It was over. They had won. But at a horrifying price.

Over thirty officers and crew from the Endeavour had given their lives in the action of liberating Science Station 134 from the Kynah. Twice that number had been scarred, physically and mentally, requiring future months of counseling and physical rehabilitation. Doubtless many who had fought in the hand-to-hand engagements would be plagued with nightmares. Several would resign and return home. But...

It was over.

They had won... for now.

The mighty starship Endeavour was in transit through space. Their destination was Earth to drop off surviors and crew and then onto Mars to the Utopia Planetia Fleetyards for repairs. Acting Chief Engineer St. Jean had requested that the captain keep their velocity below warp 5 due to disrupter-induced hull stresses and the captain had complied. There was no reason for haste. The ship was no longer in immediate danger of catastrophic failure and there were no medical emergencies that a starbase hospital could handle better than a sickbay. With a week to spend in transit time, this would give the members of the crew suitable opportunity to reflect upon what had happened with one another. Adequate time to mourn and share feelings was very important. The bureaucratic paperwork and inquiries that were to come from Admiral Hornsby's office could wait.

Marcus Forrester spent many hours simply wandering the corridors and compartments of his command, giving a friendly pep talk or sharing a story with whoever needed it. But he kept the discreet distance his position as captain required him to take.

He paused in one corridor of the saucer section and watched young lieutenant j.g. Vella Nor repair a power conduit. No one had asked her to do it but she had taken it upon herself to complete the task. Even as a child, working with tools had always made her feel better. Sparks flew from the tip of her plasma torch, like a hundred tiny lightning bugs winking into existence one day and dying the next.

Turning, he walked in the opposite direction towards the sickbay complex. All of the biobeds in the main ward supported a patient. Most were asleep or unconscious but some simply stared upwards at the ceiling. There was no doubt in Forrester's mind that the waking few were replaying the events of the past few days in their minds. Nurses and medical technicians moved about the ward, giving necessary injections and making notes on padds.

On the center surgical biobed lay the form of an unconscious young woman. From the readouts on the main diagnostic display, Forrester could tell her situation was grave. Doctor Lonara with Nurses O'Sullivan and Beckett moved about the bed, taking readings and shaking their heads forlornly. Sitting in a chair next to the bed, holding the woman's hand was Ensign Akhiem El Sundal, an Academy-fresh science officer who had been posted to the Endeavour only a few weeks ago. El Sundal had undergone a baptismal of fire in his introduction to Starfleet life, hardly the optimal beginning for a new career in deep space. Forrester wished there was something he could tell the young man, something that would reassure him that galactic exploration was not only about death and loss. But he doubted that the ensign would hear or listen. He needed time.

"That's Doctor Femer on the bed," whispered Sarina Prelana, a medical technician. She had approached Forrester so quietly that he had not even heard her. "She and Ensign El Sundal were working in one of the biolabs during the battle. She was struck in the head by a heavy piece of equipment, causing severe brain hemorrhaging. We don't expect her to live through the night."

"How long has the ensign been sitting there?" Forrester asked.

"Ever since she was brought in," she pursed her full lips in thought. "It was horrible, sir. I gave him a physical when he first came on board. He was so polite yet full of intellectual drive and vigor. But you should have seen the look on his face after. It looked like something inside him had died. He's been keeping a silent vigil at her bedside ever since."

Suddenly one of the lines on the monitor went flat and there was an ear-piercing whistle. "She's going into pulmonary arrest," Lonara called out, slapping the communicator attached to his blue lab coat. "Code blue! Doctor Montgomery to the main ward!"

The CMO rushed in from her office as Sarina and another med tech, Renos Farallon, pushed crash carts up to the bed. They began work, trying to resuscitate the dying researcher, but Forrester stepped out of the room, not wanting to see anymore. He leaned against the bulkhead in the corridor and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. The wall was a necessary barrier between him and that room of death.

"Are you okay, sir?" came a male voice.

Forrester opened his eyes to see Ensigns Dalton Pierce and Brianna Loring staring at him, concern on their faces for their captain. orrester waved his hand at the two officers. "No, no. I'm fine, thank you." When they would not leave, he said sharply, "Shouldn't you two be somewhere?"

"Uh, yessir," Loring said quickly and unnecessarily added, "We were on our way to ship's stores with a requisition order. We'll be going, sir."

They turned to leave but Forrester said, "Wait," and held out his hand. "I'm heading down there myself. I'll take it."

Pierce paused for a confused moment but then handed the padd to him. "Uh, thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Return to your posts."

"Aye sir," they said and moved off down the corridor.

Forrester glanced at the padd. Parts. Supplies. He wondered what had overcome him; but he decided to keep his word and headed for a nearby turbolift. He was the only one in the car and it quickly moved vertically upwards, passing the four levels between Decks 12 and 7. The doors opened and he stepped out into the main recreational complex. The expansive space, normally dedicated to off-duty relaxation and pleasure was empty, except for two maintenance workers who were up righting tables and chairs that had been tossed about during the battle. The quietness of the usually bustling public galleria pulled at a string within Forrester. It wasn't right. But it was expected.

He walked past the inactive gravity attenuating fountains, past the circles of overstuffed conversation chairs, and out into the corridor. The crewmaster's office was located just across the hall and he pushed the door chime. "Come in!" came a disembodied voice.

The doors parted and he walked in, seeing Acting Crewmaster Kimberly Cloke sitting behind her desk, dictating a memo to her inventory crew chief, Kylah Dannon. "Captain," Cloke said, standing. "I was expecting Ensign Pierce with a requisition order."

"Here it is, Lieutenant," he said, and handed it to her who, in turn handed it to Dannon. Dannon glanced at it, nodded at the captain, and quickly moved out of the room. The doors hissed shut behind her. "Thank you for bringing that to me, sir," Cloke said, sitting down, "but I don't think you just wanted to be a delivery boy. What brings you here?"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing; how your department was holding up after all this."

"We're quite well, thank you. But we had the fewest casualties out of all of the departments. Not that that's unexpected. Logistics doesn't really have much of a purpose during a battle, except to supplement medical with a few extra hands." She ran a slender finger over her chin in thought. "I hear we still have one person who could... go at any time."

Forrester nodded glumly. "Dr. Lindsy Femer, one of our civilian researchers who volunteered to stay on board. I was just up at medical. he prognosis is extremely doubtful. They don't expect her to live through the night. Ensign El Sundal, one of our new crewmembers, is at her bedside."

Cloke was quiet for several moments. "She had a family, didn't she?"

"Yes, a husband and a baby girl." The gray shoulders of his uniform tunic seemed to sag slightly. "This is one of those times I really hate being a commanding officer. Responsible for other people's lives..." He suddenly stopped, realizing he wasn't speaking to Counselor Bek, but to a junior lieutenant in charge of the ship's supply needs. "Ahem. If you will excuse me, Lieutenant." He turned and walked out the door. In the corridor, he mentally gave himself a tongue lashing for his slip up. A captain was not supposed to confide in those who served under him.

He decided to go see how the temporary repairs were coming along. "Main Engineering," he said and the turbolift began its long drop into the heart of the ship. Forrester walked slowly around the car's cabin, collecting his thoughts, as the indicator lights on the bulkhead zipped upwards. Suddenly, the lift slowed and stopped on Deck 20. Apparently, someone else was going the same place he was. Of course, he could have overridden with his command authorization but that would have been... rude.

The doors opened, revealing Transporter Chief Audra McKay standing in the corridor. McKay looked up and was slightly surprised to see the captain waiting for her to step aboard. "Are... you going down to the engine room, sir?" asked McKay. "I can take the next lift if you would like..."

"No," Forrester said, not in the mood for any of McKay's legendary sensitivities. "I'm going down to see Lieutenant St. Jean. Step aboard."

As soon as she crossed the threshold, the door closed again and they were on their way. Neither spoke for several long moments before Forrester began to notice McKay becoming fidgety. Obviously, she was nervous in the presence of her captain. He felt something within him urging him to put her at ease. "How are you holding up, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Me? Fine sir," she quickly replied.

"It's all right if you're not. We have all be through a lot, together."

She did not say anything.

"I'd just like to say that you did a fine job running those transporters. You were our lifeline to the away teams on the science station."

She nodded and closed her eyes. "Thank you, sir."

Well, I tried, he thought as he walked into the Engineering control room. He was greeted by the resonant drone of controlled matter/anti-matter explosions within the warp core. Gold-striped technicians were everywhere, conducting repairs on blown panels and circuits and replacing that which was feasible to replaced. Forrester knew the majority of the repair work was going to have to be conducted at the starbase yard but he also knew that engineers hated working with anything that was broken, hence their tenacity.

Darian Blake, the acting assistant chief engineer, was standing at the tabletop master systems display. His hair was matted to his head and there were dark circles of fatigue under his eyes. Everyone in Engineering had been pushing themselves to get many of the systems back up to operational capacity, meaning a lot of overtime. He glared at the computer schematic on the display's surface and jabbed a finger at it, illustrating a point to the other senior engineers with him. "For some reason, power is just not getting to this section," he growled. "Why?"

"Could be a cross-connected feed," Toras Karrik, a full lieutenant native to the planet Andoria, said. "We may be cycling power to junctions that do not need it but our diagnostics are not picking it up because technically, it's not a problem."

"Well, technically what are you going to do to fix it?"

Ensign Terry Sauter spoke up. "I'll divert a team from the shuttlebay forcefield repair right away."

"Now hold on a second," said Ensign Jason Alberts, the senior flight deck officer. "I need that repair crew fixing that forcefield power system. What if we need that shuttlebay?"

"I doubt we'll need it but if we do, we'll just do a standard depressurization like they did in the old days," said Blake. "Terry, reassign the crew."

"But..." Alberts protested.

"No 'buts,' Ensign!" Blake snapped. He and Jason were friends but he was also a lieutenant with responsibilities.

"Excuse me," Forrester said, stepping in.

"What...?!?" Blake whirled around, annoyed at the intrusion but then his eyes widened when he saw who was talking to him. "Captain Forrester, sir. What can I do for you?"

"You can help me by telling me where Lieutenant St. Jean is," he replied in a low tone.

"Lieutenant St. Jean..." There was a pause. "I... I don't know where he is." He reached out and grabbed the arm of a passing crewman. "DuShane, where's Lieutenant St. Jean."

"He's in his office with Lieutenant Commander Taggert," the enlisted woman said, irritated that she had been grabbed.

"He's in his office with Lieutenant Commander Taggert, Captain," Blake informed Forrester.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." He walked away and, after making sure his back was turned to them, rolled his eyes. He turned the corner, into the niche divided from the engine chamber by a transparent aluminum window.

Xavier St. Jean was sitting at his control console, listening to advice from Maxine Taggert, the ship's actual chief engineer turned researcher for the Admiralty Board of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers.

"...and if you tell Sauter to divert some of her technicians away from the shuttlebay forcefield repair, you should have the power flow problem fixed with the extra man power," she said, illustrating it with some figures on a padd.

"All right," St. Jean agreed. "I'll tell him to do it."

"You don't need to do that," Forrester said, making his presence known. "He has already made the decision." Apparently, the two groups had been working on the same task. Interesting but not very efficient. St. Jean must have been having some personal communications problems since taking the reins away from Taggert. Taggert had never had any difficulty in making her wishes known.

"Captain," St. Jean said. "What can I do for you?"

My officers certainly are cordial, Forrester thought, always wanting to do something for me. "I came to see how the repairs are coming."

"All of our primary and most necessary systems are functioning within standard parameters. We are still having some trouble with trying to divert internal power resources, seeing as how they were so badly depleted during the battle. The fusion plants are not completely back up to speed yet," St. Jean reported.

"Very good, Lieutenant. You are doing a fine job." Forrester glanced at the Native American Lieutenant Commander standing nearby. "Commander Taggert, what are you doing down here?"

"I... was offering my advice to Mister St. Jean, Captain," Taggert replied carefully. "I know that he has things well in hand but-"

"I appreciate any technical expertise I can get my hands on, sir," St. Jean cut in.

Forrester eyed her. "Very well. Just make sure you get back up to the bridge when you are through. I'm sure the Corps of Engineers is waiting on a report from you."

"Aye, sir," Taggert said. "Understood." She moved away, far enough that she thought she was out of earshot but not enough, and began shouting, "Bradford! Come with me up to the starboard computer core!" St. Jean turned back to his instruments and began inputting data.

Forrester down at him and crossed his arms. St. Jean looked as if he had aged ten years over the past few days. He had several large bruises on his face. "How are you, Lieutenant?"

St. Jean looked up at him and raised his eyebrow. "I'm fine, Captain. Thank you for asking."

"I understand you... lost several good people over there."

The engineer set his jaw forward and stared back down at the blinking lights before him. He clenched and then unclenched his fist, then went back to typing. "I lost several of the best."

"I know it's not easy to loose someone under your command. Especially for the first time."

St. Jean closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. No, sir, it's not. And if I could, I would go and tear all those Kynah bastards' throats out with my bare hands. If I could..." He opened his eyes. "But I can't. And no one can bring those dead people back to life. I'm just going to have to go on with my life."

"Lieutenant, this may not mean anything to you now, but you will get better. I promise. I lost my wife and family. I've lost so many subordinates that their faces have begun to blur together. But you get over it and you move on. And you are going to have to let go of your hate or it will burn you up inside."

"Thank you," said St. Jean. "But if you will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do." He stood and brushed past Forrester without another word. Forrester simply sighed.

"Montgomery to Captain," came the voice of the ship's senior doctor over the intercom.

He tapped his communicator. "Go ahead."

"Sir, Doctor Femer just passed away. I thought you might like to know... because she was the last..."

He closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll make the announcement. Forrester out." He knew where his next destination was to be.

Science was in a slightly better mood than Engineering, despite their losses, and Forrester knew that he was going to feel guilty about shattering it. He heard talking and laughter coming from one of the chemistry labs on Deck 15. Inside, several of the science officers were cleaning up a mess of broken glass and spilled chemicals that had not been properly secured before the battle. "Careful there, Terry," came Chief Science Officer Patricia C. MacLauglin's high-pitched voice. "You might cut yourself with that glass like you did that one time in that Dessican bar."

"Oh, please, not that again," came paleontologist Terry James' reply. "You are the one that started that fight after all."

"I will never understand the human desire for violence after a personal insult," said the Vulcan stellar scientist, T'Laren. "The logical course of action would have been to walk away from a group of physically superior Naausicans."

"When you've had a snootfull of Aldebarren whiskey, you can kiss logic good-bye," said geologist Simon McRaney.

"Logic is a concept, not a tangible form. One cannot show it physical affection."

"I'll explain it to you later," botanist Hiakawa Sazuki said.

"Captain!" MacLaughlin called as she dumped a pile of broken beakers into the replicator for recycling. The others quit their bantering and looked at the door. "Come to help us clean up?"

"I'm afraid not, Commander," Forrester said solemnly. "I... I have some sad news to bring you. Doctor Femer... passed away a little while ago. Ensign El Sundal was with her in sickbay."

Everyone was quiet. T'Laren bowed her head respectfully. Terry raised his fist in anger, ready to bring it slamming down on the lab counter but simply dropped it to his side and stormed away. "God," said astrophysicist Connor Riley, "Lindsy was one of those people you thought would live forever." A sob escaped from the throat of zoologist Wendy Lynn.

"Thank you for bringing us this news personally, Captain," MacLauglin said quietly. "We... appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry." He walked out, shaking his head. He knew he had one last thing to do before he returned to the bridge.

There was an honor guard in the corridor in front of Cargo Bay 5, per Starfleet tradition, guarding the deceased forms of those who had died in the battle. It was the least they deserved. Quietly standing along the bulkheads this shift was a security detachment consisting of Ensigns D'arhena, Lyndon Fletcher, Morgan Everly, and Kelly Harding, commanded by Lieutenant j.g. Ren Carstairs. "Attention on deck!" Carstairs shouted as Forrester approached. The officers snapped to straightness, eyes forward.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Forrester after he had past through them. "At ease." He typed in the access code and the pressure door slid apart. Inside the cargo bay, in precision rows, were the black, torpedo-shaped caskets which contained the remains of the deceased. Draped over each one was the blue flag with the white Seal of the United Federation of Planets. He slowly walked through each row, touching each one, and saying a prayer. The people of Palatia were deeply spiritual, although this knowledge was not generally known to outsiders. Their religion was a personal and extremely private matter, not even discussed within the traditional Palatian home. He prayed that wherever their yalras, their souls, were now, they were at peace. He started towards the door but before he exited he turned to the deceased for one final address, "You did not die in vain. You will all be remembered. Dismissed."

He took the turbolift up to the bridge. All was as it was normally. Commander Rebecca Sinclair was sitting in the command chair, eyes forward on the stars that hurtled past on the main viewer. In the front of the room, Ensign Neall Ryan and Lieutenant Tiro Matsushita sat at ops and conn respectively. Lieutenant Commander Marlin Robbins was standing at the port communications station, talking quietly with Ensign Denver Colton who was seated. Lieutenant Jesse Sanchez was leaning against the elevated, horseshoe shaped tactical console. All looked over at him as he walked onto the bridge.

Sinclair stood and offered him the command chair. He declined. "I'll be in my ready room, Commander. You still have the bridge."

He walked into his office, his personal space. He picked up a padd but found that he could not read it. He walked over to the porthole behind his obsidian desk and leaned against it, staring out into the darkness of space. Space was cruel, harsh, and unforgiving. But she was also full of surprises, wonder, and indescribable fascinations and personal satisfactions. He put the padd down and touched the intraship communications button on his desk. There was the normal boson's whistle, proclaiming a coming announcement from the captain. "Attention all hands, this is the captain. It is my sad duty to inform you that Doctor Lindsy Femer died today. Professor Femer was a member of our civilian science staff and a valued consultant in the field of stellar dynamics. She was also a mother, a wife, and a good friend to many. Her loss will be deeply felt by all of us. Her sacrifice was even greater in that she volunteered to stay aboard ship, despite the terrific odds against us. This should be remembered. Also, a formal Starfleet memorial service will be held tomorrow in the main recreational complex for those who died on this ship in the battle with the Kynah. Those who are not on duty are requested to attend. Forrester out."

Captain Marcus Forrester, commanding officer and guardian to one-thousand plus lives, picked up a padd and began writing a suitable eulogy for each of the fallen.