Patrol duty… it was almost an insult to the ship and her crew. And here, on the border between the Federation and the remains of the Romulan Empire, where nothing had happened worthy of a Pendragon-class warship in almost a decade? It was like the ship was being punished.

It was early morning. The bridge was, as it had been for a month, quiet. Nothing on the scanners, no comms… just boredom and silence. It was as if the universe had suddenly did away with all life in it, but someone forgot tell the Saracen. NE Sirt sat at the comm station, reading an article about life after Star Fleet and the opportunities that an enterprising former officer could find on distant colonies like OED V. He was daydreaming of opening a bar. A nice kitchen that served simple but tasteful food. A serving staff made up of easy-on-the-eyes individuals who weren’t averse to staying after hours to help with ‘managerial tasks’. Maybe even some who would like to-

The comm panel chirped, then went quiet. Sirt looked away from the PaDD and scowled at the panel. Nothing… not a thing. He went back to his PaDD, trying to refocus his thoughts on-

Chirp.

Swinging his feet off the board, he looked closer. Nothing… no incoming messages, no hails, no -

The comms panel lit up. =/\= MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! TO ALL VESSELS IN RANGE OF THIS CALL! THIS IS THE INDEPENDENT FREIGHTER FORDHAM! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM! WE NEED HEL- =/\= and the comms went dark. Sirt’s eyes went wide and he swivled around to the center chair. “Lieutenant Dris! Distress call!” and he played it back over the bridge speakers. Dris scowled and said “Track it. Science and Tactical, full sweep.” and he paused before pressing the icon on the arm of the chair. He shook his head and then jabbed a finger at the icon. Claxons sounded and the ship went to yellow alert. Pressing the comms, he said =/\= Command Staff to the bridge immediately. I repeat. Captain to the bridge. =/\=

GM