“This is not how I imagined this going.” Commander Park Seoyeon sat on the couch, sipping at a tumbler of real whiskey.  She was on her second glass.  Sadness weighed heavily on her words as she bitterly complained, “I don’t understand.”

Captain Wren Walton was at the bar, just as confused as her executive officer. She poured a generous amount of scotch over the ice in her glass goblet.  They’d returned from Klingon space to a terse message to return to Starbase 72, pending further orders.  Those orders had come through an hour ago.  “I had expected they’d shuffle us to a smaller ship…but to be pulled off active duty?  That’s particularly cold.”  She tossed back her drink, “You see the list of who is transferring?”

Park had read through it twice.  “Miados makes sense.  She was finding her groove being back on the Mackenzie.  Having your beloved second home yanked out from beneath you would piss anybody off.”  She refilled her glass, “Barzo and V’luth getting transferred aren’t that unusual – they’re good investigators – plenty of places that need good eyes like them.”  Park sat down, annoyed with the next name, “Thasaz, however…I don’t know what to make of it.  She’s worked with everyone over the year – officially and unofficially.  Maybe they have some place they need a cranky Romulan to push people around.”

Wren chuckled, amused at her friend’s complaints.  “You got along fine with her.”

The XO snorted, “Only once we agreed on how to handle each other.  We’ve both breath fire on occasion, and it’s never good for anybody to be in the area when two dragons go to war.”  She swirled her glass and refilled it for a fourth time.  “Good luck to whoever ends up with her.”

Walton deftly picked up the bottle Park had been returning to and slid it back into the cupboard, “As your bartender, I’m cutting you off.  You are a sloppy drunk, and I’m not ready to repeat the last time.”

Park slid the drink down her throat, cradling the glass in her hand as she spoke unevenly, “If you’re referring to the fight between those two burly boys, I was hardly involved.”

“You offered a bar of latinum to whoever knocked the other guy out and something about taking you home.”

“I didn’t know that town had fallen on hard times, and flashing that thing around would lead to a riot.  It was nice to see all those boys fighting over me.”  Park yawned and slid onto the couch, “That was the last time we had fun together, Wren.  We need to do that again sometime.”  Her words slurred as her eyes fluttered.  Sleep overtook her as her snore whistled softly.

Walton rolled her eyes, slid her bottle into the cabinet, and locked it.

“You going to be a problem, Commander?”  Captain Alexandra Pantuso sat at her desk in the ready room of the Dragonfly.

Commander Charlie Hargraves was in a state of shock.  Walton and Park, along with a few others, had been transferred off the Obena class starship, and he’d received an immediate promotion to the position of Executive Officer at the right hand of Captain Pantuso.  “No..no, ma’am.  Will it be a problem when I have to speak up about diplomatic matters?”

She had read his file and had been given the rundown from Diplomatic Operations.  “I’ve never had an XO who agreed with me, commander.  Your job is to be on the opposite side of me.  I’d rather have a shouting match with you in this office than you go along with whatever mad plan I’ve concocted.”  Pantuso leaned forward, “And yes, I’ve had my share of yelling matches.”

“I think I can do that, Captain Pantuso.”

“You’d better.  The Dragonfly’s not here to be a quiet voice in the wilderness.  We’re here to enter the room with a booming soundtrack announcing our arrival.  We’ll probably need to work on your swagger, Charles.”

His eyes went wide, “It’s…uh…Charlie, ma’am. Swagger?”

She was working on her PADD, “Sure it is.”  She sighed, “Do they teach you nothing at Diplomatic Operations?  I’ll schedule some lessons for you with our quartermaster.  I hear he’s got plenty of experience on the dance floor.” He wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore and was startled when she glanced up, “Is there anything else, Commander Hargraves?”  He opened his mouth and then closed it.  He stood at attention and left the room, unsure of what had just happened.
 

On the Dragonfly’s bridge, Ensign Oscar Reede turned in his chair. “Captain, Montana Station is asking for an updated arrival time.”

Captain Alexandra Pantuso looked expectantly at her Chief Flight Control Officer at the helm.  Ensign Gabriela Castillo nervously tapped at her console, “Eight minutes at current speed.  Increasing to emergency speed of warp 9.95 will get us there in six.”  Pantuso gave her the nod, and the Dragonfly inched closer to their destination. 

Alexandra tightened her grip on the arms of her center chair. “Red Alert. Have all medical, engineering, and security rescue and response teams muster to the shuttle bay.  Mr. Kondo – have us ready to engage on my mark – no hesitation.”  The crew on the bridge shifted in and out to their stations for the alert level as the klaxons rang.  The Dragonfly was the largest ship in the squadron and had teeth where it counted.  Pantuso wasn’t opposed to trading punches.  She was just opposed to blowing idiots out of the sky for no other reason than because she could.

Back at communications, Reede reported, “Four minutes to arrival.  Teams are assembled and now loading into runabouts and shuttles.  Estimate three minutes until ready to launch.”  He said the last part with a bit of pride.  In the short time she had been captain, she’d worked on reestablishing order and process – running drills, working through extended training, and pushing the department heads to do just a little more.  Medical had seen the most benefit with Lieutenant Longfellow’s fire and focus seemingly reborn with the attention Pantuso was paying him.  He added, “Montana Station is advising they’ve got the targets – confirming they are Orion Syndicate.  Transferring details to tactical.  Three minutes to arrival.”

Kondo worked hard next to Castillo, adjusting the sensors to lock onto the impending arrivals.  He accepted the data and turned to acknowledge his deputy chief and shift lead, sliding into the rear tactical stations. They were as ready as they were going to be.

Oscar continued the countdown from his console, “One minute to arrival.  We’re getting updated casualty reports from Rital II, which are transferring to your console.”

Pantuso took a glance. Ten dead so far out of three hundred. Over a hundred were trapped either in the mine, the main building, or various outbuildings.  There was a lot of work ahead of them and the Syndciate breathing down their necks.  Starfleet always had a way of reminding you that understanding how to cope with stress and pressure was an essential part of your ongoing training.

Reede gave his last report, “Ten seconds. Shuttle bay is standing by to launch on your command, captain.”  She gave a quiet nod, waiting with all of them as the clock clicked forward slowly, surely, and simply.  Ten seconds later, the Dragonfly flashed into the Rital system.

She stood from her chair, “Tactical – report.”

Kondo found comfort in what he saw, “No sign of the ships – we’re clear for the moment.”

“Launch.”  It took less than thirty seconds as the various shuttles and runabouts leaped from the shuttle bay and arched towards the planet below.  Pantuso turned her attention back to the situation, “Shields up.  Status of the Syndicate?”

Kondo searched the sensors for his answer. “They are arriving now, captain. Scanning…we’re more than a match, captain.”  He turned in his chair to face her, “Your orders?”

Pantuso stared at the screen for three seconds.  “Hail them.  Let’s see if we can talk this out.  If not, be ready to play hardball,”  She sighed, “Mr. Reede – are they responding?”

He cringed as his earpiece shouted at him, and he adjusted the volume, “They are, and they are very unhappy with us.”

She smiled and replied, “Let’s see how we can lighten their mood.  On-screen.”

An impish, young-looking Orioon man filled the screen, his rage palpable in his expression and words: “HOW DARE YOU INTERFERE WITH OUR MINING OPERATION! YOU WILL RETREAT IMMEDIATELY AND GIVE US UNFETTERED ACCESS!”

Alexandra blinked, momentarily stunned.  She returned to stand before the command chair, “The heck you say.”  The apoplectic look on the Orion’s face was amusing in its shock at her words.  She wasn’t done.  “Are you confessing to running a Syndicate Operation in a Federation system in the shadow of a Federation station?” His face shifted as he processed her accusation.  She watched him attempt to work out a response, fail, and then try again.  She spoke firmly, “You were sent here to try and threaten us into submission or retreat.  Did you miss the rather large Starbase over at Rital III?”

He bleated, “It was not operational at the last report. It poses no threat to our…”  A portable screen was handed to him, and he exchanged a hushed argument with his underling, sending him away with a firm look. He turned back to Pantuso, “It appears I was not up to date regarding the operational status of Montana Station.”  He glared at the now unseen officer, “I will rectify that issue—as for this…situation.  I will report the relevant details to the Syndicate.”

Pantuso said, “Please report the following to them as well.”  He stared at her and shrugged. “Tell them to stay out of the Rital System and the surrounding systems and sectors.” She smiled. His nonchalant responses indicated he’d been spooked.  “Now, please get the hell out of here.  Now.”

“Until we meet again, Captain.”  The channel closed.

Pantuso waited until Kondo confirmed, “They’ve left the system.”

She muttered, “For now.  Alert Montana Station of our encounter.  Stand down, Red Alert.  Let’s find out how bad things are down there on Rital II.”