“I want to apologise, Commander Kennedy, that I haven’t been able to properly speak with you since our departure from Deep Space Nine until now,” Captain Lorena Escribano said as she sat herself down opposite her guest and setting down a large bowl of salad in the middle of the dining table. “And unfortunately, my schedule for the next few days isn’t going to be much better, so I hope you don’t mind meeting over dinner.”

“Your boat, ma’am, your schedule,” Nathan Kennedy replied with a chuckle. He was merely a passenger aboard Sundiver, hopping a ride to DS47. Any meeting with the captain was purely curtesy and one he was happy to take at her time. Family dinner wasn’t what he’d envisioned, but he couldn’t say no to an actual sit-down, home cooked meal.

“Oh no, please, don’t say that,” the man next to Captain Escribano said with a smile. Lieutenant Commander Emilio Escribano, the captain’s husband and just one of many, many scientists aboard the floating laboratory that was the Sundiver, was also one of the most relaxed and laid back people Nathan had ever had the chance to meet. And from the smells wafting up from the dishes on the table, not a bad cook either. “She gets enough reassurances from her own crew; she doesn’t need it from visitors.”

“Love you, mama,” the young kid seated at the far end of the table said. They were seated so that Emilio could help with anything as required with dinner, but also so that father and child could talk while the captain and guest could speak without having to talk over each other.

“And enough reassurances at home, too,” Emilio added as he grabbed the salad bowl and started dishing out, ignoring the protests of the youngest Escribano and piling on a gentle reminder about trying least there be no dessert.

“Can’t have too many reassurances,” Nathan said, looking over the offerings on the table before him and opting to start with another solid staple of fresh potatoes. “Especially heading into the Badlands while playing escort to a freighter convoy, either.” He cast a quick glance out the window of the Escribano’s quarters, to the star streak of warp travel and dull angry ruddy orange-brown of the self-perpetuating plasma storm that anchored so many navigational charts for this region of the galaxy.

“We’re all going in the same direction,” Lorena said with a wave of a hand as she took the salad bowl from her husband. “Makes sense for the freighters to convoy and for us to provide an escort through the Badlands. Just wish that the captain of the Pacific Rider had seen it that way a little sooner.”

“Makes sense? Are matters with the New Maquis bad enough in the Badlands?” Nathan asked.

“Even without the New Maquis, it makes sense to go into the Badlands with a friend.” Lorena waved a hand at the roiling plasma outside her windows. “The designated shipping lanes aren’t what I would call safe to start with, but ships have to get through, so we find them the safest route through a miserable locale. And if a ship is overdue, the routes hopefully give us a starting point for any searches. But a convoy at least means if something goes wrong with one ship, hopefully the other can at least save lives and get out of danger.”

Nathan found himself nodding in agreement with Lorena Escribano as she spoke. It all made sense, after all. There was safety in numbers. And more so when Starfleet wasn’t hours away at warp, but right there with you should something go wrong. “Can’t fault you, ma’am. And hopefully a Lamarr-class ship riding shotgun on these freighters will mean we see the weather and any malcontents well before it becomes a problem.”

“Oh, they’ll see us well before we see them,” Lorena answered with a sly grin. “We’re going in with all sensors active, beating away at the Badlands. If we’re stuck doing warp five, we might as well do some cartography work and update the navigational charts for the Badlands. But it means while we might get a good fix on a raider at say, three or four light-years in this mess, they’ll see us as a lighthouse much further out.”

“And hopefully get the message of ‘stay away’,” Nathan added.

“That’s the one.”

As dinners went, it was one of the finest Nathan could recall he’d had in a few years. Good company, including the smallest Escribano after they had overcome the ordeal of eating salad and shyness at the bearded individual at the table, combined with a truly excellent meal put dinner with the Escribano’s right up there. Though mentally he knew it was the actual real food that had been cooked to perfection by a man who continued to defend himself as ‘just a devoted amateur’.

And as child and father moved away from the table, leaving just the two command officers at the table, Lorena Escribano had produced a bottle of red wine, verging on purple, and poured a glass for both of them without even needing to ask. “Salud,” she said with raised glass, and to which he responded.

“Oh, that’s good,” he muttered after the first sip. “That’s really, really good. Honestly, ma’am, if you have this on your ship, can I transfer to your command?”

Lorena laughed as she shook her head. “You’d have to fight with Tae for that honour, and no, I’m not letting her go.” She spent a moment examining the bottle, then set it down with a twist so Nathan could easily read the label. “Though you’d have to speak with Julien about the wine. It was a present a few months back.”

“Commander Rigal, yes? Your tactical officer?” When she nodded in the affirmative, he nodded as well. “I’ll hit him up later. This is fantastic.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear that. Now tell me, Commander Kennedy-”

“Nathan, please.”

“Nathan,” Lorena continued, “Were you picked, or assigned to Atlantis?”

“Picked,” he answered. “Let Command know I was available if required. Informed a few months ago that a few captains were looking at me for XO slots, which are opening all over the Fleet after the last year we’ve had. Got my shipping orders a month ago and am now on the last leg out to relieve a Romulan exchange officer, as I understand it.”

“Ah, Commander Kendris. Sub-Commander Kendris.” Lorena snorted briefly. “You’re stepping into some interesting shoes, I should warn you.”

“Oh?”

“Captain MacIntyre, Republic’s CO, was the Fleet Captain’s XO until his promotion. Then the Fleet Captain gets a Romulan Exchange officer foisted on her, but from I hear isn’t just making it work, but work well. And now you’re stepping into the role.”

“Interesting shoes,” he repeated her words from earlier. “I see what you mean. I’ve read some of Fleet Captain Theodoras’ record, what I could at any rate. I’m honestly looking forward to working with her, but what’s she like?” He jostled his head briefly. “I mean, personality wise. Her record gives some detail, but there’s what’s on paper and what you experience in person.”

Lorena sat back in her chair, looking past Nathan at her husband and child playing in the living space of their quarters while gently swirling her wine. “I’ve had limited face-to-face time with the Fleet Captain, I have to admit. Mostly communicate with her via messages back and forth. She lets Sundiver get on with its core work for the most part. I wouldn’t say she’s hands off, just prefers to save interference in our duties for when it’s required.”

“Like when she ordered Sundiver to assist in breaking up a New Maquis operation not too long ago?” Nathan asked.

Lorena nodded in answer. “I bet the New Maquis were shocked when Atlantis burst through the storms around their little hideaway. Floored when Perseus followed along and just confused when Sundiver followed up the rear.”

“I read a debriefing of one of the New Maquis prisoners where he commented about ‘that funny looking Sovereign starship’.”

“The Lamarr-class starships are a rare breed,” Lorena admitted. “It’s not hard to see the design lineage, though.” She had another sip of her wine, basking in the nose for a few seconds before. “But otherwise, I’d have to say, my opinion of the Fleet Captain is…relaxed competency with episodes of boldness.”

Nathan’s puzzled expression drew a smirk from the woman opposite him before she continued. “I found her patient and thoughtful, considering all options before her. But then when it came time to rescue her team on that New Maquis base, she was all directness. I’d also suggest looking into the Battle of Leonis and the Battle of Deneb as well, where on both occasions her battle plans could best be described as ‘ram a fleet down the enemy’s throat and see what happens’. In my limited combat experience, that is.”

“So considerate, but once she has a plan, get out of her way?” Nathan asked.

Lorena raised her glass with a smirk as her answer.

“Sound like it’ll be an interesting time then,” he continued. “And I’ll have to look into the Battle of Leonis. I read the after-action reports from Deneb and noted that she charged into the system blaring music over most subspace channels.”

Lorena shook her head. “You should book a holodeck tomorrow and load up the tactical map recreation. I wasn’t there, but it’s an impressive entrance Atlantis makes to the battlefield. Late, mind you, but impactful. Honestly glad I wasn’t there, but there are a few captains and even admirals that are alive today because Theodoras stuck with her tried-and-true plan.”

“Ram a fleet into a problem and see what happens,” Nathan said, answered by another salute, which he matched. “I might just do that, actually.”

“We have plenty of holodecks across the ship. If you need priority, speak with my staff, we’ll make it happen.” Lorena then slowly got to her feet, looking over Nathan to her husband and child. “Are we ready for dessert?”

That one word immediately got Alex’s attention, the collection of brightly coloured building blocks they and Emilio had been playing with forgotten as they shot to their feet. “Dessert!” the child announced before rushing back to the table. “Gelato!”

“Gelato?” Nathan asked the smallest Escribano. “Alright then Alex, what flavour would you recommend then?”

“Lemon!” the kid announced as they ascended back into their seat. “Always lemon!”

“Well, when it comes to desserts,” Nathan said, smiling to the kid as Emilio ruffled their hair as he passed behind them, “I’ll defer to the youngest. Lemon gelato sound lovely.”

Sundiver’s bridge was considerably more cramped than Nathan would have thought, never having considered the Lamarr-class ships before arriving aboard one. It felt more like the battlebridges he’d trained on, or simulations of older starships with their less spacious arrangements. Add in the slow pulsing red lights, the tactical display on the viewscreen and every station being manned and the entire space went from cramped to nearly claustrophobic in an instant.

After all, the bridge of Sundiver primarily served to just get the ship from A to B. All the actual work this ship did was below deck in the arrays of science labs after all.

“It’s confirmed, five Ju’Day-class raiders.” Lieutenant Commander Julien Rigal cut an impressive figure at the Tactical station. Tall, chiseled chin, hair that wasn’t combed but ordered into position. He’d never make a recruitment poster because he was too much a living recruitment poster that no one would believe it. The man’s uniformed even looked tailored specifically to cut the boy scout image precisely.

“Order the freighters to close up,” Captain Escribano ordered as she stared straight ahead at the tactical display.

Sundiver and its freighter charges had been forced to slow from warp five to a mere warp three as they crawled through a patch of the Badlands where the storms had swept across the normal shipping channels. It was the perfect spot for an ambush by New Maquis forces hoping to make a quick run on the freighters and steal what they could before disappearing into the plasma clouds.

“Commander,” a quiet voice said to Nathan’s left, pulling his attention. Command Jin Tae, the ship’s executive officer, his equal, was at one of the consoles near the rear of the bridge, beckoning him to join her. “General quarters means you should be in your quarters,” she admonished him, though without any real heart to it. She’d be doing the same in his boots by showing up and trying to help.

“Put me to work Tae,” he said to her, keeping his voice down so as not to interrupt the flow of conversation between Escribano and the rest of her bridge crew. “Also, weren’t there only four freighters yesterday?” he asked, a flick of his head at the main viewer and the display which showed five freighters now, not the four they’d entered the Badlands with.

The fifth freighter, straggling at the back of the convoy, wasn’t there the last time Nathan had been privy to such information. It was showing on the display as Pegasus Rider, a GH-700 bulk freighter, whatever class of civilian grade ship that was. And like the rest of the convoy, she was closing up ranks with the other ships, though in such a way as to position Sundiver between it and the raiders that were incoming.

“There still is,” Tae answered with a sly smile and a wink, before she tapped at her console. The section of the console directly in front of Nathan sprang to life with an external camera feed, looking out across the dorsal structure of Sundiver into the endless orange sea of the roiling storm around them. “Take a look for yourself.”

And so he did, manipulating the controls to move the camera where Pegasus Rider should be, tweaking the zoom levels to turn hundreds of thousands of kilometers of separation into nothing, even as ships were closing on each other to mere kilometers, desperate to get within Sundiver’s protective envelope. “Well now, that’s a funny-looking freighter,” he commented as the camera settled on the shy Galaxy-class cruiser at the back of the convoy, peeking out from behind an actual freighter.

It took a second for Nathan to put the clues together. The biggest challenge was realising he needed to put the clues together in the first place. A Galaxy-class starship, pretending to be a freighter called Pegasus Rider, could only be one ship off the top of his mind.

“Perseus,” he said, to which Tae confirmed with a nod of her head. “Emissions control, combined with hiding behind Sundiver, which I’m guessing you’re still lighting up the raiders with all your sensors to blind them.” Another nod of confirmation. “It won’t last for much longer, rate they’re closing.”

“Doesn’t need to,” Lorena Escribano answered, spinning her chair around to face the two commanders. “Excellent hearing,” she supplied to Nathan before he could ask any questions. “Soon they’ll be close enough for Perseus to give chase and be certain that they’ll catch at least one of the raiders, while the others will be scattered and not a problem for us.”

“Should they attempt to circle around and make a pass on the convoy, they’ll either be coming singularly,” Rigal declared. “Or they’ll have to take some time to form up, by which point we should be able to break free of the Badlands and be well within support range of ships from Task Force 47.”

Nathan couldn’t hold back the smile or the shaking of his head in appreciation. “Siccing a Galaxy-class on a bunch of raiders though isn’t exactly fair. It’s a hammer for eggshells moment.”

“Captain Garland’s exact words,” Escribano said, “were ‘fair fights are for suckers.’”

A status change drew Rigal’s attention, and soon Escribano’s as well. The tactical map updated as well, showing the raiders slowing in their approach to the convoy. Then increased emissions from the lead ship, washing over Sundiver and the fake transponder of Pegasus Rider.

“Looks like they’ve made Perseus,” Tae announced.

“Or just got awfully suspicious of them,” Escribano said. “Rigal, lock them up with our targeting scanners. See if we can’t get their attention back on us, sucker them in a bit closer.”

“Aye ma’am, locking the leader raider.” The tactical officer monitored his own console for a moment, before looking up, an eyebrow raised. “Status change,” he announced calmly as the tactical map flashed, the green icon of Pegasus Rider switching to vibrant blue, the name changing to Perseus and the array of numbers next to the tag started climbing as the ship’s emission levels skyrocketed. Engines were cycling to full power, shields were increasing from what might be expected of a civilian freighter to Starfleet combat levels, and Perseus’ own sensors started to claw at the raiders, gleaming every iota of information they could.

“Perseus is breaking formation and moving to intercept the raiders,” Rigal announced. Unburdened by the freighters, the large, old girl was able to jump up in speed, climbing through warp four, then five, to five point three as she turned into the raiders, closing distance on them with a pace that had the desired effect.

They scattered, running in different directions, accelerating to a top speed that was far below what Perseus was willing to ruinously apply to its engines. The New Maquis, after all, didn’t have the same level of support and resiliency that a well-kept Starfleet vessel did.

“Signal from Perseus,” a young Andorian officer announced on the far side of the bridge from Nathan. “Captain Garland would like to thank us for being an excellent convoy escort.”

Lorena Escribano snorted at that as she relaxed back into her chair. “Tell Perseus good hunting and we’ll see them at DS47 soon. Then tell the freighters to stay close. This isn’t over until we’re in open space and back up to speed.”

Nathan took the chance to lean close to Tae once more. “Whose plan was it for Perseus to masquerade as a freighter in order to go hunting for New Maquis raiders?”

“Captain Garland’s,” Tae answered. “You should know, she’s an Academy friend of the Fleet Captain. Captain Garland’s plans are the more reserved of the two of them.”

“This plan isn’t that far out there,” Nathan suggested, earning a non-committal shrug from Tae. “Downright run of the mill if you ask me.”

“I can’t object in this instance. We should have you to Deep Space 47 within a day, Commander Kennedy. I can confirm the Osiris is waiting to receive you.”

Nathan nodded his head, then looked around the bridge once more. The tactical display was already zooming out to a lightyear, showing the New Maquis ships spreading out optimally away from the charging beast in pursuit. He’d wish them luck, but they had been plotting piracy. So instead he quietly wished good hunting to Perseus, then nodded once more to Jin Tae. There wasn’t much need for him on the bridge. And if that changed, he didn’t doubt someone would call for him.

“Well then, I’ll leave you fine folks to it.”

It was busy.

Hectically busy.

Nathan’s arrival at Deep Space 47 had gone from a comfortable arrival aboard the Sundiver to hitching a ride aboard the freighter Dropped in Transit at the last minute. It has either been that, or miss out entirely on his next ride as Sundiver pulled a one-eighty to go chasing back into the Badlands at the request of the Perseus.

The old Galaxy-class cruiser might have the firepower to knock a cell of New Maquis fighters about, but not the eyes. And he couldn’t fault Captains Garland and Escribano for wanting to bring the best sensor suites for light-years around to the hunt. Especially when it comes to hunting in the Badlands.

And so, instead of arriving on Deep Space 47 via a Starfleet dock, or beaming onto the station via any number of arrival transporters for Starfleet personnel, he was instead walking through the normal arrivals with the few passengers that had been aboard the freighters and a single passenger liner that had arrived from elsewhere at about the same time.

The hour was very late, or very early, depending on your perspective. Some people were moving with purpose, others looking bleary-eyed and dragging their own feet. Even a collection of children were running around, hooting and hollering as parents demanded they fall in line, or at least be quiet. But eventually he passed through the security screening and been allowed into the station proper.

Only to be confronted by the smell of liquid ambrosia.

It was rich and dark, hearty with a hint of sweet and bitterness. Coffee. Actual, honest to goodness coffee beans being roasted. Those same beans then being ground to make the life-giving infusion.

Casting his eyes around, he spotted the source of that wonderful smell. It was just a small hole-in-the-wall operation. Enough of a front counter to handle three customers at a time, a simple sign hanging above it with a double-handful of options to choose from and a warning at the bottom that read ‘No Raktajino!’ in bold. And then just above that, in large unmissable lettering that read ‘Beans’d It’.

The chuckle escaped his lips immediately at that. He couldn’t help it. It was such a delightful little play on words, and the lack of sleep he’d had aboard the merchantman had dulled his wits. Just as his brain had recognised the board only listed beverages, it also registered the stall right next to the coffee locale – ‘Food’. Customers more acquainted with Deep Space 47, be they locals or frequent transients, were rapidly going from one to the other, with either their handheld drinks and snacks, or with trays and bags for numerous people elsewhere.

A moment more, a decision made and Nathan found he got all of exactly three steps from where he’d been standing before the crowd parted for a woman in Starfleet red, a coffee in one hand, a white bag in the other that she was holding by just a corner. Professional scrutiny landed on the four pips on her collar, compared to his own three, and he did the best to straighten his tired back. The stern eyes and fierce expression she had relaxed just a touch as her lips curled in a smirk and she offered the drink and bag to him.

“Coffee, black with two sugars,” Captain Carmen Torres said, “and a cinnamon scroll.”

Momentary surprise was quickly forgotten as the scent of the coffee hit him and he nodded his thanks, accepting the offered cup and bag after a quick roll of his shoulder to double-check his bag was secure. “Thank you, Captain Torres,” he said. “How’d you know?” he then asked with a raise of his cup.

“You were practically shouting it from the moment you saw the coffee shop,” she answered dryly, hooking her head as a quiet order as she set off towards the doors that led to a gentle upwards ramp from arrivals and out onto the main concourse of DS47’s Galleria.

The hectic busy of arrivals and the security screening gave way to a much more subdued and lazy energy on the Galleria. A number of frontages were actually closed, others seemed only to be occupied by staff at this hour. Bright lights surrounded one establishment that proudly announced itself as ‘Cosmos Repairs’ but a bored young man behind a desk looked to be the only life there.

The darkened lights and what had to be polarisation on the Galleria’s windows dimming the local star’s light gave the ruse of nighttime. The barely operational state of the Galleria all but confirmed it. And the last nail in the coffin was the small service bot that was methodically working its way across the floor, a gentle swirling yellow light on top of its metre tall body advising caution in its presence.

“Practically shouting?” Nathan asked, breaking the silence between the two of them as they walked along the Galleria at a rather sedate pace.

Captain Carmen Torres merely turned her head to look him over, a raised eyebrow as she studied him, concluding with a shrug. “You’re over a decade older than your new commanding officer. You’ve grown a beard to hide your jawline, either to hide a double chin or because you want to give a rough-man vibe on first impressions. Black coffee fits the vibe.”

He blinked, biding time with a sip of his coffee. “Ouch.” It was all he could muster. “And the cinnamon roll?”

“To die for,” Torres answered, and he could just make out the smile in profile.

The good captain was happy to be a woman of few words, so he indulged in the cinnamon roll, quickly coming to the same conclusion that it was to die for. “Oh, wow. That is good.”

“That and cinnamon rolls go great with coffee no matter how you have it,” Torres added.

“About that. How did you really know what my drink order would be?” he asked.

“As I said, you were practically shouting it as you approached.”

He stared at her as they walked, trying to recall everything he could about her. “You’re the squadron’s resident El-Aurian, aren’t you?”

She huffed at that. “I don’t need special powers of listening and observation to guess a coffee order,” she said. “Besides, the galaxy is a small place, and no secret stays secret forever. Especially when one learns to just listen.”

“Oh?”

“Lieutenant Commander Brandon Plait,” Torres said as an explanation.

“You know Brandon?”

“Chief Science Officer. As we won’t be doing much over the next few days, I’m sure you and he can find time to catch up.”

Nathan chuckled as he shook his head. It was always good to catch up with those you’d previously served with, separated by new billings, career opportunities and the pursuits of new challenges. Finding out that the junior officer he’d mentored years ago was now a senior science officer was satisfying. A chance to catch up with a friend even more so.

“I appreciate that, Captain Torres.”

She merely nodded in response and continued to lead the way around the Galleria. Silence afforded him a chance to finish both coffee and scroll, refuse deposited with a service bot as it was going about preparing for the next day of station life. Walking all the way around to the other side of the station, Torres led him to the base of one of the large windows, looking down across the dorsal aspect of a docked ship.

USS Osiris was resplendent in her white and dark grey. Her own hull lights shined brightly, docking lights from the station casting more illumination and bring out the best features of the Reliant-class starship. A couple of suited crewmembers were bounding across the hull, a workbee nearby, as engineers were taking the opportunity to undertake some sort of work.

She was a superb example of Starfleet, cast perfectly out here on the frontier.

“Not allergic to cats, are you?” Torres asked after nearly a minute of watching her ship, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of them.

“No ma’am,” he answered. “Why?”

“A former captain was a Caitian,” she answered, once more ordering him along with a wave of her head. “Cat hair is like biological glitter. You are never, ever done with it.”

Another day, another ship, another rendezvous gone sideways.

Though not without good reason this time. Nathan had been on the bridge of Osiris, getting the unofficial Thomar Expanse update from an old friend, when the distress call had come in. Outpost scientist were once again up to their necks in trouble and needed bailing out. Someone pointed out immediately that Osiris was the closest ship by a day at high warp and before he could even think about it, he’d volunteered to ride shotgun with Captain Torres.

Torres had more sense than he did. She called ahead to the next ship in the line, the Bismarck, arrangements had been made and then Nathan found himself bundled onto a shuttle with some poor ensign whose entire job for the next two days was to fly him to meet a shuttle from Bismarck and then return to Osiris, wherever that might end up being.

What would have been a day more aboard Osiris turned into two and a half days on shuttles. Cramped spaces, only one person to talk to, or ignore. And in both cases people he was likely twice the age, if not more so. Rank added on top of that created dull atmospheres for him and likely oppressive for his pilots.

If his own experiences at that age were anything to go by.

“Commander?” the young woman beside him asked. Ensign Samantha Woods, of the USS Bismarck, as she’d introduced herself.

He shook his head, blinking his eyes and trying to drag himself back into the here and now. He’d been away with the faeries, eyes going from the dull report in front of him to the near-hypnotic swirl of light that modern warp drives created and back again. The last few hours, or was it minutes, he couldn’t recall.

“Sorry, Ensign, was somewhere else,” he said. “Rank might have its privileges, but it comes with reports you have to read.” He waved the padd before tossing it gently to fall between the console and window of the shuttle.

“So my dad tells me,” she answered with a smile. “Was just saying we’re about to drop out of warp and you might want to secure anything loose.”

“What?” he asked, then recalled the briefing she’d given him yesterday after he’d beamed aboard the shuttle Rubber Duck. “Oh, right, yes. You’re certain you can get this shuttle through the atmosphere without any issues?”

“I got her out, didn’t I?” she answered with all the confidence and swaggering he expected of youth, and more so from pilots. “It’ll be fine.”

“Ensign Woods, just remember, there are old pilots and bold pilots – ”

“But no old, bold pilots,” she said, cutting him off. “Captain says it to me a lot as well.”

Just then the shuttle decelerated, the inky depth of space once more taking over from the swirling light of the warp field. And then with a few inputs the shuttle rolled and climbed, the brilliant arc of a planet swinging rapidly into view, dominating the window. Roiling cloud banks covered a large swath of a continent ahead of them. Outside of a gas giant, this was one of the largest storms Nathan had ever seen in his life. Dark blue oceans gave way to patchy green and brown coastlines before clouds obscured everything.

“Welcome to Windswept,” Woods said. “AG6-543-C officially. Cloud covers ninety percent of the northern most continent, with no discernible reason last I heard. Transporters don’t work through the clouds, wind speeds read as nice and sedate until you try flying a shuttle through and then it gets downright vicious. Tapers off the closer you get to the ground, though.”

“And we’re going through that?” he asked.

“Quickest way to the Bismarck is straight down,” Woods answered with a smile, then tapped a few keys on her side of the console. The shuttle’s impulse engines whined into life once more, the planet before them immediately starting to swell in size. “Buckle up, sir.”

The entire ordeal from orbit to below where the wind took on murderous intent was roughly fifteen minutes. Thankfully only the last five of it had proven to be ‘interesting’. And to his own relief, Nathan was glad that Ensign Woods hadn’t started maniacally laughing, even if she did look like she wanted to. The woman was a natural pilot, in tune with the shuttle as much as her own self, expertly weaving through the sudden storm that had surrounded them, riding the eddies and currents and delivering them to relative safety with only a few new bumps and bruises.

“They’re down here somewhere,” Woods said as she finally checked the sensors, throwing the shuttle into a turn and keeping them close to the ground as they raced towards where Bismarck was hiding.

Cresting over a ridge, Rubber Duck came into a large, verdant valley. A winding river worked down from a series of hills, evidence of its meandering time-worn into the valley floor. It looked like an idyllic mountain valley, with gentle rolling fields of grass and the occasional copse of trees increasing as one approached the valley walls. But smack in the middle of all of this stood two signs of civilization that were utterly unmistakable.

The first and easily most noticeable was the grey-white hull of a Starfleet vessel. USS Bismarck was perched on four landing legs; her nacelles were dull and devoid of light. A small collection of tents and tables had sprung up around the grounded craft, leading from the rear of the ship towards the second sign of civilization on this world. An ancient, half-overgrown pyramid that stood twice the height of the landed Bismarck and, evidenced from the dig site against one side, extended some distance underground as well.

“What in the name?” Nathan asked, trailing off as he knew his question to the universe would go mostly unanswered.

“Captain Spencer thinks it might be Tkon, or maybe Iconian.” Woods brought the shuttle around in a long, slow loop over both the structure and ship, banking to let Nathan get a good look from the air at what Bismarck had found. “Stumbled on it while we were sniffing out some Breen raiders that the Fleet Captain is chasing after.”

“And you all just set up camp?” he asked, not taking his eyes away from the pyramid. Plenty of officers could be seen on the ground, a few looking up and waving. A couple even jumping up and down, waving their arms excitedly. “Friends of yours?”

“Jess and Jake,” Woods answered. “Engineering and Science, respectively.”

Nothing more needed to be said as Woods brought the shuttle down in a clearing, Bismarck’s other shuttle there as well. The ship didn’t have a large crew, and it looked like nearly half of it was out on the field, either at the dig site or in the tents working away. A few scurried about, gently loading crates, carrying them away towards the Bismarck, or tagging them for transport, obviously unaffected at this close range.

“The captain is at the dig,” Woods said as the hatch to the rear opened. “Want me to take your bags aboard ship?”

“Please do.”

It took nearly a quarter hour, three queries, and pointed directions before Nathan finally found Captain Malakai Spencer. This wasn’t a stand back and watch captain, but a get in there sort. The man before him had swapped his uniform for kit more suitable for a dig. He was sitting on the ground just outside of an entrance into the pyramid, three others with him and all looking absolutely exhausted as they sipped away at water bottles. Something was quietly said before he pushed himself to his feet, dusted off his hands and then closed the distance with Nathan, offering a smile and handshake.

“You must be Commander Kennedy,” Spencer said, his grip firm, but not crushing. “Welcome to my office.” He waved around with his free hand. “Would you like the tour?”

“Love to,” Nathan answered, looking at the well-lit tunnel into the pyramid. “Tkon or Iconian?”

The captain chuckled, letting Nathan’s hand go as he turned to the tunnel and started walking. “Come inside, meet the boss. Might as well get the answer straight from the font of knowledge.”

“The boss?” Nathan asked.

“Trust me, Commander, you start a dig like this, the blue-shirts will take over. Come, see what we’ve found. Then you can tell Lieutenant Ilves to either pack everything up, or set up a proper camp so I can take Bismarck to your next rendezvous.”

“Just missing some hieroglyphics,” Nathan said aloud as he and Captain Malakai Spencer continued down the square-cut corridor into the heart of the pyramid.

The slope down wasn’t great, but it hadn’t taken them more than a few seconds of walking to be below ground level and with no sign of stopping. Chains of lights had been affixed to the walls to provide illumination and a path down the centre had been cleared, if not intentionally, then just by the repeated passing of Starfleet personnel.

Grey stone walls had been chiselled flat, tooling marks difficult to see, the seams between stone blocks just as difficult. There was no sign of moss or bug life in the tunnel, which struck Nathan as a touch odd. The environment outside was grassy plains, not dry, arid desert. Or desolated moon surface. It was thriving out there, under the perpetual overcast cloud cover, but hadn’t seemed to venture inside at all.

“Oh, we got better than hieroglyphics,” Malakai said, smiling over his shoulder. “We got so, so much better.”

Eventually the corridor levelled out, opening into a long, wide space. At least wide compared to the corridor they’d just walked. Going from space for two abreast to six or seven, and thirty meters deep, with the weight of stone all around them, made this space feel large and claustrophobic all at once.

There were cut blocks down the middle, the perfect height for sitting on, with bronze braziers between each. No fires were lit here, light instead coming from a gaggle of hovering lights near the ceiling, their illuminated undersides granting a near natural sunlight aspect to the space.

Painted figures lined each wall, from floor to ceiling in neat rows. They weren’t hieroglyphics, but pictograms, detailing stories and events. Gaps broke up sections of the wall, delineating events or stories in each section, all easily viewable from the nearest bench.

This was obviously a space meant for visitors.

“Taimi, how’s it looking?” Malakai asked loudly, his voice carrying down to the three other people in this space, all of them crowded around a portion of the wall.

“Not good,” came the response without even looking up. “Is our visitor you have been avoiding telling me about here?”

Malakai stopped, blinked a few times and looked at Nathan, who shrugged at the non-verbal interrogation. “Yes?”

“Dammit.”

Malakai stopped about halfway down, pointing to a specific patch of the wall. As he looked it over, Nathan felt his own brow creasing. The figures on earlier parts of the wall had been obviously humanoid, but all of them the same. Some attempt at sexual dimorphism, or differentiating between different classes, had been present. But now figures were showing that didn’t match the ones previously depicted. Where most of the figures merely occupied one line at a time of the story, newcomers could stretch across two or three lines, interacting in multiple places.

Agriculture, construction, animal husbandry – all detailed. But the stories weren’t just one sided. There were elements where the more numerous aliens were teaching the newcomers things in return.

“Advanced interference,” Nathan muttered.

“Oh, it gets better.” Malakai led him down two more panels.

Near the ceiling of this mural, the story started with a great cataclysm of some description. The tall newcomers falling dead, the locals mimicking them. The art style was consistent with all others, and a quick check showed it matched the back half of the room. If this was contemporary reporting of events, their art was incredibly static and someone had been safe enough to do this during or even after the cataclysm.

Eventually the mural gave way to a single line showing green grasslands, a grey pyramid standing tall over them. Then gathering storms as nature closed on the pyramid over a few more lines, but never over growing it. But it was the last line of the mural that gave Nathan pause.

There, a meter off the ground, the bottom row of the story, the pyramid was once again wreathed in clouds. And while previous rows had been notable for being nearly identical, signifying the passage of time, this row had figures on it once more, walking towards the pyramid. Notably black-clad figures, save for coloured shoulders, one of red and two of blue. And behind them was an image that made for a rather crude rendition of a Starfleet Type-14 shuttle.

“Stupid question,” Nathan said. “Chroniton count?”

“Below average,” Malakai answered. “Take of that what you want. That matched the landing party we sent down, by the way. Lieutenant Ilves and Ensigns Woods and Green.” Then he led Nathan down to the team studying the last mural in the chamber.

Where Malakai Spencer had ditched his uniform for field attire, pitching in with teams clearing a space around the pyramid, the three officers here were still wearing their full uniforms. They all looked like children to Nathan, fresh-faced and youthful, but all of them had eyes he’d expected from people decades older.

Not long ago he’d have been extremely worried about them. Still was honestly. But the sight had become all too common amongst Starfleet since Frontier Day. One of them stood, assessed both Malakai and Nathan, then cleared her throat, offering a hand in welcome to Nathan. “Lieutenant Taimi Ilves,” she introduced herself as. “Bismarck’s chief science officer.”

“Commander Nathan Kennedy,” he replied. “Your captain says I’m the one that is going to have to break some bad news to you.” He tried to deliver in a light-hearted manner, but could see he’d failed. This young woman, who looked like she hadn’t slept in a few days, bags under her eyes and hair a touch frazzled, turned her gaze on her captain, eyes narrowing with the look Nathan himself had been subjected to numerous times.

That Malakai Spencer didn’t spontaneously erupt in flames, or collapse in on himself, was a fair indicator that the universe still hadn’t deemed humanity fit to evolve that particular trait.

“I’ve got orders to get Commander Kennedy here on his way, Taimi,” Malakai said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Schedules to keep and all that. All the way from the Fleet Captain.”

Taimi Ilves glared a few seconds more, looked at the mural to her right, then back to the two older men before her. “I can have a team selected in an hour. Leave us a shuttle and all the camping gear.”

“Are you sure?” Malakai asked. It was almost fatherly. Genuinely asking his science officer if she was sure of her decision. “Could be a few days, maybe a week, before we get back.”

“We’ll manage. We need to document everything here.” She nodded, drawing both men closer to look at the mural her team had been examining in detail.

One row showed the pyramid, smaller, with something that was unmistakable for a Rhode Island-class starship beside it. It showed figures that could charitably be identified as Kennedy and Spencer descending into the pyramid. It showed what looked like Bismarck ascending through the clouds into space once more.

But the next few rows all looked like someone had painted over them. Thick, black paint had been smeared over rows and rows of the mural, obscuring whatever was depicted next.

But the last row had been left untouched. It was mostly black, with a smattering of white in bands that evoked the banding of the Milky Way across the night sky of numerous worlds. But a white-grey silhouette was painted on it, with splashes of blue and red on it. Orange streaks shot out at what looked like a swarm of orange-brown locusts. And as one went along the row, the locusts became so numerous as to be drawn over and over on top of each other until the end.

“That,” Taimi said, “looks a lot like a Sovereign-class starship to me.”

For a moment nothing was said. Then Malakai’s hand clapped Nathan’s shoulder, clasping firmly as the other man smiled at Nathan. “I think, Commander Kennedy, I’ll leave reporting this particular mystery to the Fleet Captain to you. I hear she just loves temporal mysteries. Can’t go wrong as a first impression, bringing her such a find, eh?”

“Yeah,” Nathan said, knowing Malakai’s statement to be utterly false. “Who doesn’t love ancient mysteries that get DTI stumbling all over you?”

Two days of sprinting aboard Bismarck turned into two more days of sprinting aboard Argonaut, where the most exciting things Nathan could comment on were meeting Captain Carver Houston when he first boarded, then meeting the man again just before departing.

Argonaut reminded him far, far too much of the state of mind that certain captains and crews had fallen into during the Dominion War. And a quick check confirmed the suspicion he had as soon as he had stepped aboard. Captain Houston was, like himself, a survivor of that war. One who was forged in it and carried hard lessons from it with him forevermore. That the Federation needed a strong arm. That it needed to ensure its safety.

And after Mars, he’d been one of the rank and file of the hawks who had turned Starfleet inward. He hadn’t been an admiral issuing orders, or a politician making speeches. Just a front line captain speaking with other captains. Speaking with young officers. Patrolling the borders and keeping the threats at bay.

All while he, Nathan Kennedy, had left Starfleet. Not immediately after the war, but a few years before Mars. He’d stayed to help keep the numbers up, to train and guide the next batch of brave explorers. Then he’d needed time to heal. He didn’t return after Mars because he had commitments then. But after Frontier Day…

He’d felt the calling and returned to duty. To mentor the next generation.

But also because the exploration bug had bitten him once more.

He wasn’t entirely sure what sort of game Houston had been playing when Argonaut rendezvoused with Atlantis, but there had to be one. Instead of putting him on one of Argonaut’s shuttles and sending him across, Houston had requested one from Atlantis come to pick him up. And they’d barely cleared the proximity area around Argonaut before the ship had peeled away at full impulse before jumping to warp as quickly as possible.

“Rude,” the young pilot had said from the helm. “Oh, sorry, sir.”

“No no, Ensign, I don’t think you’re entirely wrong,” Nathan said, shaking his head at the patch of space where the Gagarin-class ship had just been. “Just perhaps consider the company you’re in next time?”

“Yes, Commander,” the young man said, then decided that paying complete and total attention to his flight controls was the best course of action.

Atlantis slowly came into being, from a spec light in the distance, to an indistinct smudge and eventually the grave and sleek lines of a Sovereign-class starship. She was orbiting the largest moon of a gas giant, both celestial bodies various shades of shockingly bright blue. Deep red and purple aurora crowned the moon as its magnetic field violently clashed with the far stronger field of the gas giant. The perfect location to stay hidden for a bit this close to the Breen border.

“Interesting neighbourhood,” Nathan said as Atlantis started to loom large out the window.

“One way to describe it, sir.” The ensign then pointed at a particular patch of space just past Atlantis. “Especially when we have visitors.” The patch looked normal, as normal as anywhere could be. But then, as a band of the aurora swept across that part of his vision, but farther away, he noticed the oddity. A smudging of the colours, a ripple of light and vague shifting of colours to a different hue.

“Knowing what I know of this ship’s recent history, it’s either Klingons or Romulans,” Nathan said. “The latter?”

“Here to pick up the Commander, Commander.” The pause between the repetition wasn’t much, but it brought a smile to Nathan’s face as the Ensign had stumbled on it. “Turns out cloaking devices and intense magnetic fields don’t play nice. But the Republic would prefer the Breen didn’t know they’ve come out this far to pick up a single officer. Or only in a high-speed courier.”

“What did you think of Commander Kendris?”

“Stickler for the rules. Firm, but fair.” All safe ways of describing a senior officer. “She wasn’t too bad. For a Romulan.”

“And what about Captain MacIntyre?” he asked as the shuttle lined up for final approach on the main shuttlebay.

“I, uh, never served with him, sir. I transferred aboard after he went over to Republic. But I’ve heard a few tales. Folks really liked him.”

“Well, let’s hope I can fill those boots.”

The last few minutes of the trip were in silence, broken by communications with the shuttlebay controller as they approached, then gingerly tractored the last part of their journey and set down on the decking without even the softest of taps. As the hatch opened, a whistle shrilled as Nathan stepped out onto the decking of the starship Atlantis. A collection of crewmen had assembled, all yellow shouldered, with only one red shouldered officer at the short parade.

“Permission to come aboard?” Nathan asked, looking at the young, dark-haired officer whose face he already knew. A young man who was just too perfect to be Mr Starfleet. Something had to be suspect about him, save even his own record noted he was above suspicion.

Which was even more so suspicious

“Permission granted,” Lieutenant Junior Grade Stirling Fightmaster answered back. The party all dropped to at-ease immediately. “Welcome aboard Atlantis, Commander Kennedy. The captain sends her apologises, but she has been indisposed. She has requested that I escort you to her, though.”

“That sounds ominous,” Nathan replied, stepping down the line and taking a moment to inspect the crewmen assembled. Three aside, all of them doing their best to look into the middle-distance and not acknowledge the man before them. “I take it these fine men and women are here to see my belongings get to where they need to go?”

“Of course,” Fightmaster answered in such a way as to confirm reality in the dullest, most routine way possible. As if officers were always asking him the obvious and it was just the natural order of things. “And after the captain, I’m to assist you in registering all of your command codes and authorisations with quartermaster and the ship’s computers.”

“Well then,” he said, finally smiling as he reached out and shook hands with Fightmaster. “Good to be aboard.” He turned on his heel to face the crewmen. “Oh, do be careful folks. Lots of rare, valuable and easily breakable goods in my,” he stopped to make an exaggerated count of his bag sitting on the floor of the shuttle, “two bags. Do be careful.” And then he was away, Fightmaster falling into stride beside him impossibly quick.

“Light packer, both soft bags. There isn’t anything breakable in either of them, is there?” the lieutenant asked as they passed through the shuttlebay’s doors into the ship proper.

“Just a couple of photo frames,” he answered. “Now, lead on Lieutenant, best not keep the captain waiting.”

“This is dumb.”

“You’ve said that.”

“I feel useless.”

“You’ve said that too.”

“This isn’t some elaborate ruse to get you to carry me through the ship.”

“I didn’t say that,” Adelinde Gantzmann responded from the seat next to the biobed, looking up from a padd in hand with a slight smirk.

“You were thinking it,” Tikva accused. “And don’t give me any of that empath bullshit and I couldn’t really know. You were thinking something along those lines.” She kept the glare for only a second before it melted into a smile and a wink. “Wish I had thought of it, though.”

“Not very professional of you,” Lin replied.

“Look at us,” Tikva shot back. “Dressed as Amazons ready to fight the Cretan Bull.” She withered under the disbelieving look for a moment. “Okay, fine, one Amazon, one sexy knife fighter.”

“I’ll allow it. Being true and all,” Lin said.

“We weren’t the height of professionalism before you had to carry me through the ship. If I’m going to be known for being carried by you, I’d like at least one time to be my idea.”

“Just ask any time, love,” Lin said as her eyes drifted back to the padd. “Terax is taking his time with the diagnostic.”

“Probably consulting with Gérard.” Tivka stared daggers at her left leg, unnaturally still beside her restless right. “These things are supposed to be nearly foolproof and I’ve had it taken out from under me three times in the last two years alone.”

“All circumstances far outside the design spec, I would wager. This is your first real malfunction, yes?”

“Yes,” Tikva answered with an exasperated tone.

“Then you’re just going to have to deal with it,” Lin continued. “They want to understand why your leg just stopped working so they can fix it properly.”

“Stop being reasonable,” Tikva shot back.

“I can leave.” Lin’s look was enough to drive that point home.

“Fine, fine,” Tikva threw her hands up in surrender. “Yes, I’m being unreasonable. I could walk just fine an hour ago and now I can’t because some stupid thing in my leg has stopped working and what?” She stopped as Lin set the padd down, stood up, and turned to face her. “What?” she repeated.

“Shut up,” Lin whispered as she leaned over Tikva for a quick kiss. It was a fleetingly quick eternity, broken with both women smiling at each other. “Got a message,” she said, a nod with her head indicating her padd, “that the Argonaut just dropped off the new guy. Want me to go get you a uniform, or happy to meet him like this?”

Tikva sighed as she flopped hard into the bed in defeat. “Seriously? Now?” She watched Lin nod in confirmation. “Uniform please.”

The conjunction of a long shuttle ride, Lin’s long stride and a call to Atlantis’ very own infernal imp bought more than enough time for Tikva to feel presentable in her own private sickbay room before an actual knock at the door.

“Fleet Captain, I have Commander Kennedy for you,” Stirling announced after entering, stepping aside with perfect timing to let the new arrival enter on his heels. “Commander Nathan Kennedy, Fleet Captain Tikva Theodoras. And Lieutenant Commander Gantzmann,” Stirling added with a wave of his hand.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up,” Tikva said wryly. “Perils of prosthetics and all.” A wave of a hand over her left leg to answer the forthcoming question ahead of time. “Wasn’t expecting you for another day, Commander. Someone out there pushing their engines to the limit, I see.”

“Captains Houston and Spencer, ma’am,” Kennedy answered. “I think Spencer was just happy to be in space, while Houston wanted me off his ship as quick as possible.”

She blinked a few times at that appraisal of one of the squadron’s captains. “Little fast on what you think of Captain Houston.”

“Always found directness and honesty to be more efficient.”

She made him wait a moment, sensing no worry or concern radiating from him. Calm, if anything. Maybe mixed with a wry amusement. Then she cracked her own smile. “I’m glad I’m not the only one having some issues with Captain Houston.”

“I remind you, Captain, his record does speak for itself,” Lin said from beside Tikva, once more adopting her on-duty persona of utter professionalism.

Kennedy snorted. “I read that record. Sure, he’s a good captain at guarding the border, but out here, exploring the unknown? Then again, the Breen are immediate neighbours, so maybe he’s not…this is a trap.” His tone, the acknowledgement of walking right into it, was pitch perfect.

“It’s an impromptu assessment,” Tikva said. “You pass.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve done your reading. Or at least enough of it to fake it, which means you know how to prioritise what bits to read. Only so much a personnel jacket can tell me.”

“I see,” Kennedy responded, waited a moment, then smiled. “So all the tidbits from your record aren’t going to be quizzed, then?” Kennedy asked. “Or the Commander’s?”

“No,” Tikva said. “But Stirling’s perhaps.” She watched as an eyebrow on Kennedy’s face rose. “I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“Mostly,” Lin interjected.

“I’ll keep that in mind then,” Kennedy said.

“How about Commander Kennedy, I let you get settled in before properly grilling you?” As he nodded, she turned to face Stirling. “Stirling, make arrangements for dinner in the captain’s mess tonight. Invite as much of the circus as possible, casual wear.”

“Of course, ma’am. Should I see if the Romulans would still be present and invite them along as well?”

“They’re scheduled to depart in an hour,” Lin supplied. “Once Sub-Commander Kendris has finished her business aboard ship.”

“Oh, right,” Tikva said. “Well, extend an invitation anyway. Maybe we can entice them to stay. In the meantime, Nathan, welcome aboard Atlantis.”

“Glad to be here,” he answered, departing shortly after with Stirling.

“I like him,” Lin said after the door closed behind them. “To the point, not too serious.”

“You liked him when we were going over service records,” Tikva teased.

“No, his service record just helped convince me,” Lin answered. “I liked his beard.”

No! Say it isn’t so!

What?

She has to be teasing!

She’s teasing.

Teasing.

“Stop teasing,” Tikva half-growled as she reached out to grab Lin’s hand, pulling it close.

“Getting better at telling when I am.”

“Because you’ve been doing it a lot lately.”

“Because it’s funny.”

Seconds of silence passed before Lin broke it. “Still though, I like him.”

“So do I,” Tikva said. “Think he’ll be a good fit around here.”

“You’re still pissed Mac got promoted.”

“Damn straight!”

Dinner, it turned out, had been an excellent way to break the ice and handle introductions all around. Grumpy doctors, enthusiastic scientists, sassy silicates, stoic pilots, and even sullen engineers had made, once conversation started to flow, a respectable party. Views aired, stories and jokes told and questions asked had allowed Nathan Kennedy a chance to put personalities, faces and voices to profiles he’d read and vice versa for the senior staff of the starship Atlantis.

But slowly people had peeled off. Ra and Rrr had both made excuses just after desert, the former not feeling well while the latter had to go and make themselves known on the bridge. “Junior officers develop best under pressure and heat,” Rrr had explained. “I can at least apply some pressure.”

“That’s diamonds,” Gabrielle had corrected as Rrr walked out, waving a hand in response.

Then Terax departed, T’Val finding an excuse to leave as well with the Edosian doctor. Both cited much the same thing about the hour and duty in the morning as they left.

Which left just Tikva, Lin, Gabrielle and Nathan behind with the debris of dinner, desert and drinks. The dinner table had been abandoned for a collection of couches by the expansive windows, looking out across the fore dorsal aspect of Atlantis.

“Ladies, please, don’t pretend on my part,” Nathan had directed to Tikva and Lin as they settled down on a couch at opposite ends. “Besides, Captain, you did make dinner a casual affair.”

“Finally,” Tikva said with relief as she turned to fall backward into Lin, resting her head on the taller woman’s shoulder. “So glad I don’t need to bring it up in a briefing with you. How far into my profile is a mention of us?” she asked, waving to include herself and Lin.

“Page two. Or maybe three. I’d have to check again. But you wouldn’t be the first.” Nathan sat himself down on the far end of the couch that Gabrielle had claimed, setting a gently steaming cup on the table between the two couches. “Actually, this kind of works if I can break the casual rule and bring up work.”

“You’re a senior officer in Starfleet on an active starship. Our social lives and work tend towards being one and the same,” Tikva replied.

“Tell me about it,” Gabrielle interjected.

“Perils of being a senior officer, Gabs,” Tikva shot back with a wink.

“There’s a full briefing pack that I sent through to your inboxes,” Nathan said, plowing ahead over the banter. “When I arrived at the Bismarck, they were busy studying a pyramid on AGC-543-C. Smack in the middle of nowhere under an inexplicably persistent overcast system that can generate hurricane winds with no warnings.”

“Dark grey stones, no other structures around it? Looks like it’s been there for thousands, tens of thousands of years?” Gabrielle asked, sitting up quickly.

“You’ve already read the report?” Nathan asked back.

“Not your one, no.”

“Gabs?” Tikva asked.

“The structure on the moon below, it turns out, is a pyramid,” Gabrielle replied before turning back to Nathan. “We found a structure shortly after we entered orbit to conduct our little handover with the Romulans. Most of the normal sensors can’t see past the heavy magnetic interference and we only saw it on a visual scan of the surface. Area around it is so hazardous we’d never be able to send an away team down. They’d be dead in a couple of minutes at most.”

“You told me about it this morning, but when did you figure out it was a pyramid?” Tikva had sat up straight now, eyes focused on Gabrielle, her relaxed state washed away.

“This afternoon after you went off duty. We got a better look at it with the lower pass you granted. I then tasked the astrophysics and geosciences teams to collab on modifying a telepresence probe so we could get a closer look.”

“Astrophysics and geosciences?” Nathan asked.

“Geo make good use of the probes for checking out caves and such. Astrophysics, however, get the really hardy probes for launching into crazy kill-you-dead type phenomena.” Gabrielle shrugged with a smile. “They told me they’d have something ready to deploy by morning. Maybe even two probes if we’re lucky. I think the environment down there is still going to fry a hardened telepresence probe in less than an hour.”

“Pyramids aren’t exactly unique designs,” Adelinde said.

“No, but pyramids in places that no one should be able to get to normally are,” Gabrielle said. “Clouds that manifest storms without cause. A structure on a deadly moon. Same colour building material.” She looked at Nathan, who nodded in agreement. “Could be completely coincidental, but might not be.”

“The real surprise is going to be inside,” Nathan said, smiling as all eyes returned to him. “Malakai, Captain Spencer that is, and his people, found murals inside. Ancient murals, showing the rise and fall of civilization on AG6-543-C, the construction of the pyramid, the alien visitors that helped and even showed Starfleet officers entering the pyramid. Someone at some point did paint over a few of the panels and a team is trying to get deep scans and figure out what was under them, but the real kicker was the last panel.”

“Wait, Starfleet officers were on the murals?” Gabrielle asked.

“And a shuttle and something that could pass as Bismarck, even. But that’s not the real kicker.”

“Atlantis?” Tikva asked, barely above a whisper.

“Afraid so,” Nathan answered. “Or some other Sovereign-class starship. Last panel that was showing on the murals at any rate. Showed the ship fighting off what I can only call a locust swarm.”

Silence settled over as Tikva’s eyes went to the floor while she nodded her head a few times. “Okay, before we go about doing anything silly tomorrow morning with probes, I think Gabs, we should bring the Commander up to speed on the MacIntyre Protocol.”

“MacIntyre Protocol?” Nathan asked.

“Captain MacIntyre’s idea,” Gabrielle answered with a grin. “It’s so stupid, it’s brilliant. He has a contingency plan for temporal phenomena. He thought about the ‘how do I get someone to trust me in the past’ problem, but from the other person’s perspective. So, if someone came to him claiming a temporal loop, he could give them a phrase they could repeat the second time around to cut through the whole process and get things moving again. The captain and I codified it into a protocol about a month back.”

“First I’m hearing about it,” Adelinde said, as she gave Tikva a nudge.

“Still ironing out some of the kinks,” Tikva said in defence. “Turns out Gabs and I have the same twisted sense of humour for code phrases.”

“That means,” Adelinde said, looking at Nathan, “that one of the phrases is ridiculous.”

“More like all of them.” Gabrielle smiled as she leaned back into the couch. “So, say you’ve fallen into a temporal loop, not a predestination loop, but a repeating loop…”

“Mind if I join you?”

The interruption to the solitary quiet of the Captain’s Mess, the senior officer’s lounge made from a conversion of the as-designed captain’s mess, broke Nathan from his focus. He’d claimed one of the chairs by the forward facing windows and populated the table beside him with enough padds that it’d take a geological survey to find any specific one. Sedimentary padd formations were a hazard for any officer tasked with administration.

Shaking his head to bring himself into the here and now, he looked up at the speaker, offering a smile, then rising to his feet before a wave of a hand allowed him to abort and crash back into the comfortable chair. “Of course, captain,” he answered, waving to the seat opposite his own.

What he hadn’t noticed initially was that Fleet Captain Tikva Theodoras had ditched her uniform boots, though obvious as she sat down before pulling her feet up onto the chair with ease. And without spilling the large, steaming cup she was bracing with both hands. The rich chocolaty aroma was to sickly sweet for him personally. Something he’d expect of a kid allowed to make their own drink then a ranking officer.

A ranking officer with her career history as well.

“That can’t be good for you,” he said, a nod to indicate the drink in her hands.

“And if you say anything to Doctor Terax, Fightmaster or Gantzmann, I’ll…well I’ll be in trouble.” She had started to say something else, something he expected more along the lines of ‘throw you out an airlock’. Instead she just took a sip, then lowered the cup to sit on her knee.

“Why are you back in uniform?” Tikva asked after a few moments. “And don’t give me what was in your profile, or your correspondence when you got selected for this billing. Give me your words.”

He nodded, thinking with such effort he had to settle into his own seat. “And my feelings?” he asked, getting a nod from Tikva before he continued. By getting him to talk about it, thinking about his reasons in her presence, she’d get more than just what was written. “I’m a teacher,” he answered eventually. “Well, practised mentor more like. Maybe should get around to some sort of qualification one day. But I’m also a patriot.”

“A patriot?” He could hear the concern in her voice. There were more then a few folks who threw that word around the last decade and a half as justification for isolation, or placing the Federation’s needs well above even providing outreach or assistance to neighbours in times of need.

“Maybe not the right word. I believe in the Federation. It’s fundamentals. And I believe in Starfleet as the face of those ideals. Get out there, explore, lend a hand where needed. Be the helpful neighbour. Starfleet has taken a beating the last year or so. So, so much has happened. And all I could think about was all those kids now being promoted before they were ready, or ships running with diminished crews as people are spread thin to keep the numbers up.”

“So, you signed up again to bolster the numbers and share what you know with the next generation of officers?” Tikva asked, masking her face with her cup again.

“That and I was getting bored and wanted back amongst the stars,” he answered with a grin. “Honestly think I was looking for an excuse.”

“Was civilian life that bad?” she asked.

“I left the fleet because I didn’t like where it was going Post-Mars. That’s being swept out the door, and good riddance. So, it’s a place I want to be again. And I was just bouncing around from one thing to the next. Served on a freighter, worked on a farm, lived a year in a cabin high up in the forests of Alpha Centauri. But nothing really grounded me.” He looked at her for a moment, considering her, then asked, “Ever thought about leaving Starfleet?”

“Ha!” Tikva barked out. “Nope!” Gone was the quiet questioning, the seriousness she’d tried to pass off. Replaced with genuine, easy smile. “I knew what I wanted to be as soon as I learned about space. But apparently you can’t be Empress of All Space, so I settled for Starfleet in middle school. And to date I’ve only tried to die in uniform twice.”

“Third time’s the charm,” he quipped.

“Don’t jinx it,” Tikva snapped back. “But no, I love this job.”

“Even the truly weird bits?” he asked, looking out the window at the light blue gas giant nearby, then to the dark blue moon that Atlantis was currently orbiting.

“Some of them I can do without.” Tikva’s own gaze had mirrored his own. “Department of Temporal Investigations is no doubt going to want to know about everything Gabs found down there.”

“Another abandoned pyramid in the middle of nowhere, built in a truly inaccessible locale, tens of thousands of years ago, with paintings of Starfleet ships on the inside.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Honestly, that the last panels didn’t have DTI interrogating Starfleet officers feels like a missed opportunity.”

“Tell me about it,” Tikva said. “Though it might not be time travel after all. Could just be some precognitive species, or individual, who was up to something. But it’s also a matter we’ll have to pick back up another time.”

“Oh?” he asked.

“We’ve gotten orders. We’ll be heading out in a few hours and then we’re making tracks at full speed. Plenty of time to get to know the whole crew, Commander.”

“Long warp bonding is a tried-and-true tradition. So, tell me, what is Atlantis’ traditional crew-wide bonding ritual?”

“You can pick between a pilot competition, the social rugby comp, or singing competition,” Tikva answered. “And the latter, I warn you, is fierce competition.” She punctuated that statement by locking eyes as she sipped from her hot chocolate. “Fierce,” she repeated.

He couldn’t help the smile. Did stop the laugh at least. “Now this I have to see.”

“Actually, Commander Kennedy, could I get you to stay a moment longer?”

Nathan’s first full staff briefing with the Atlantis senior staff had been as dull, routine and benign as could be expected. He’d happily ceded control of the meeting over to the ship’s third officer, Gabrielle Camargo, letting the young woman keep the ball rolling as department heads reported that nothing had significantly changed with the ship in the last week or so.

The only real point of interest had been Doctor Terax saying he and Commander Velan had an update for the captain he’d share after the meeting. That update, only moments away with the meeting dismissed, now looked to include Nathan in it as well.

“Of course, Doctor,” he’d said, sitting back down and watching as everyone else filed out of the conference room in quick order. “Should I lock the door?” he asked once the doors slid shut.

Tikva snorted. “No, it’ll be fine. Besides, Stirling is guarding the door.” She reached out for her cup, inspected it, and sighed in defeat. “What is it, gentlemen?”

“Well, we’ve isolated the fault in your prosthetics,” Terax answered, his typical perpetual grumpy tone having vanished, which immediately got Tikva and Velan’s attention. “The fix we implemented yesterday isn’t going to hold regrettably.”

“Doctor, you’re starting to sound more glum and depressing than the Starfleet Medical doctors after they pulled me off the Jutland. And they had to tell me they had to amputate an arm and a leg.” The empty cup was set down on the table with a slight clatter as Tikva leaned forward, elbows on the table and her hands clasped. “Can you please stop sugar coating for me and tell me what is wrong with my leg?”

“It’s not the leg,” Velan answered. “Gérard spent ages going over the diagnostic logs. I’ve double checked his findings as well. There’s nothing wrong with the leg. What happened was a fault protection fired off and turned your leg off because of bad data coming over the interface.”

“Which is part of the leg prosthetic,” Tikva said, sounding unconvinced by Velan’s explanation.

“Yes, and no. It’s separate from the leg in that we could remove the prosthetic, but you’d still have the interface there. It’s grafted to your nerve endings after all.” Terax crossed his outer arms while his middle hand stroked his chin, considering his words. “And before you say it’s the interface; it’s not the interface either.”

“So…” Tikva dragged on, rolling a hand in the air to encourage her officers to continue. Demanding it even.

“It’s you,” Terax spat out. “Specifically, it’s your brain.”

“Don’t look at me,” Velan said quickly. “I just ruled out the mechanical and electronic. He’s the one with the medical diagnosis.”

“What are you saying, Doctor?” Nathan asked, turning to the Edosian.

“That ideally, Commander, Captain,” Terax said to Nathan and Tikva, “we need expert assistance to resolve this issue. Someone, or someones, who is specialised in the unique half-Betazoid neural anatomy as well as modern prosthetic interfaces. Now that we know what is going on, I’m happy to reset your leg, or arm if that should present similar issues, for now. But a long-term solution is currently beyond me. And I’m concerned that frequency would grow as time passes.”

Tikva sighed as she sat back. “And you’ve already got a list of premier medical facilities you’d like me to detour Atlantis to go and visit.” Not a question, but a statement, Nathan noted.

“Exactly two locations, and I’d prefer the former.” Terax waited a moment, drawing some inner strength for continuing. “Betazed or Earth.”

“Earth it is then.” Tikva’s decision was quick. “We were already heading back towards DS47. I’ll reach out and make arrangements for Mac to pick up our mission and get clearance for Atlantis to head to Earth.”

“You did hear what I said?” Terax asked.

“I did,” Tikva answered. “And I choose Earth.”

“Betazed is closer,” Nathan said, turning to Tikva and being greeted with a flat expression he couldn’t read. A mask hiding barely concealed distaste at the idea of going to Betazed. “And I’d dare say probably just as capable on this matter as Starfleet Medical back on Earth would be.”

“More so,” Terax added. “In fact, the interface for your prosthetics was designed on Betazed. Well, adapted for half-Betazoids to be precise. Doctor Meto, specifically. Infuriatingly pompous twit of a man, but he is the foremost specialist on the subject.”

“And this isn’t just something you could liaise with over subspace?” Tikva asked, sighing in defeat at Terax’s shaking head. “I don’t want to go to Betazed.”

“Well, the alternative is we just keep dealing with this problem until it becomes so bad I have to relieve you of your command since you’d be unfit to do it.” Terax’s grumpy, stubborn, sick-of-your-complaints tone returned in full force. A doctor with a bedside manner a Tellarite would be proud of.

“And now I know why I was asked to stay behind,” Nathan said with some mirth. “Doctor, you’d need something better than a bum prosthetic to remove the captain.”

“Neurological impairment resulting in loss of motor function,” Terax answered blandly. “It could be something neurological. It could just be a bad interface such that Ra and I can’t figure it out. Either way, the experts are on Betazed.”

Nathan shook his head, realising the trap that Terax had put him in. The patient with a reason not to go somewhere on one side and the doctor determined to send said patient there. He’d need to find the reason out for the captain’s hesitancy at some point, and soon, but Terax had looped him to be a ‘reasonable everyman’ to sway the captain.

Or at least it was the conclusion he was coming to. Words would need to be said to the doctor after this. A heads up would have been appreciated.

“I’m in no rush to sit in the centre seat,” Nathan eventually said after a tense few heartbeats. “But I’m kinda inclined to agree with the Doctor, Captain. If he does have to relieve you of command, Command isn’t going to look kindly on that. Besides, we run to Betazed, visit the right specialists, let the crew get some shore leave and then skedaddle before an army of Betazoid matriarchs start driving everyone batty. In and out, week at most.”

“Two weeks,” Terax corrected.

“Not helping yourself,” Velan muttered, drawing Terax’s ire and a faint smirk from Tikva, who blanked it away as quick as it came.

“Fine,” Tikva finally said with a shake of her head. “But if I hear one mention of the concept of light duties or taking it easy, I’m crying foul.” Her glare settled on Terax. “You coordinate everything with whoever you need to before we get there. I want to spend as little time around Betazed as I can.”

“In and out,” Nathan summed it up, smiling at Terax. “Right doc?”

“I make no promises,” Terax grumbled. “But I’ll do my best.”