even against the not-so-subtle threat. “We’re here to help.”

“So you say,” the man replied unconvinced. “But who exactly are you?” He did not recognize them, but then again, since the Shroud fell, there was little he recognized anymore. The order of things had changed, and that, he knew, was dangerous.

“I am Fleet Admiral Allison Reyes of the United Federation of Planets, and this is my ship, the USS Polaris,” she replied calmly, hoping that clarity of purpose might calm things down. “We were on a peaceful mission of exploration when we received a distress call originating from here. It is not our way to leave a call for help unanswered, so here we are, at your service.”

“Exploration and peace?!” the man parroted back with hostility laced in his tone. “A curious way to describe the damage you have wrought.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Fleet Admiral Reyes admitted genuinely. “Mister…”

“Var,” the man replied. “Overwarden Var, senior commander of the Choradian Defense Force.” There was a pride in his voice of a man who had spent his life in the service of his people. “And I’m too old to be taken as a fool, I assure you. Do you really expect me to believe you have no idea what is going on here?” The correlation was too much to ignore.

“Sir, I really do apologize, but I am truly at a loss here,” Fleet Admiral Reyes admitted.

“Tell me then, miss admiral, when perchance did that signal you’re responding to originate?” Overwarden Var inquired interrogatingly.

The admiral found the word choice interesting. He was asking when, not where or what. Had she been any less seasoned than she was, the admiral’s face might’ve betrayed her surprise, but instead, she just replied flatly: “The timestamp indicated a time of origin six months past. We might be too late, but we had to come check it out, in case anything was…”

“Yes, of course it was,” Overwarden Var interrupted. “And when did your kind arrive in our space?”

Now she saw the correlation. Fuck.

“Six months ago,” Overwarden Var filled in the blanks. “Chorad IXa was lost because of you.”