The outpost was a mess.

Inside the shields, the photon grenade had destroyed the base’s equipment, causing the walls to collapse on themselves. Even if a Corotican native had managed to slip past the holographic shielding, he wouldn’t have known what he was looking at. A Jem’Hadar soldier, on the other hand, would have been potentially quite interested in the outpost and the information on Coroticus contained within it.

“There’s nothing left,” said Stevens, running his tricorder in a slow circle around the room. “I can’t detect the smallest trace of information, encrypted or otherwise.”

Johal nudged a fallen support beam with his foot. “That’s good. It was a great source of concern at the time. We had to abandon Coroticus to the Dominion, but we certainly weren’t interested in providing research that could help them control the local population.”

Fabian was searching for something to say, something about the lost research and horror of war (something that wouldn’t sound trite) when he was distracted by approaching footsteps, crunching in the fine debris of Starfleet sensor banks and swivel chairs. He turned and nodded to Lauoc Saon, the diminutive Bajoran security guard.

“Mr. Stevens, I’ve found evidence of footprints in the area.”

“Normal local traffic?” asked the engineer.

“I’m not sure. They’re humanoid, but they appear erratic, as if they were looking for something.”

Stevens raised his eyebrow. “Something like a Federation observation outpost?”

Lauoc nodded. “The chronology is confused, but they’ve definitely come back more than once.”

Johal cleared his throat. “It could be locals. If a hunter noticed that wildlife avoided a certain area, and the duck blind has the effect of making it appear that way, then he might have been curious. The Coroticans are just like us, in that way.”

Stevens nodded before turning to Lauoc. “Have you informed Commander Corsi?”

“Yes, sir. She’ll look into rumors regarding the outpost in Baldakor.”

“Is there anything else you’ve found?” asked Johal.

Lauoc turned to the older officer. “Sir,” the Bajoran said, scratching idly at the scar on his face with one hand and holding a tricorder in the other. “If I understand the situation when you evacuated the outpost, you left your tactical officer behind?”

The older officer’s face colored lightly. “Saed Squire, yes. I wouldn’t say we left him behind. It was an unfortunate bit of timing between the Valletta’s arrival and the explosion. I think…” Johal paused for a moment before sighing. “I think he knew he wasn’t going to make it.”

Lauoc nodded. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. Everyone who joins security knows the risks, and we’re glad to take them.”

Security personnel seemed to share this sense of sacred duty, thought Stevens. Dom sure does. Stevens found his attention wandering back to Lauoc’s scar, the result of a Breen neural whip encountered during the war. Security always seemed to pay the heaviest price. In fact, Lauoc was one of seven replacements for security personnel who died at Galvan VI.

“It’s just that I can’t find any sign of that, Commander.” He stepped closer so that he could show the tricorder’s screen to Johal. “Even given the powdering of the outpost, there should be some sign of the lieutenant’s body, even if it’s only at the molecular level. The shields should have kept some of the…material…localized.”

Johal frowned and took the tricorder. He grunted in acknowledgment. “May I ask what you’re suggesting?”

“It could be the local background radiation, Commander,” suggested Stevens. “There’s some low-level thoron radiation throughout the region, which is interfering with our sensors.”

“From the grenade explosion?” asked Johal.

Lauoc shook his head. “Definitely not. It might be related to some sort of weapon discharge, but it would need to be on a fairly large scale to have these effects.”

Johal looked out in the direction in which, Stevens knew, the nearest Corotican village lay. “Do we think the Dominion attacked the locals?”

“We couldn’t tell based on the da Vinci’s sensor readings before we beamed down.” Stevens felt like apologizing. The man was clearly affected by the possibility of the locals suffering at the hands of Jem’Hadar weaponry. For that matter, so was Stevens, and he had no firsthand knowledge of Coroticus at all. Meeting the Jem’Hadar and their level of military technology would have made the meeting between the Aztecs and the Conquistadors look almost equal.

Lauoc glanced at Stevens before continuing. “But more than that, there’s a small chance that Squire survived the explosion. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but if Lieutenant Squire learned anything from his Academy survival classes, this wouldn’t have been a bad world to put them to practice.” He shrugged. “Even with the Jem’Hadar around.”

“Squire was one of the last officers to take survival from Owen Paris before he was kicked upstairs.” Johal rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Can we make a search?”

“I’ll ask the commander when she gets back from the village,” Lauoc replied with a nod.

Stevens’s attention was drawn by one of the computer technicians. Ensign Hj’olla was a Tiburonian woman straight out of the Academy, and a year early at that. She was ostensibly in charge of the small team of young computer specialists and engineers temporarily assigned the S.C.E. for this mission, and had made her eager nervousness well known to both Stevens and Commander Gomez from the moment she boarded the da Vinci at Starbase 212.

Stevens wandered over. “You look like you wanted to speak with me, Ensign?”

“Yes, sir. I was wondering if we could get started clearing debris? I noticed that you were speaking about the missing officer, and that perhaps we’ve learned all we can?”

Stevens felt an uncustomary twinge of annoyance. “Were you eavesdropping, Ensign?”

The Tiburonian turned slightly blue under her cauliflowered ears. “No, I mean, I heard…I mean…Yes. I suppose I was, sir.”

The annoyance passed and Stevens chuckled. “You don’t need to call me ‘sir’. You’re an officer, I’m just a noncom.” He smiled sweetly. “Granted, I’m a noncom in charge of this particular operation. Still ‘Fabian’ is fine, or ‘Mr. Stevens’ if you really want to be formal.”

“Until my team is ready to take over reconstruction efforts throughout the sector on our own, yes, sir.”

Fabian got the distinct impression that Ensign Hj’olla would continue to show him the respect due to him by virtue of the mission, for the duration of the mission, and not a moment sooner. No respect for the noncommissioned, he sighed to himself, even when we routinely save the day.

“I suppose you’re right, though,” he said at last. “No reason not to start cleaning up. Your team’s on a pretty tight schedule, even with our help.”

Hj’olla’s face lit up with a sudden transforming smile. “Thank you, sir! I’ll keep one member of the team scanning for trace elements of, of whatever, while we work.”

Stevens nodded and smiled back, slightly overwhelmed. I didn’t know Tiburonians could smile like that. “That’s a good idea.”

Again, she said, “Thank you, sir.” She put her hands behind her back and her feet together, almost unconsciously. “I’m sorry if I came on strong. Again. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done to help me.” She smiled again, softly this time, almost shyly. “Fabian.”

Stevens swallowed. “Carry on, then,” he managed.

Did the ensign just…flirt? His first instinct was a certain self-satisfaction. His second was to look around and make certain Domenica Corsi hadn’t seen. He might not be sure what his relationship with the security chief was, exactly, but he was very certain that flirting with attractive young ensigns wasn’t a part of it.

Not if he wanted to keep all of his internal organs intact.