Engineering aboard the USS Atlantis had been pretty much the exact same for the last three days, the last few weeks for that matter. Cruising between the stars at a steady warp six deep inside Federation territory meant that nothing terribly exciting was occurring today, so the mixed crew of the former Atlantis and all the new blood were spending the time getting to know the ship and each other. Commissioning tests were still being run, diagnostics regularly to ensure everything was working in correctly and a host of other minor maintenance a ship needed every single day to stay in perfect condition.

For one Lieutenant Commander Ra-tesh’mi Velan that meant reading the personnel records and having sitdowns with all the new officers under his command and not nearly as much time doing what he wanted, which was picking his new toy apart and finding out just what made her tick. He wanted to be with the teams running checks on systems, crawling through jefferies tubes, or even just taking over whatever spaces they could aboard ship to sit and read the manuals and procedure guides as groups to figure out the specifics of this ship. But alas, he, like any responsible officer, was confining himself to his office till he knew who he was working with. This, this was why he’d resisted larger ships until now, but he wasn’t going to let his captain and friends down by refusing this assignment.

And what an office it was that he’d been given. Sure, it wasn’t like Mac’s office, or the Cap’s new Ready Room, or even Rrr’s office, but it was his. It wasn’t terribly big, but it was isolated just enough from Engineering that he could sit and read, do reports, have private conversations with staff, but respond in an emergency quickly. A large wall-mounted monitor, a desk, two chairs opposite his own, windows that could be frosted over at a whim to hide who he was talking to, or project details from prying eyes. Perfectly suited for a chief engineer, or whoever was on duty really, to have a quiet space.

Much, much better than not having an office that was for sure.

He’d been there for hours, occasionally interrupted by a passing lieutenant, ensign or even petty officer, all taking advantage of his open-door policy to ask a quick question, get his opinion on something or just say hello. That latter part would likely need to change, but the first two cases were already paying dividends as the new crew knew they could always reach out to the Chief if they needed to, following the examples of those that he’d already worked with. New fresh faces were usually emboldened when they say a petty officer just as fresh as them knock on his door frame to ask a quick question and not get spoken down to for daring to approach the upper echelons of command aboard ship.

The reverie of his thoughts however was broken this time not by some intrusion to his office, but by a change in the constant and steady thrum through the deck plating that any engineer became attuned to.

He was still trying to learn the rhythm of this new girl, pretty confident he had found it, but he couldn’t pick out the minute details just yet. She had her own dialect, her own way of saying things and it was an art to learn it. This was not some minor change he felt, but major. A glance out the window of his office and into Engineering proper confirmed his suspicion when the pulsing of the warp core increased in speed. Matter and antimatter were annihilating each other with enough energy every second to make the thermonuclear weapons of so many civilizations look like popguns and here it was all contained in a complex restraining system so it could be harnessed to violate classic physics.

“What’s going on?” he asked a young lieutenant, Krel Merktin, a Tellarite with a particularly amenable attitude, as he exited his office. He’d left Merktin in charge while he was reviewing records, having already read the young woman’s record and chosen her as his shift supervisor. She was slightly above average height for her species and gender, lanky even compared to other Tellarites he’d met, but her demeanor couldn’t be anything but Tellarite. Her record spoke for itself and the recommendations on file from her previous commanders reinforced it. She was a damn good engineer, passionate about her job and apparently a good teacher. It didn’t take much for him to see her teaching at the Academy on day.

“Helm has changed course and increased speed to warp nine,” she replied, not looking up from a console she was reading over someone else’s shoulder. He couldn’t place the young human, who was looking nervous like this was his first cruise. Which it could very well be. He noted how she wasn’t looming, but standing as if she’d been showing the man something.

“Nine point five, ma’am,” she was corrected by the man, who pointed to the corrected value on his own screen. “Maximum sustainable speed.”

“Something must be up because this isn’t part of any test schedule,” he said before being interrupted by the whistle of the all-hands call.

“Senior staff to the brief room please,” came Captain Theodoras’ voice, echoing in the cavernous engineering space, less so in every compartment across the ship most likely. It made him think that perhaps installing some sound absorbing tiles around Engineering wouldn’t go amiss to reducing some of that echo.

“Well, that’s my queue to go find out why we’re running as fast as we are,” Ra said with a smile, then stroked his beard in thought for a moment. “Lieutenant Merktin, keep an eye on the engines. If we start to waver in any way you don’t like, you have my personal authority to override the helm and slow us down to warp nine. If the engines still look off, make your best call and I’ll back you on it.”

“Including a complete shutdown?” she asked, looking at him with a stern, no-nonsense expression.

“Hey, if it keeps us all alive and breathing, I’m sure no one will mind. After all, I keep all my stuff aboard ship, I don’t want it blowing up.” And with that, he departed Engineering to comply with the order to assemble. Thanks to the size of the new ship versus the old, his journey wasn’t nearly as quick as it used to be and he was pleasantly surprised by a stop and Doctor Terax joining him. He’d forgotten that the sickbay complex aboard ship was along the route from Engineering to the Bridge.

“Doctor, fancy meeting you here,” he joked, though the perpetual scowl he received in response he knew, from working with the man for a few years now, was just his normal expression, which softened slightly after a moment, clearly parsing what he’d said. Terax’s sense of humour was always either slow on the pickup or somewhat on the darker side.

“Yes, quite,” came the response from the Edosian. “Do you happen to know what this might be about? I was in the middle of trying to explain to his new doctor of mine how my sickbay is to be run and don’t exactly appreciate the interruption.” Terax’s voice sounded irritated and more so then normal. From what he’d heard Dr Pisani was apparently quite the character whom he’d only had chance to meet a few times so far.

“And I don’t like the idea of pushing the warp engines at the red line for an undefined period of time,” he replied with a shrug. “If I knew anything I’d let you know, friend. But alas, we’ll just have to learn together.”

“Delightful,” Terax said, letting silence fall over the car as they proceeded to the bridge and the briefing room beyond.

In the following few minutes Ra was pleased that he wasn’t the last to arrive, in fact, the last to arrive being the captain herself, who took the seat at the head of the table as soon as she entered, proceeded only by a few steps by Lieutenant T’Val directly from the bridge.

“Right folks, I’ll get right to it. Fourth Fleet command has just dropped new orders on us because once again all ships are needed for this particular problem and well, we’re not an easily set aside asset.” A button pressed on the controls built into the conference table and she looked towards the large briefing monitor built into the wall opposite the rear-facing windows. Everyone whose back was to it, including Ra himself, turned to face the screen.

“Details at this time are still in flux and we’ll be having more briefings in the next few days as I’m briefed myself, but it looks like someone in the Romulan Star Empire has decided to make a direct play for the senate it seems. Initial reports are of a military coup centred on Rator III itself. Apparently, it’s been received rather poorly across the majority of the Empire.” The screen changed to focus not on Rator, but on a sector of the empire adjacent to the Romulan Free State and Romulan Republic. “This area here is the Velorum sector, one of the RSE’s more…lucrative territories. Just like with Rator, a coup has rolled the existing government and declared the sector an independent state at this time. From what I’ve been told, it sounds like a worker’s revolution that’s gained some local military support.”

The room was silent and Ra couldn’t help but stroke his chin in thought. Stellar politics wasn’t his cup of tea, he was an engineer through and through, but the collapse of the Star Empire rump state wasn’t something to be ignored at all. Even he could see this would have repercussions for years to come, if not decades.

“The Provisional Government of the Velorum Sector, a mouthful I know, has requested Starfleet assistance in securing their territory and worlds so they can have a fair chance at determining their own future. We’ve been marked for the world of Daloon.” With that, the screen zoomed in until it showed a star system on one side, a world on the other, with key metrics beside both diagrams.

“Captain,” he found himself saying before anyone else spoke, “I’m inclined to point out we’re still commissioning. We’ve only had a couple of weeks and still have thousands of tests and retests to complete. We’re talking days of high warp just to reach the border, more to get to this Daloon.”

“And potential conflict with Romulan warships,” Gantzmann added, giving him a nod that said she understood his complaint. “We’ve only briefly tested the ship’s weapons at this point. Shield testing has been minimal at this point. And the torpedoes have only been test fired once so far. Heading into combat with untested weapons is not recommended.”

“Not to mention the crew are still finding their feet,” Rrr chipped in with their trademark rumble. “Mac and I are still shuffling rosters around to smooth out…personality issues.” They looked to the XO and shrugged. “We need to look at Beta shift again.”

“Science is pretty confident,” Gabrielle Camargo threw in with a cheerful lilt to her voice. “Sure, we could do with more time making sure everything is working, but the critical sensor pallets and packages have been checked out. We’re now down to checking and confirming all the labs, but hopefully, that won’t be a problem.”

Before anyone else could complain, it was Mac whose hand rose to quieten the table down. “Don’t think the captain and I didn’t try to say that, but as she said, we’re not an easily set aside asset anymore. Command is giving us a soft target and hoping that just our presence alone will help ease any tensions in nearby systems as well. The Romulans don’t know we’re brand spanking new, just that a Sovereign-class has arrived once we do.”

“Talk softly and carry a big stick?” Gantzmann asked and he found he couldn’t help but smile. Humans had some delightful sayings.

“Something like that. Though we’re likely to have to play a big stick for a number of other ships.” Mac stood and walked towards the monitor. “Daloon approached the Federation separately from the Velorum provisional government, requesting Federation assistance in a local plebiscite to determine their own fate. We’re going along to show everyone in the region that we’re not going to stand for coercion, be that from the RSE, the Free State, the Republic or this provisional government. Any world that wants to go it alone has a right to self-determination.”

“Noble enough,” Terax spoke.

“We’ve been asked to defend the world from raiders and provide mediation between local factions so that the plebiscite can be organised peacefully,” Mac continued. “And yes, the message was undersigned by what we believe to be all the local factions, at least when it arrived.”

“Humanitarian support?” Terax asked.

“Most certainly,” Mac’s reply came with an animated graphic of ships swooping on the planet. “Reports already show that RSE ships, or at least ships previously identified as RSE ships, have already raided Daloon twice. We haven’t been provided with any details of the raids so far, but we’ll get those details soon hopefully. Initial reports say that Daloon authorities likely bought the raiders off while trying to figure out what to do.”

“All in all,” the captain spoke up, “Daloon is some sleepy backwater apparently and we’ve been given it so others nearby can use the threat of us if need be, but to give us the chance hopefully to continue working up without any real threat. That said, I want Tactical and Engineering to rework the commissioning tests and move weapons and shields up the priority list.”

“Aye ma’am,” both he and Gantzmann said at the same time.

“Good. Ch’tkk’va, I want you to find me four or your best for protection work. I’ve been informed that if I think about going planetside without proper protection I’m likely to regret it.” That earned a bit of a chuckle around the table as everyone knew who that particular threat had come from, despite it actually being in line with regulations about the wellbeing of starship captains anyway.

“Certainly captain,” the Xindi replied. “There are many suitable warrior-drones aboard ship.” Everyone stopped and looked at Ch’tkk’va for a moment before they spoke once more. “The translator is very literal, yes? Many suitable persons to choose from. I was thinking of raising the prospect of an honour guard with Command MacIntrye.”

“A Hazard team?” Mac said as he took his seat once more. “Yeah, we should sit down and discuss that in detail Ch’tkk’va. I’ll find some time in the next few days.”

“We will need suitable carapaces for them. Mammals are ill-equipped for royal protection.” Again Ch’tkk’va looked over everyone, then corrected themselves. “Command protection.”

“And I should prepare sickbay,” Terax grumbled. “If we’re looking at potential humanitarian issues I’m sure Doctor Pisani will come in handy. We also have enough parts this time in inventory for replacement cybernetics if required.”

“I don’t plan on getting a limb shot off this time Doctor,” the Captain replied, not amused with Terax’s statement. Her attention turned on him and he offered nought but a faint smile in reply. “Ra, keep those engines running for me. Any hiccups, let me know straight away. Whoever you need for the next four days, you’ve got them, understood?”

“Aye, ma’am. We’ll even see if we can’t squeeze a bit more out of these new engines,” he offered. “But we’ll try and keep away from engine rich exhaust this time.”

“Be appreciated.” The captain gave a smile and then stood with a slap to the table as she did so. “Right, you’ve all got work to do, be about it. Dismissed all.”

The magistrate’s residence on Daloon was simply and unimaginatively called Government House. It wasn’t some grand effigy of Romulan statehood or a monolithic reminder to the people of just who really dictated their lives, but a relatively modest compound just off the heart of the city of Tama Flats. The river framed the compound on one side, walls twice the height of a man on two others, the open side facing out onto a street that separated Government House from the People’s Assembly.

The house itself was a square structure with a courtyard in the middle that would have made a decent sized park in most places, indeed was larger than a few of the parks in the city. But that courtyard was the private retreat of Magistrate Tanok L’rilt, who was today sitting at a small table, opposite his daughter, partaking of breakfast that had been brought out to them. The weather was delightful, the clouds kept the sun at bay, and the wind was just enough to occasionally rustle the trees but otherwise let them be in peace.

A peace that Tanok was determined to enjoy as much as he possibly could, for it wasn’t to last.

He was an old man, preparing to hand the reins of power over to his daughter in the next year or so, save that wouldn’t happen now. There was no Senate, by all accounts, to ratify the appointment of his nominated successor to a world that was mostly forgotten. And that ratification was the thread of legitimacy by which his family had held power on Daloon for centuries.

Rel was his only recognised heir, the only one he trusted to assume the magistrate’s office upon his retirement and now she was busy fighting to keep Daloon from collapsing into all-out conflict and war like so many other worlds. She was so much like her mother – brilliant, determined, eloquent. She had the common good of Daloon and its people at heart.

And she’d never get to lead if things weren’t managed just right in the coming weeks and months.

“What are you thinking father?” she asked him, looking up from her breakfast. She wasn’t a classical beauty, but a handsome woman, like her mother had been. Those same eyes that pierced right through him. “You’re worried about the Assembly again aren’t you?”

“I always worry about the Assembly. Take away the Star Empire and they now think they’re our equals in all matters of government instead of the advisors they’ve always been,” he said melancholically. “We’re so close to losing control and Daloon could fall into civil war, forgotten by all. Our family’s legacy for nought.”

“Should I put your heart to ease then father?” she asked, offering a wry smile. “I’ve heard back on our request for assistance and outside mediation. There’s a Starfleet vessel on its way here right now.”

“Starfleet,” he sighed, then held a hand up to quieten Rel’s protests before she gave voice to them. “I’m an old man Rel and the Federation has always been the Romulan people’s enemy.” Again he waved her protests down. “I know, I know, propaganda of the state. But you hear it all your life, louder every time you go off-world. Intellectually you know it’s not true, but’s become part of the cultural self.”

“The Republic and the Free State seemed to have shrugged such ideas off,” Rel said flatly.

“Interstellar politics is a game for the young, able to adapt and change their attitudes. We Romulans used to be the static centre for which the chaotic galaxy revolved around.” He nodded once. “But again, I show my age and my upbringing. The Assembly agreed to your terms of Starfleet over any other group mediating the transitional government after all. I guess everyone could agree to disadvantage each other at least?”

“And not to invite the Klingons,” she said with huff at the end. “Though I suspect Marik would have been happy with a klingon invasion to rally supporters to his cause.”

“Uhlan Kavos is a washed-up failure who you should pay no heed to,” Tanok found himself saying rather harshly. “How someone spent thirty years in the Navy and never proceeded past Uhlan I’ll never know.”

“I can’t ignore him, father. Daloon was a very popular retirement world for a while. We have a very large veteran population that seemingly likes what he has to say.”

He found himself setting the knife down, the toast slathered in jam, and just staring at the food in front of him. His appetite just hadn’t been the same since hearing about the massacre on Rator, or reading the missives from the Navy. It had gotten worse when this new upstart had invited Daloon, right on the edge of the sector to pitch in with his movement. Either way, he was bound to make enemies and eventually bring conflict to his world, if just so Daloon could be the feather in someone else’s hat.

“Democrats, Traditionalist, Militarists,” he recited the simple labels given to the movements that were congealing on Daloon, representatives within the Assembly siding with one faction or another, rallying those that represented as best they could to the cause. “Any other groups since yesterday I should be worried about?”

The Democrats wanted free and fair elections, a constitution written by and for the people. Total and utter anarchy would ensure afterwards. The common Romulan wasn’t fit to rule themselves. The Senatorial families were the rulers of the Empire, the Magistrates their will on individual worlds. The people couldn’t be trusted.

Then the Traditionalists had their counter – a return to the ways of old. The same ways of old that had just seemingly doomed the Senate on Rator. If the rules and style of government had seen the Romulans maintain their preeminence in the galaxy for centuries before the supernova, they could do it once more. Maybe, a few concessions for a different era, but they were fools who wanted to keep to old ways that had clearly failed.

And to round out the idiotic ideas of governance for Daloon were the Militarists. A collection of old, battered, forgotten veterans who wanted to fall in line with the dictates of Rator immediately. To pledge their loyalty to the Admiralty and impose military law across Daloon with themselves as the rulers of the world. Not a single one of them had made it past Centurion but they all had egos Praetors of old would have been jealous of.

“A new group has indeed formed actually,” Rel said with a smile. He didn’t like that smile. It meant his daughter had an idea he wasn’t going to be immediately enamoured with. The same smile she wore when she informed him of her intention to suggest to the Assembly that they request Starfleet come to Daloon.

“Who?” he demanded.

“They lack a formal name for now but are happy enough with what they propose for Daloon – constitutional monarchy.” Rel reached down, collected a datapad from her satchel and handed it to him, for business was after all going to be discussed after breakfast as it had been every morning for the last ten years since he appointed her Secretary of the House, Daloon’s day to day head of government.

“Limited concessions of governmental styling to both the Democrats and the Traditionalists without giving either side what they truly want. A Preator of Daloon with some restrictions to their power and answerable in some capacity to the Assembly.” She seemed proud of herself as she spoke while his eyes started to go over the manifesto in front of him.

The writing style, the mannerisms in the document, all of them were familiar, but he couldn’t place it, till he was two pages in. “You wrote this,” he said quietly, looking up at his daughter. “You want to throw away centuries of quiet prosperity on Daloon for this.”

“No, I want to preserve Daloon and our legacy,” she answered him back cooly. “The Democrats get their Assembly of commoners, the Traditionalists get a Senate, whose makeup we will discuss and not let them dictate, and you, father, get to become Daloon’s first Praetor. Everyone gets to claim a marginal win, yours will just be bigger, significantly bigger, then anyone elses.”

“Commoners in government. Pah!” He set the pad down and grabbed at his toast. “I don’t like it.”

“You appoint commoners to positions of authority all the time,” Rel snapped back to him. “People of good character and skill.”

“Because I test them beforehand and make sure they fit with the ideals our family have used to govern this world. Letting the people choose will result in chaos.”

“Read the document father.” Rel reached out to put her hand over the pad before he could grab it, the speed f youth compared to the frailty of age. “After breakfast and a walk around the gardens. You can tell me what you think of it at dinner.”

He grumbled before nodding his head, withdrawing his hand. He had been intending to throw the pad into the bushes of the garden around him in disgust, but his daughter, his heir and his trusted right hand had obviously gone to all this effort for a reason and he owed it to her to give it a cursory look over at least.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”

“Read the references at the end if you doubt I haven’t well researched the proposal. And I have many supporters within the Assembly and the Cabinet behind me already. Something to do with you being a fair, just, reasonable Magistrate who has never steered Daloon wrong, or our family either.”

He glared at his daughter, knowing that all of his was his own fault. Grooming her for this job, ultimately for his own. Political thought tutors, philosophy of statecraft, forcing her to accompany him when he toured Daloon and its people. He’d made her a ruler in waiting and she was seeing an opportunity to cement her claim.

It was so beautifully Romulan of her.

“Speaking of family father, have you heard from Koteb?”

He had gone from angry, to pleased with Rel, to angry once more at the mention of that name. His son, who cared nought for Daloon or its people, who had gone off-world to serve in the Navy, to make his name amongst the glittering towers of Rator and the instruments of Imperial power. His only care had been for power, not how one achieved it or maintained it.

He hadn’t seen his son off in good words, cursing him in fact when he defied his dictates and left. They hadn’t gotten along since Koteb had been a boy, the boy taking after his uncle, the famous Commander. His own brother, the idiot who died like so many because their pride had delayed them in asking the Federation for help. Koteb swore in their last communique that he’d be powerful one day, coming back with a Senatorial writ and removing Tanok from the Magistrate’s office and doing with Daloon what he wanted.

That had been the day when he’d banished his son from ever returning home. Koteb would only ever be able to come back if the Senate had granted him what he swore he’d attain. And now that would never come to pass.

He looked down at his breakfast. He’d only taken a single bite.

“I have no son, just a male offspring.”

Two days at high warp, two days of same old, same old for one Charles MacIntyre. Wake up, study course material for an hour, hit the gym and listen to a lecture for another hour. Breakfast in the Agora, the name which had won the captain’s approval for the ship’s common lounge. A swing by his very own office to check for critical messages, download reports to his padd and then to the bridge to take over Beta watch. But as he stepped out on the bridge, expecting to see someone, anyone really sitting in the centre seat, he saw no one.

Ensign Carmichael was at the helm keeping the ship on course, but even then all he was really doing was monitoring the auto-pilot. They’d be cruising for days and someone at the helm was really there only in case they hit speed bump along the way. Rrr was next to Carmichael at Ops at least and in fact the most senior officer he could see. Of the two. Two officers on the bridge during Alpha shift.

Whoever the captain had left in charge was about to rue the day they lost track of the time and let him see this. Then more so for even letting it happen in the first place.

“Ohh! Come on, come on! Dammit!” came a cry from the mission ops bay, a handful of cheers opposing it and Mac at least had an answer for where everyone was. One more sip of his coffee before he went to investigate, one last taste of joy before he ruined his own day by growling at someone.

What he wasn’t expecting to see was the entire rest of the bridge crew, the captain included, watching something on the rear monitor. Everyone was at a duty station at least, he could see even reconfigured for their assigned tasks, save for Tikva who was closest to him, leaning against one of the pillars that flanked the step down. Ensign Trel, the current engineering bridge duty officer, had his face in his hands, lamenting a loss of some description, Lieutenant W’a’le’ki patting him on the back.

The monitor was showing a black field with a mixture of red and blue symbols on it, moving around the screen at speed. The blue symbols all had names under them, names he recognised from the old crew, while the red symbols were simply listed as Bogey and an appending number. The red symbols, it took but a moment to verify, outnumbered the blue by four to five.

“Kelly, behind you!” came a voice from the monitor, a little symbol next to one of the symbols telling him who spoke, the one labelled Shven. A crew of nearly a thousand and there was only one Kelly and one Shven amongst them.

“Then get him off of me,” came Kelly’s irritated response and the symbol with her name started weaving rapidly side to side, a number beside it rising and falling just as quickly and erratically.

“What’s going on?” he finally asked quietly as he stepped down beside his captain, using his chin to indicate the monitor.

“You know how I talked about my vintage flight program for the holodeck?” she asked, waiting to continue till he nodded after rifling through his own memories real quick. “I goofed and put it in a public directory. Looks like some of the crew found it and have been having some fun with it.”

He nodded, bidded time with another sip of coffee. “And everyone is back here watching this because?”

“Because I was curious when ten people went in at once to play, so I added some aggressor fighters. Then people came to report throughout the shift and migrated their work back here.” She smiled and held up her hands guiltily. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have let it happen, but I have. I think Rrr’s taken the time anyway to ease Carmichael’s nerves. Kid’s a wreck whenever he’s at the helm.”

“That’s because he’s next to you and flying a starship bigger than anything he’s ever even been near before,” he found himself saying without thinking. “Who’s winning anyway?”

“Shven, Kelly Tabaaha, Matt Williams and Jamie De León are still in the air. Matt’s been hit with gun fire and is trying to bug out,” she pointed at a symbol trying to flee the melee of the others. “The others are trying to buy him time before doing the same. Their thinking is to return to base and hope something there will defend them.”

“Will it?” he asked.

“I’m not cruel. Just mean.” Tikva pointed at a console that was empty, the displays showing a variety of menus for controlling a holodeck program. “SAM sites around the base will fire on the bogeys if they get too close. But those bogeys do outnumber them and they’re hobbled by trying to protect a wounded bird.”

“So Starfleet officers then,” he added, scooting past Tikva to the console, eyes glancing over the menus. “You sent fifteen fighters against them originally? And this says they’re on the lowest difficulty setting.”

“They’ve only had a few hoursss of practissseee at mossst,” W’a’le’ki said in Tikva’s defence, her sibilate tone soft, but always rattling Mac’s primate brain. Or the young boy who ran into a snake in the forest one day that left quite the impression that he still carried with him. “A two three ratio down to four five isss impressssssive yesss?” she asked, turning to Tikva.

“I’d call it three five with Matt out of the picture which is technically worse then when they…”

Tikv was interrupted by more comms chatter. “Kelly, dive for the ground!” came Jamie’s sudden cry over the comm feed, their icons racing right towards each other, the red dot chasing Kelly still there.

No reply came before what he in his infinite wisdom had deduced was an altitude figure started to drop on Kelly’s icon rather rapidly and breathing could be heard over the comms.

“Guns!” Jamie shouted over the comms as his icon raced headlong for the enemy that had chased Kelly’s, the red silhouette disappearing. “Shit!” came his surprised cry right afterwards. “Dammit! I’ve lost both engines. Controls dead.”

“Get out,” Shven commanded, his tone calm and cool. Looking at the other names the program was keeping track of, Mac noted that only Shven was an actual pilot amongst them all. Even then an air-breather was different to an aerospace fighter, but perhaps there was something to a universal pilot mentality? Sounded to him like a discussion for later with Gavin over a beer.

Soon enough Jamie’s icon disappeared off the display as well. “I see a chute,” Jamie announced. “Shit Shven, it’s just us against four of them.”

“Two on four. Not terribly, not great,” the andorian replied.

“I think,” Tikva said with a wry smile, “that some of you are going to have to enter the talent contest after all.” Then she turned on him and gave him that look that he knew meant trouble. “When Mac gets around to organise one.”

“Oh no, I’m not doing that,” he laughed. “You people started betting on some talent contest, not me. And besides, some of us have real work to do.” He could hear the turbolift doors open, a number of footfalls afterwards as the rest of Beta shift started to arrive, expecting to find their colleagues for hand over briefings and instead finding what he did – a near empty bridge. He shook his head and climbed the two steps and waved his people to their proper stations before stepping backwards next to his captain. “Maybe next time watch from the conference room?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my first officer?” she asked in jest, handing over the keys to the ship after giving them a shake for all to hear. “You have the conn XO.”

“I have the…”

“Someone call for a doctor?” came a voice over the comms that got Mac’s attention, turning to see a new silhouette on the screen labelled ‘Pisani’ racing past Matt’s limping icon. While the others had been manoeuvring for gun runs in those ancient air-breathing deathtraps, Pisani’s immediately blossomed in smaller icons, racing for a couple of the bogeys, then another set of tracks two seconds after the first ones, chasing the same targets. One was wiped out by the first missile, the second evaded the first but died on the second. Now it was three against two.

“Oh, now it’s interesting that Doctor Pisani is involved?” Tikva teased, noting his failure to depart.

“Oh shut up,” he whispered to her.

The fight, the chatter, it was all hectic but Mac quickly gathered that while Shven might have had some skill and training overlap, likely more a mindset thing, and Kelly was entirely new at this but with some natural talent perhaps, Blake Pisani knew what she was doing for some reason. Less than two minutes later the last two bogeys had been destroyed and the survivors were all patting themselves on the back over comms, Blake offering to show them some tricks.

The officers present on the bridge however all looked at Tikva, smiling, their faces slightly down when he arrived totally reversed. “I think that means you’ve got to enter the talent show now captain,” Trel said, smiling like a kid who just raided the candy store.

“I believe Ensign, that Doctor Pisani was not part of the original bet,” Tikva said. “Without her unexpected intervention, they’d have all been shot down, I’d wager.”

“How about,” Mac interrupted, “we call it a draw and everyone here enters the talent competition, which now I’ll happily organise because I mean everyone.” His wicked smile turned on his captain and he waited for her to concede the point. “You should all know your captain has a lovely singing voice” With that he finally left the ops bay and circled around the arch for the centre chair.

“Lieutenant Petrov,” he addressed the man taking over the helm from Carmichael, “care to update me on our course and speed?”

“Aye sir,” the young lieutenant spoke up, Carmichael stepping away as quickly as he could. “We’re on course for Daloon and holding at warp nine point five one six. We’ll be crossing the border in three hours thirteen minutes sir.”

“Excellent. Lieutenant Michaels,” he said to Samantha at Ops, Rrr long gone by now. “Let’s keep an eye out for anything suspicious shall we? And perhaps we can be professionals unlike those layabouts on Alpha shift.”

“Aye sir!” came a ringing endorsement as he could hear everyone filing off the bridge behind him. He wouldn’t give Tikva the courtesy of watching her leave, smiling to himself like an idiot.

“Evening,” Blake announced as she stepped onto the bridge of the Atlantis at the incredibly early hour of 1945 hours. She’d not been entirely pleased with discovering a few days ago that she’d been assigned a single watch rotation this week, but her protest to the man sitting in the centre seat right now had gone amiss. A double shift was not her idea of fun and hadn’t ingratiated Mac in her eyes at all.

So combined with his good looks and charming personality, he was still sitting at ‘Tell me more’ in her ranking system.

“Evening Doctor,” Mac said as he stood up, turning to face her. “First duty watch, excited?”

“Not my first time in the centre seat, but first on a ship this big that’s for sure.” She noted the gaggle of other people who had been in the lift with her all filing about, catching up with those they were relieving, getting the gist of how things were going. “And my first on a ship crossing the Romulan border on purpose that’s for sure.”

“Nothing to it. Just keep her on course and call out if anything comes up. Should be at Daloon in?” Mac had turned to the helm as he spoke, the question aimed at the two individuals there who had noticed to their credit and the senior of which was showing the junior how to quickly pull it up.

“Six hours, twenty-eight minutes sir,” the young ensign said. The boy looked barely old enough to be out of the Academy and probably was. But one didn’t get posted to a ship like this without either being good or patronage. She filed it away to look into which, just to make sure she didn’t piss off some admiral or planetary representative in the future.

“Nothing to it,” Mac said. “Captain will be up thirty minutes before arrival, so won’t even be a full shift for you.” With that, he produced a set of keys and handed them to her with a little shimmy to rattle them. “You have the conn.”

“I,” she paused, “have the conn.” The keys in hand, she looked them over, then looked back to Mac confused. “The ship has keys now?”

“Tradition I started,” he smiled. “They stay on the bridge, they stay with whoever has the conn.”

“Least the ship explodes,” Lieutenant Kurtwell said from Tactical, taking over from an Ensign who looked relieved to no longer be responsible for the ship’s defence coordination.

“That’s not likely,” Mac responded, then turned to Blake. “We think.” He took a single step past her, then stopped and leaned in. “Breakfast?”

“Yours or mine?” she asked back.

“Captain’s Mess,” he stated in rejection of both more private options, indicating something a bit more professional than she was hoping for.

She smiled, gave him a slight wink and then a nod of her head. “I’ll call you.”

“Works for me.” With that he stepped away and soon enough departed the bridge, leaving her with the mighty Gamma shift, a rotating cast of rogues and troublemakers assigned to the night duties. “Right, now that the responsible people are all gone,” she started, pacing around and ignoring the captain’s chair for now, “status report from…sciences first.”

“Oh…uh…” The young man didn’t look flustered, just wasn’t expecting to have to give a report so quickly. But he was quick to bring up details and recall what he’d been told. “Nothing on long-range sensors we aren’t expecting. A swarm of other ships, a flight of Raven-class ships all pouring across the border as well.”

“Ravens eh?” She mulled it over. “They cap out at what, warp eight right?” An affirmative from the helm answered the question. “We’re doing nine point five right?”

“Nine point five one six apparently,” the answer came to her. “We’re about a hundred cee short of double the speed of a Raven at the moment.”

“Anyone think Engineering would mind if we pour on the speed just a bit more? Show those slow boats what a real starship looks like?” A few nervous faces came back to her, a couple of cocky affirmative looks and one engineer on bridge duty who didn’t look to enthused at the idea. But in the end, it was her watch, her call.

“Right, uh, Lieutenant Birmingham, yes?” The positive response let her know she got the name right, a win in her book. “Bring us up to whatever speed it is that’s double one of those Ravens will you?”

“Aye ma’am, increasing to warp nine point six-two. Time to arrival is now five hours and fifty-eight minutes.”

“That’s it?” she protested. “Guess it’ll have to do.” That done she finally walked over and dropped herself into the centre seat. “Right, who’s next with status reports?”

After the initial five minutes, things on the bridge settled down into a nice comfortable routine. Everyone had jobs to do, Blake herself had reports to read, a few orders to issue to finish preparations for any humanitarian work needing doing but otherwise, nothing of real import at the ship continued to cruise along. It was all time on the clock for her, though in truth she’d only taken the bridge officers exam as a laugh.

She made a point of walking around, spending a bit with each officer present to learn who they were, not the bland medical and duty records she’d already read at one point or another. It filled in the time, drove some limited conversation, but night shift was night shift after all and the only real excitement came when Captain Theodoras arrived on the bridge exactly as Mac had predicted.

“Doctor,” she said past a cup of coffee that looked large enough to wake a starbase. “You increased speed.”

“Wanted to show off for all the Raven-class captains out there,” she said with a smile, standing from the captain’s chair, keys in hand as she’d been dutiful not to misplace them.

“Huh…should have gunned it then,” Tikva said, accepting the keys and pocketing them in quick order. “But then I’d be really unhappy with how little I’ve slept.”

In quick order both officers were seated again, though Blake had opted not for the XO’s seat but the other rarely used third seat. It seemed more appropriate to her. “Trouble sleeping?”

“More like couldn’t,” the captain responded. “We were supposed to get a proper shakedown, not thrown into this.” She sounded more disappointed that they weren’t getting what the ship and crew probably really needed. “Least we get a soft task like Daloon, so the pressure is really on the senior staff, not the ship itself.”

“If you need help sleeping, pop by sickbay.” Black could see the protest forming and smiled in the face of it. “A well-rested captain is just as important as a functional starship, more so even.”

“Yes doctor,” Tikva finally responded, punctuated with another sip of her coffee.

“Captain, incoming hail from Daloon for you.” The ops officer looked apologetic but was just doing their job.

“Uh…hold this,” Tikva thrusted the cup in her direction and Blake took it as the other woman stood up, tugged her uniform tunic once, then made she was standing up as straight and tall as she could. “On screen.” A moment later the connection was made and the captain was introducing herself in a manner everyone had seen every starship captain do, with name and ship and pleasantries aplenty.

The two individuals on the screen were both romulan and Blake could immediately see the family resemblance. Father and daughter, so the magistrate and secretary if she recalled from what she’d read, or even been told in one of the many follow-up briefings. “Captain, I am Magistrate L’rilt of Daloon IV, this is Secretary L’rilt, head of government. I would…” the man stopped as if the next few words didn’t want to come forth, but he brought himself to say them anyway. “I would like to extend my personal invitation to your ship to enter our system.”

The woman behind the magistrate spoke up, and Blake noticed the slight twitch from the magistrate when she did. “We would also like to formally invite you captain, and whoever you wish to bring with you, to Government House in order to discuss in more detail the specifics of our request for Federation assistance.”

“I would be delighted to accept such an offer,” Tikva had started, “but perhaps I could offer Atlantis as a meeting ground instead?” Both romulans reacted to that, though very differently. Blake had some practice reading romulan facial expressions after all and could tell immediately the magistrate didn’t like the idea, but his daughter seemingly did. Someone was eager to see what Starfleet had to offer.

“We will of course travel with a personal guard Captain,” the woman said. “And expect our weapons to remain functional when we arrive aboard ship.” That seemed to calm her father.

“Perfectly acceptable,” Tikva answered. “We’ll make orbit shortly and be ready for you and your party in say a couple of hours.”

“Time,” Magistrate L’rilt spoke up, “is of the essence Captain.” His voice was deep and rumbling, conveying his unhappy state. “We will be ready in an hour.”

“I look forward to it Magistrate.” Tikva barely got her response out before the channel went dead.

“He seems lovely,” Blake found herself saying, then winced as Tikva turned on her, placated quickly with the cup of coffee. “I think that went well actually.”

“Good, you’re in the room then as well,” the captain said. She reached for the comm button on her chair arm and pressed it firmly. “Lieutenants Hu and Ch’tkk’va to my ready room in fifteen minutes.” Then she let the button go and turned to the fellow at ops. “Prep the diplomatic lounge for visitors. Get Rrr to find something for romulan guests.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Then the captain turned once more on her and Blake stood up in anticipation though was forced to quickly catch the keys thrown at her once more. “You have the conn, I’m going to see if Terax has a pick-me-up.”

And with that she was gone, leaving Blake once more in command.

“Guess who’s coming for breakfast.”

She could feel the personalities coming down the corridor to the diplomatic conference room and was immediately grateful to Terax for his medicinal assistance, even if it had come with a warning, much like Blake’s earlier, that a well-rested captain would be best and if she needed to sleep to come back and see him. She hadn’t meant to stay up all night, but readings had taken priority, and then her brain had refused to switch off, leaving her pondering just what she was really supposed to do here.

Negotiate some sort of civility between romulan factions on a sleepy little backwater, that’s what.

A sleepy backwater of five million who could feed numerous nearby worlds if need be. With some agricultural assistance mind you, but doable.

And whichever way they go could start a war in the region.

Yeah, I don’t think I need to cause any chaos here today.

Much appreciated Primitive. Much appreciated.

There was a mass of disgruntled annoyance, which she figured had to be the magistrate, seemingly unpleased with everything around him. Then curiosity, which she figured had to be the daughter. A couple of blobs of paranoia, likely guards and two stoic individuals whom she couldn’t get a real read on, obviously individuals with real control of their emotions. Then there was the static noise she’d come to associate with her new chief of security and a handful of cautious blobs, Ch’tkk’va’s hand-picked escorts, who were leading and trailing the romulan delegation from the transporter bay to the diplomatic conference room.

She’d not seen the point or need for such a space initially aboard Atlantis, but the Fates would have it she’d find a use for it on the first mission. Someone had, in their infinite wisdom, decided that a ship this large needed dedicated spaces, not just reuse the conference rooms already set aside for crew use. The entire diplomatic complex aboard ship wasn’t the most expansive in the fleet, but it was there and good use of space that would otherwise have just been given over to either more quarters or utility space. Two conference rooms situated with a reception lounge between them overlooked the ship’s small but well laid out arboretum, allowing for two parties to have their own space with a middle ground for talks if it ever came to it. And the balconies were a welcome find too. Windows above the arboretum also looked out aft, between the ship’s nacelles, but the angle was just off so one couldn’t see down the spine of the engineering section.

“Here they come,” she announced, allowing Doctor Pisani and Counselor Hu both to get to their feet just as their guests were shown into the starboard conference room, the window affording a view of Daloon IV and the city of Tama Flats if one knew just what to look for it on the blue-green marble world.

“Magistrate L’rilt, Secretary L’rilt, welcome to the Atlantis,” she said, stepping forward and offering a slight nod of her head as Pisani had suggested.

So the curiosity wasn’t coming from the daughter, but one of the guards. Interesting.

Guards are allowed to be curious too you know.

“Captain Theodoras, thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” the secretary said, stepping forward and offering her hand in a very human manner. She wasn’t left awkwardly holding her hand out for long, the handshake returned as it was offered. “And for agreeing to our conditions as well.”

Two of the romulan guards were exactly as she expected, wielding stubby romulan disruptor rifles. The other two however she hadn’t expected. They wore a different uniform, of an older but still functional style. Disruptors were holstered on their hips but in hand they had marched seemingly through the entire ship with polearms, whose heads gleamed with a mirror finish. Their headwear set them even further apart. They’d taken a position just inside the door, after her own security personnel had actually taken station either side of the door. Someone had clearly cracked out the ceremonial guards for their visit, to remind her no doubt she was dealing with a magistrate of the Romulan Star Empire. The Empire might be crumbling, but the Magistrate of Daloon still stood, long may they reign.

“Don’t think,” Magistrate Tanok L’rilt spoke as he stepped forward to demonstrate his height and size advantage over her and to reestablish just who was in charge between himself and his daughter, “that I don’t recognise this for what this is Captain.” He leaned forward, eyes squinting. “A power move intended to scare us. To establish that you are in some position of power over me.”

“Actually, quite the opposite.” She kept her voice cheerful and even offered a smile to the man, whose face suddenly was overrun with confusion. “It’s not meant to scare you, it’s meant to scare the other factions.” When he stepped back, an eyebrow raised in a very vulcan-like manner, she continued. “They see you coming up to meet with me, then after a while, I’ll head planetside and meet with you. Then when I start to meet with the other factions they’ll hopefully make any offers they were going to make rather quickly out of fear of being outplayed.”

“And get a better understand of what each group is truly after sooner rather then waiting for them to talk themselves up first,” Rel, the daughter, said. “It’s not a complex plan, but I can see it being effective.”

“How very…romulan of you. Establishing false facts within the minds of those you have to negotiate with,” Tanok conceded begrudgingly. “It was not my idea to invite Starfleet here, but I trust my daughter to make decisions in the best interest of our world.” He stepped past everyone to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “I will entertain this charade until such time as it proves to be a hindrance to good governance.”

Rel, who looked to be at least a few decades older than herself, stepped forward with a smile and a quiet voice. “Which is to say Captain we have our work cut out for us. I was hoping I could give you a briefing of key groups and their leadership planetside before you begin meeting with other factions.”

“Certainly. Before we start though, I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenant Gavin Hu,” a hand went to indicate him, but Hu had stepped forward himself, “my diplomatic advisor.” It wasn’t exactly true, but a counsellor would just have to do in a pinch. His read and insight of people would, after all, be helped with training and experience which is formally lacked. “And Doctor Blake Pisani. She’s had experience with romulan culture and humanitarian efforts along the border the last few years. I’m hoping her insight will prove illuminating.”

“Well, Doctor we’ll try and keep you out of work if you don’t mind. Daloon is self-sufficient for now and we’d very much like to keep it that way.” Rel looked once more to her father’s back and sighed. “Shall we begin?”

Over the proceeding hour Rel T’lint, Secretary of Daloon and mastermind of the current stalemated political situation, outlined for all present the situation upon the world below. Factions, leaders, recent events, how much political capital had been burned to convince everyone to sit down and talk, to even allow outside mediation. Capital that Rel was certain had been well spent, despite a few huffs of annoyance from her father, who had eventually relented from his solemn watch at the window and taken a seat at the far end of the table from everyone else. At least he hadn’t complained about the limited selection of snacks on a side table, or the tea selection that Blake had produced.

“Okay, so, let me just try and get this straight,” Pisani said, waving both of her hands in restrained gesticulation to accompany gathering her thoughts. “You’ve got democratic reformers, you’ve got senate traditionalists, you’ve got washed up veterans itching for a junta,” a word that they’d had to explain to Rel when it was first said, “and then you Madam Secretary proposing a monarchy to take over Daloon. Add into that that someone has already raided your world twice while we were racing here.”

“A crude but accurate summary for the most part. I’m proposing a constitutional monarchy, to give each of the more reasonable factions some of what they want, but not everything, while keeping my family’s stable hand on the levers of power.” Rel answered. “The raids we hope will stop with your ship in orbit, but perhaps some assistance in repairing and bringing online an old planetary defence network wouldn’t go amiss? It’s more suited to fending off raiders and is unfortunately quiet out of date seeing as Daloon has traditionally been deep inside Romulan territory for centuries now.”

“Perhaps Captain we could get Commander Velan to look the system over, as a sign of good faith to the political leaders, yes?” Hu asked. “It would show that we are after all interested in the defence and wellbeing of Daloon.”

“That was going to be a given,” she finally said, looking down the table at Magistrate Tanok. “I wouldn’t want to leave Daloon defenceless, even if in the end all parties politely ask us to leave.” She took a deep breath and looked at Rel. “I’ll want to meet with each faction’s key leaders before any form of joint session to mediate your internal political discussions. And a better understanding of just what is expected of me.”

“To be a moderator, as requested. The Assembly’s Speaker was considered too much of my father’s woman to be an acceptably neutral party. I’ll of course arrange for you to meet with everyone of importance planetside as well as a meeting with the Speaker to cover the basis of romulan political traditions.”

Rel’s emotional state this whole time had been difficult to get a read on, but hints of optimism had crept through on occasion as they had talked and right now she wasn’t hiding it as well as she likely hoped. Not that any of them had reason to believe she was an empath, likely more consideration had been spent on Hu in that regard.

“The best outcome,” Tanok spoke up with smouldering disdain, “would be for everything to just continue as it has for centuries.” He stood slowly after planting his hands on the table edge. “But I understand that is not possible.” Then he went silent for a moment, staring her down. “I want the best for Daloon, Captain. Do that and we won’t have any issues. Understood?”

“It is my intent Magistrate to ensure peace on your world, stability of its government and a prosperous future for it’s people if I can.”

“Honeyed words of our would-be overlords,” he countered, then stood up straight. “We’re done here. You can continue talking planetside.”

“Actually,” she said, raising a hand gently, one finger higher than the others. “I wanted to take this chance to say Magistrate the Federation has no intention of taking over your world. Your decisions, your future, will be up to your people.”

“Humpf…we shall see.” Then he started for the door. “Come daughter,” he commanded, then left, leaving Rel to apologise, then follow her father, one of the ceremonial guards having waited for her, along with a few of Ch’tkk’va’s chosen.

“That went well I think,” Hu said, reaching for the water carafe and refilling his glass. “He seems the conservative, willful sort intent on just keeping things the way they were. I gathered he wasn’t a fan of the empire, but more the stability and certainty it had provided.”

“Stodgy old bastard,” Pisani threw in, offering her own glass for a refill. “We’re naturally throwing in behind the democratic reformers, right? Power to the masses and all that.” When she didn’t respond straight away, Pisani turned on her. “Right?”

“I can’t really say,” Tikva finally answering. “Rel’s proposal is the best and worst parts of all the other demands, save the junta. Nice introduction of a new word to romulan vocabulary by the way.”

“Hey, it’s faster than constantly saying military dictatorship,” Pisani said. “These senate traditionalists sound like throwbacks that I’m surprised the Magistrate isn’t backing himself.” She snorted briefly. “Honestly, revive the old senatorial system on Daloon and rebuild a pocket Star Empire. Idiots.”

“It’s their world Doctor Pisani,” she said, getting to her feet slowly. “We’re just here to let them choose in peace and hopefully set them up to defend themselves from any predators that come their way.” A glance out the window at the world outside stopped her for a moment. “Hopefully once they settle their own differences they can then reach out to their neighbours and sort out their interstellar relations with a singular voice. Daloon has a lot to offer it’s neighbours, with just a bit of help it could be a regional center, which will be its own sort of trouble.”

“Captain,” Hu said, getting her attention with his tone of voice, which she always attributed to teachers, particularly those of children. “As a team, we can handle this. Command wouldn’t have sent us here if they didn’t think we could.”

“Command didn’t know the half of it when it comes to what’s going on here,” Pisani countered. But then she shrugged dismissively to her own statement. “But what I’ve seen of the old Atlantis crew and all the new blood, this crew is Starfleet through and through. Nothing we can’t handle, save perhaps a supernova or a surprise Borg encounter.”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Tikva said with a smile.

The office of the Speaker of the Assembly wasn’t a terribly large space but functional in all the important ways. A desk, some chairs, enough space to not feel cramped but not so big that one could hold the entire Assembly in a crunch. Wall space for plagues and framed letters, some family photos, and a flag in each corner behind the desk to remind people just whose office they were either standing or sitting in. A door to the side led out of the room, but from what Tikva had seen while being escorted here, was likely private or access to an escape route knowing Romulan politics.

She’d beamed down only an hour ago with Dr Pisani and Counselor Hu as named members of her party, but Lt Ch’tkk’va and four security officers had accompanied them. No ceremonial guard for her, but Ch’tkk’va had insisted on at least two phaser rifles.

“Our hive must project some strength to their hives, lest they fall into a delusion and decide to attack,” they reasoned with her in the transporter room.

The appearance of strength is strength itself.

No it’s not, that’s pure folly.

I dunno, seems reasonable to me.

They’d been met by Secretary T’lint and seen in full view of assembled crowds as they entered Government House. No doubt the display was arranged by the Secretary who she had to admit seemed to have her fingers on the pulse of Daloon’s media. And a skill at manipulating it.

But the meeting hadn’t been long, the Magistrate deciding he wasn’t feeling well today and not taking visitors. Which at least allowed her to speak with Rel some more. Of the two, she was far more personable and reasonable. Perhaps a factor of her youth at just over half the age of her father. She’d seen the Romulan Star Empire, the galaxy even, go through so many sweeping changes in her life whereas her father could still recall glory days of galactic stability, if not marginal peace.

Those days, if outright war could be avoided, might return, but they’d be hard-fought for and would need people with a vision on all sides.

But that meeting had mostly been for show before she’d made the effort of leaving Government House and crossing its expansive front lawns, then the street that could have served as an impromptu shuttle port or parade ground and entered into the House of the Assembly. It too was wrapped in the regalia of days old, of Romulan power manifest. Clearly, someone ordered it well maintained as a symbol.

Guards, different to those at Government House, or the slight planetary garrison that had early on declared for their home, meet them in a line just inside. She’d been told to expect them, the Assembly’s own personal guards, a gift from a previous Magistrate to make the Assembly feel important, but never allowed to expand to become a true threat.

There she’d been allowed to keep exactly one of her own, the other barred from entry until the Speaker allowed it. And  so from there she’d finally been escorted with Lt Ch’tkk’va through the building to the Speaker’s office and asked to wait till she arrived.

And wait she did and waited some more. She’d taken a seat, Ch’tkk’va took a stance by a wall she recognised as their ‘at ease’ stance. They’d discussed the Hazard Team, in vague details at best, then a few operational matters again in terms that wouldn’t hint at anything important. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before a slight, short and hunched Romulan woman barged into the room with enough speed and vigour that she got a response from Ch’tkk’va nearly straight away.

“Bah! Don’t get up,” the woman said as she spared a quick glance at Ch’tkk’va and made her way around the desk, working her way into her chair. “I know who you are and why you’re here.” The woman’s tone was rushed, her voice scratchy and surprisingly husky. She was easily, from an initial impression, the same age group, or even older, than the Magistrate. But she was small and her posture made her look even smaller. Her attitude however gave the impression of a very dangerous grandma. No one was too young, tall or fit for her to give an earful to, or smack around the head for being an idiot.

I kinda like her.

She’s not going to take any shit from anyone.

That does include us.

It all tasted of sweet wine with a hint of spice to it. Again, flavour and emotions were something she’d have to blame her family for. She’d never really sat down and discussed things like that with another betazoid, or half-betazoid even. Something to add to the list.

“That saves some introductions Madam Speaker, but alas, I’ve only been given your title,” she said after a short moment. “Or would you prefer I only use your title?”

The woman glared at her for a moment, judging her, then faintly smiled. “Starfleet officers never change, always with politeness.” She huffed, then grabbed her desk and pulled on it, her chair rolling closer to the desk. She looked even smaller now, but it was balanced by the intensity in her eyes. “Call me Pam.”

“Pam?” she asked instinctively upon hearing such a human name.

“It’s easier than Pamisa,” the woman countered. “And you,” she turned on Ch’tkk’va, “take a seat, you’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t sit,” the Xindi replied slowly, clearly choosing precise words for the universal translator not to make a faux pas in this instance.

“Insects!” Pam cried out. “Don’t know why you have one. Didn’t they try to kill your species once? Shindi? Lindi?”

“Xindi and only once,” Tikva answered. “But then we started talking and now they’re part of the Federation. Valued even for their unique insight and culture.”

“There is value,” Ch’tkk’va spoke, again slowly, “in preserving one’s hive while working in concert with other hives. We discovered, in the end, our two hives had more to offer each other working together.” They didn’t correct the word hive with community, which Tikva suspected was on purpose, to highlight the cultural differences.

“Huh. Interesting.” Pam stared at Ch’tkk’va a moment more, then seemingly dismissed them from her mind. “You’ll be taking my seat during the debates. It’s my job to make sure you know what you’re doing.” She glared, like a grandmother trying to scry the truth about their grandchildren. “Protocols, rules, how to moderate a debate.”

“Parliamentary rules and procedures, yes.” She’d been reading them, or at least what she’d been provided. “The documentation I have is…obtuse. I suspect even a Sheliak would have difficulty with it.”

“What’s a Sheliak?” Pam asked.

“Distil the essence of a lawyer repeatedly, over and over again. Then when you have nothing but legalese left over, you have the barest fraction of what a Sheliak is.” She shrugged as Pam raised an eyebrow at that. “It took nearly four hundred of the Federation’s best legal minds to negotiate a treaty with them a century ago.”

“Huh, well in any case I want my documentation to be obtuse, else those fools would have replaced me years ago.” And there was a cheeky grin to that. “You don’t stay Speaker for forty years without a few tricks to keep your job. And that fat idiot Tanok won’t veto me either because he needs me, just as you need me now.”

“Well Pam, I came to ask for your guidance and assistance then. I’m hoping to engage with some of the leaders later today for first meetings and hopefully start debates in two days time. Would that be enough time?”

The woman mulled it over for a bit, and then pushed her chair back. “You’ll need robes. You aren’t entering my chamber unless properly dressed.” A draw was opened and a padd pulled out, the first bit of technology Tikva had seen in the room. A few keystrokes from fingers curled with age and then the padd was set back into the drawer. “My tailor will be here shortly. He’ll sort you out.”

“That’s generous.”

“It’s a nicety because you aren’t going anywhere for the rest of the day.” That had sounded vaguely threatening and even Ch’tkk’va had picked up on it. But Pam just smirked at her. “The best way to learn the rules of my Assembly,” the possessive ‘my’ was very heavy, “is to learn them from the master.”

“Then shall we get started?” she asked.

“How about some tea first? And I let your people in as well hmm?” She pushed a button out of sight and the door to the preceding office opened, her secretary, a Romulan man of middling age, stepped in. “Tell Captain Gorvin to let the Federation visitors in and see them to a meeting room. Then have snacks and drinks delivered to them.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a bow. “Would you like anything as well?”

“Tea, three cups,” she looked to Ch’tkk’va, who didn’t decline. “Three cups.”

“Very well ma’am, right away.” And he was soon out of sight, the door closing behind him.

“Now Captain Theodoras,” Pam said as she leaned forward as far as she could, “tell me about yourself.”

“Here you go sir,” the young junior grade lieutenant said as he handed Mac a padd for his review.

Technically Lieutenant Junior Grade Stirling Fightmaster, and yes he had gone and checked the man’s name three times to make sure it wasn’t some elaborate joke, was Tikva’s yeoman, a role neither he nor her had ever had the circumstances to ever be in proximity to before getting underway this mission. But going from a ship of two hundred to just over four times that meant a hefty increase in paperwork and organisation.

Which was why while the cat’s away, the head mouse was happy the assistant had stayed behind. It meant he had someone who could at least filter incoming reports, or a subset of them at least, and get the important ones in front of him. That way he could focus on some of the more important minutiae of command and not be bogged down with filtering all of the reports immediately.

“Thanks Lieutenant,” he said in receipt, enjoying the peace and quiet of the ready room, only interrupted by Stirling’s entry and delivery of the padd. “What is it?” He hadn’t looked up from the computer screen, or even set the padd down to be fair, his multitasking not doing so well at the moment.

“Fleet notice. Just arrived. Lieutenant Michaels forwarded it through but I thought I should bring it to your immediate attention.”

All of that broke Mac’s attention away from the screen, his gaze going to Stirling, who was standing opposite him, at rest. He was not built to handle the mantle of power that was Stirling Fightmaster. If either he or Tikva had been shown a two metre tall blonde-haired slab of muscle who had to turn sideways to go through doors, ate all of his dinner including the plate and bench pressed shuttles neither would have checked his name was real. Instead what they had was someone barely a metre eighty, scrawny as heck and mousy brown hair but who had distinguished themselves already for having an intensely sharp mind.

He’d never make it as a starship captain, not without gaining a personality beyond ‘intensely focused young officer’, in Mac’s own opinion, but no doubt he’d get stolen for an analyst position somewhere one day, then an admiral’s staff and off his career would go. For now though he was Atlantis’ to enjoy and he knew Tikva was thankful for his efforts already.

“Anything going to scare me?”

“Updates from across the task forces here in the Velorum Sector and a generalised reminder from Fleet Intelligence about the possibility of increased pirate activities.”

Mac blinked, then glanced at the padd briefly, then set it down. “Anything that should be immediately top of my mind about these pirate notices?”

“Increased incidents of run-ins with Romulan officers of the Star Navy. Harassment campaigns seem to be the order of the day but most seem to break off after moderate resistance. I suspect either under orders to preserve strength or the Star Navy is merely scouting in force.” Stirling took in a breath, then continued. “Refreshments sir?”

“What?” He had been halfway back to his readings when the question pulled his attention back to the lieutenant. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Tell me Lieutenant, what do you know of hundred year old Romulan planetary defence systems?”

“Very little sir I’m afraid to say.” His answer couldn’t have betrayed him as British or British-descendant any more than it just did. “I can begin a search through the computer as well as make a request to Memory Alpha if you want sir. We could be awaiting some time for a response however.”

“That’s quite alright Fightmaster,” he answered, stopping himself from chuckling at the name. The kid just wasn’t a ‘Fightmaster’ and to use his name was ridiculous. “Send a message to both Rrr and Ra for me though, tell them I want to meet them in the Captain’s Mess for their breakfast as I’ve got a job for them. They should both be up in a few hours hopefully.”

“Yes sir. Will that be all?”

“Hmm…did you get the captain’s message about preparing an overnight bag for her?”

“Already sent planetside. Commander Gantzmann took it down personally sir.”

He couldn’t help the singular chuckle at that and smiled. “Ch’tkk’va and Gantzmann both off the ship eh? Very well then Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.”

“This,” Velan said a few hours later out over breakfast, “is worse than we thought.” The Captain’s Mess wasn’t busy at all, in fact it rarely was seeing as it was the senior officer’s lounge. Which meant it was ideal for a planning session over breakfast as either no one would be present or those that did make appearances could be trusted to actively not overhear anything.

“Isn’t it just?” Mac shot back. “This isn’t last generation weapons,” he shuffled about for the right padd and brought it to the top of the pile, “but at least three or four generations. I’m honestly surprised it hadn’t been decommissioned instead of mothballed.”

“Likely a symbol issue,” Rrr rumbled. “The people felt protected because the system was there. It didn’t need to be functional or have a realistic chance as long as the symbol of it was there.”

“Case in point would be Betazed during the Dominion War,” Velan added. “Antiquated systems make people feel comfortable at least. Up until they fail that is.” Velan’s breakfast had been attacked in pieces as he went from scans, schematics, work outlines and projections. It was finally set aside now and he’d been able to devote his whole attention to the plan. “We can’t build these people a new defence system, that’s just not possible with what we’ve got. But we can reactivate the orbital platforms, give them as much of a tune up as we possibly can. Overhauling the control centre planetside is the easiest task actually. Really just giving everything an overhaul and making sure all the comms and control gear works.”

“My people can handle that,” Rrr volunteered. “If we hit any major issues we can always ask for help.”

“Appreciated Rrr,” Velan responded. “This shouldn’t tax Engineering much either. A handful of orbital platforms shouldn’t take too long. I’m more worried about the captain’s intent to update these platforms as best we can. There’s only going to be so much we can do tweaking wise, or replicating new parts, to give these old disruptors some bite. But we’ll give it a go.”

“Excellent, now I was thinking we could,” Mac started, but was cut off by a blaring klaxon, the lights in the Captain’s Mess rising to full brightness, save for a few that went dark red.

“Red alert, all hands to battlestations,” shouted Gabrielle Camargo over the shipwide. “Commander MacIntyre to the bridge.” By the time she’d said ‘commander’ all three of them had left already, bounding for the closest lift.

“Report!” he barked, stepping out onto the bridge where he found Gabrielle standing in the middle, giving a decent impression of a battle-ready leader and on the main viewscreen a relic of bygone error was waiting for him. A D’deridex-class warbird hung there, a peaked bow pointed straight at Atlantis, looking as menacing as possible for a ship that presented a legitimate threat a generation ago.

“She decloaked just outside of weapons range, sir. No response to hails but all her weapons are active and she’s run scans of us.. Flying Star Navy ID codes,” Gabrielle said, brief and to the point. With an exchange of the keys, she went straight for her station. Where was this Gabrielle most of the time? He had half a mind to let her keep the conn.

“Get me a channel,” he ordered. “This is Commander MacIntyre of the USS Atlantis to the Imperial warbird off my stern. Identify yourself immediately.” He’d tried his best to keep an implied threat out of his tone of voice, but he knew he’d failed. Least he hadn’t put it to words just yet.

Finally the image flickered and showed a warbird’s bridge, all the officers pristine in their uniforms, their posture – their uniformity. Save for one that seemed to be lounging in his command chair like he had little to no care. “This is Commander Koteb of the warbird Implacable,” the man drawled out. “You seem to be lost Starfleet. This is Romulan territory and you are in violation of the Treaty of Algeron. Surrender your ship and crew and I’ll speak on your behalf to prevent my superiors from declaring war on the Federation.”

Mac stood there, shocked, just blinking for a few moments before looking around the bridge at his senior officers before turning back to the viewscreen. “You’re serious?” he asked.

“I know humans are a remarkably clever inferior species. You surely must have understood what I said, Commander. This is your last warning.”

He’d always thought the idea of conceited Star Navy officers so far divorced from reality that insulting everyone they met was a fiction of bad holonovels, but here he was talking with one. This man was nothing like any romulan he’d met. A proud people, even somewhat arrogant, but this man was something different. He was either truly deluded or playing a part and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

He shook his head slowly a couple of times. “Daloon has declared independence from the Star Empire, or what’s left of it, and requested Federation protection and assistance while deciding their own fate. I’d have thought the Star Navy to have bigger concerns, like the rest of the Velorum Sector hmm?”

“All of the Star Empire will heel to the authority of Rator,” the man hissed, going from relaxed to angry in a snap as he flung himself forward in his chair, hands gripping the arms intensely. “Especially this wretched little world. Is a pathetic ball of farmers really worth dying for Starfleet?”

“Target the Implacable,” Mac said idly, a confirmation from his own and the romulan’s tactical officer coming almost at the same time. “I’m not afraid of you Commander, or your ship, or your Star Empire. So how about this for an alternative – leave the Daloon system immediately.”

“You wouldn’t dare fire on my ship.”

“You can test that assertion at your own leisure,” he said smiling. “You have ten seconds before I get proactive with my orders to defend this world.”

“We will return and you will pay for this insult.” With that the channel went dead, the warbird veering away on the viewscreen before departing at warp speed.

“Bring some friends and make this a fair fight,” Mac said to the now empty viewscreen. With a single clap of his hands he turned to the rest of the bridge. “That went well I think.”

“That ship was old,” Gabrielle said from her station, pouring over scans she’d taken. “Like really old.”

“It’s a D’deridex, of course it’s old,” Rrr offered. “Someone must be reaching into mothball fleets at this point.”

“Still a decent ship,” the young man at tactical, one of the new blood, offered. “And built to take a beating.”

“Well if they’re bringing old ships out of mothballs and throwing them around, then guess we best be prepared for this Koteb to return, and with friends. Velan, Rrr, think that’s motivation enough to get started on refurbishing the defence platforms?”

The meeting room that had been set aside for their use within the People’s Assembly had a rather impressive view across a decent portion of the city and to the farmlands and then mountains beyond. Tama Flats was far too close to the equator for snow to be on those mountains and so their flanks were covered in trees until biology couldn’t cope. The room had been specifically chosen not for the view, but for the fact it was on the opposite side of the building from Government House, meaning the Magistrate should hopefully not be on everyone’s mind.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Words the Tal Shiar likely lived by.

Let’s not go there shall we?

“Mr Marik Kavos is our first meeting. Representative for the Grelk district, leader of a faction predisposed to capitulating in full to the leadership of Rator,” Hu said as he brought a cup of coffee over to her and sat it down on the small table by the window. “He’s apparently keeping his people civil for now, but I suspect it’s more because the planetary garrison is loyal to the Magistrate and better equipped than any popular uprising might be.”

She nodded thanks to him and took an experimental sip of the coffee. It wasn’t actual coffee, but something that Pam had produced and said was coffee. It was less bitter, slightly citrus in flavour and had been served with a helping of sugar bordering on sickly but was palatable. “She said this was grown here on Daloon?”

“Cultivated was her exact word. I suspect coffee beans adapted to Daloon’s biosphere, though where they got the original cultivar would be interesting.” Hu set his own cup down and picked up a padd on the table. “Representative Kavos, though he prefers Major Kavos, is the self-appointed leader of the Citizen’s Guard. Formed by retired military personnel who settled on Kavos and organised to answer calls for reinforcements from the garrison should they be needed to resist foreign invasion or civil uprisings.”

“I’m guessing their declarations of intent are a bit more nuanced than Secretary L’rilt’s description of ‘install a military government and await orders’?” she asked.

“Transitional military government until directions on regime change are communicated from Rator is a polite summary.” Hu tapped at his padd a few more times. “Kavos has positioned himself as a calm and moderating leader of the Guard, who has already removed three members calling for immediate action, citing the will of the people hasn’t called for force of arms just yet.”

“I’ve read as much as I can, so have you, what’s your impression?”

“Honestly ma’am, I don’t like him.” The padd was set down, the coffee reclaimed. “He’s an Uhlan who was drummed out after two tours for his inability to be prompted. He comes across in interviews as someone who thinks himself eminently qualified to speak on any subject of governance and his dossier that Commander Frent provided to us says he’s got issues with authority.”

“How’d he get elected to the Assembly, let alone form enough of a political bloc to be worth even meeting with them?” she asked.

“The Grelk district has a high veteran population as do the surrounding districts. He’s charismatic enough to get elected it would seem. Then he organised like-minded people within the Assembly. Combine that with his Citizen’s Guard and he becomes a concern meriting a response. I suspect a few decades back people like him on Daloon might have just been quietly dealt with?”

“Grim through Gavin,” she said, then smiled with a nod of her head. “I mean, not wrong, but grim.”

The main door into the expanse room opened and one of the Assembly’s guards stepped in. “Captain Theodoras, Representative Kavos has just arrived and will be here shortly.”

“Thank you Uhlan Dek,” she said, getting a slightly shocked look from the man that she even bothered to learn his name. Romulan emotions would take a bit more experience to sample and label, but she was pretty sure it was confusion and respect he felt as he stepped back out and closed the door.

Only a few short minutes later the door was opened once more, Uhlan Dek stepping through to announce Representative Kavos and his entourage. Tikva had been expecting at least a couple of people, not the full party that he had brought in with him. He knew the room or thought he did, knew the table that was supposed to be here and how many it could seat, how many people that Tikva had said she was bringing to the meeting and then brought enough of his own to take up every single other seat.

Which must have been a bit of a shock when he walked into the room to find the long conference table removed and instead a smaller table by one of the windows and just six chairs, three on either side, with no others anywhere else in the room. The table wasn’t even a proper meeting table, but one whose Romulan name escaped her but she’d labelled a coffee table. Perfect for polite, relaxed, informal discussions over drinks and nibbles. 

Both her and Gavin had been standing in the middle of the room waiting and she couldn’t help but smile when the man’s confident demeanour took a blow when what he was expecting was completely absent. And then that wave of confusion washed backwards over all of his people as they stepped into the room. Upsetting expectations was something she’d discussed with Gavin and Blake last night and the Assembly staff had been happy to help with her redecorating requests.

“Representative Kavos, I’m Captain Theodoras, a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a smile and a step towards the man, offering a hand out for a handshake.

“Major Kavos,” he corrected, looked at her hand like it was something he wouldn’t even step on, and then walked past her towards the table. “I’m only here Captain,” he said with a particularly unhappy tone as he said her rank, “to make certain that you understand my people’s position and give you fair warning.”

“Oh?” she asked, then turned to follow, shrugging to Gavin with a quizzical look. “Seat?” she asked, indicating a chair as took one, Gavin sitting to her left and placing the empty chair on their side of the table by the window.

With a huff, Kavos took the opposite chair, two of his people on either side. All of them wore what could ostensibly be a uniform, but wasn’t as ornamentation as a Star Navy uniform would have been. Kavos’ of course had more than anyone else’s. With no chairs, his people opted for standing behind him in ranks and Tikva had to give them credit for being a physically imposing force at least.

He’s playing a psychological game.

Little man needed to feel big, so brought all his friends. And all for little ol’ me.

Scratch one for the dislike column!

“So, Representative,” she started.

“Major,” he interrupted. “Major Marik Kavos of the Citizen’s Guard.”

“Representative Marik Kavos,” she continued, keeping her force firm as she got out his political title and name. “This is after all a meeting between myself as moderator of discussions and a leader of a respectable political faction, yes?”

His response was a huff of acknowledgement, but his emotions hadn’t really changed, the taste of them being sour and harsh. She could tell he wasn’t happy but that was it. Her mother or any full Betazed might have gleaned more, but she had enough to work with.

“Representative Kavos, I’ve had some briefings about your position and your people, but I’m fully aware they’d have been contaminated with a hefty element of bias. I was hoping I could discuss with you in a more informal setting to try and gleam your position. I’d like as much of a balanced perspective before discussions start after all.”

“Then I shall be clear and to the point,” he started, his voice a touch louder than it really needed to be, like someone used to talking to a room without a microphone. “Daloon is a planet of the Star Empire and I shall lead it back there. I want the people to see that it’s only logical for us to heed the call of Rator to do away with old institutions and prepare for a new and glorious era of Star Empire history.”

“And you’d do that how?” she asked.

“With the consent of the citizenry of Daloon we’d remove the Assembly and Magistrate from power, install a military governance here and await further instruction from Rator.” The way he said it made it sound so simple. Wait for everyone to hand him power and then all would be good.

“With yourself as military governor of course,” she added.

“I am the logical choice,” he responded, sitting straighter in his chair, chin slightly elevated.

“A discharged Uhlan of the Star Navy, never promoted, is a more logical choice as military commander of an entire world than say Commander Frent of the planetary garrison?” Gavin asked before she could herself. He at least had kept any snark from his words that she knew she was about to lay on thick.

“No insult to Frent,” Kavos started, letting any insult just wash away, likely because of Gavin’s calm, non-snarky tone, “but she’s never served in the Star Navy. My experience in the premier forces of the Star Empire makes me far more qualified than she is.”

“I see,” Gavin responded.

“I would suggest,” Kavos turned on Tikva, “that you quickly find in favour of my,” he stopped for a moment, “our faction,” he corrected, ”in order to allow Daloon to peacefully reintegrate with the Empire. I would be willing to allow your ship to take any who wish to leave aboard before your departure.”

“How kind of you,” she said with a smirk. “And if I find in favour of one of the other factions? Or a compromise between multiple factions that a majority of the Assembly can agree upon? Would you accept their decision gracefully?”

“I would be willing to entertain it on a few conditions.” He waited and Tikva’s nod to continue was understood. “That no foreign occupation force ever set foot on Daloon. We will not accept becoming slaves of the Federation.”

“We have no intention of occupying your world,” Gavin said.

“You say that now,” the woman to Kavos’ right said. “Then it’s a handful of guards for important buildings, then a few more and next you know the Federation has occupied another planet in their never-ending conquests. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Where would that be?” Gavin asked.

“Every world along the Romulan border,” she spat back. But before she could go further, Kavos stopped her with an outstretched arm.

“We will also not accept the Federation supplying weapons to any group on Daloon without an equal number supplied to the Citizen’s Guard. Balance must be maintained. Finally, the Magistrate must stand down. His time is over.”

She blinked, then looked to Gavin, who just gave her a slight shrug. “Those all seem reasonable.”

“I also demand to have inspectors review all work being done on the planetary defence control centre here in Tama Flats,” he added. “We must make sure that you aren’t installing some sort of remote control systems and that once you reactivate the systems only the people of Daloon control them.”

He smiled at her, like the idea that he knew about the work was some big secret he was revealing to her, but she wasn’t surprised honestly. She’d woken this morning to Mac’s briefing about Velan and Rrr’s plan and even had a quick catch-up in person with Maxwell when he beamed down with some engineers to start the work. They weren’t being secretive about it, but they weren’t shouting it from the rooftops either.

“I’ll have to put that one past Commander Frent, but I’m sure we can arrange a couple of observers from your political bloc.”

“They’ll come from the Guard,” he announced.

“Again, I’ll have to put it to Commander Frent,” she reiterated. She let that statement settle, let there be a bit of a pause before continuing. “Now, I think we have a decent starting point, how about you tell me what your vision for Daloon is?” she asked.

It was an hour later before Kavos and his goon squad marched out of the room, him at the lead, then his left and right hand, then the rest in two lines. She had no doubt they drilled that over and over until Kavos was satisfied.

The door had closed and she and Gavin both let out an exhalation of utter exhaustion. “No, just no,” Gavin said. “I am so glad Blake got distracted and went to visit the local hospital, she’d have started a fight.”

“I feel dumber for talking with that man,” she said herself, reaching to pour a cup of coffee for herself and then Gavin. “I think we need to talk with Frent about how big a threat his Citizen’s Guard actually is. And get Ch’tkk’va in the room as well.”

“Think there could be trouble?”

“I could feel it, he knows, just knows, that everyone will see it his way and make his leader. And if not he’s likely to do something stupid. Frent might think she’s got the upper hand, but we’ve seen militias get out of control too many times.” She couldn’t help but rub her left arm in remembrance of events not too long ago.

“Professional opinion?” he asked.

“Oh go on,” she said with a smile. “I’m an egotistical, self-destructive maniac with saviour and Napoleon complexes who has trouble taking things seriously.”

He snorted. “That captain is a mental health insight that we’re going to unpack later,” he said with a salute of his cup. “He thinks he’s a great leader, likely with a delusion he never got prompted thanks to the ineptitude of those above him. All he needs is a chance to prove how great he really is and if such a chance is ripped away from him instead of gracefully given to him, he’ll do something rash and try to take it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” she said. “So, lunch, then our next meeting?”

“Senate traditionalist in the Assembly Hall right?”

“Indeed it is,” she said with a smile. “Keep people guessing after all.”

“Major, the Commander is hailing us.” 

Marik raised a hand to let the young man know he’d heard him. The Citizen’s Guard building was, at three stories, the tallest in the township of Grelk, though calling Grelk a township was a stretch that even he could acknowledge. It was more of an outlying suburb of Tama Flats, which is where his attention was right now. His office wasn’t as expansive or luxurious as those fools in office in the city, but it served him well enough.

There were no chairs for visitors unless he had them brought in. The walls were bare of anything save for military trophies from his career in the Navy, stunted as it was by their incompetence at recognising greatness. His own desk and chair were functional, not soft excesses of power that the weak assumed meant status. His only concession to colour and decoration was a single rug bearing the seal of the Star Empire on it that dominated the space in front of his desk – to remind those who came to see him who they should be loyal to.

After a moment he turned from the window and returned to his desk, a tap of a button darkening the windows to the outside world instantly, another bringing the monitor on his desk to life, bringing the visage of Commander Koteb into his office from his distant starship and office by the looks of the decor. “Commander Koteb. I had hoped we would be having this conversation in person by now,” he said, fully aware of the touch of annoyance in his voice.

“Careful Uhlan,” Koteb spoke, “least I am forced to remind you who you speak to.”

His own eyes squinted at the man at the use of his official rank before he relaxed. “I meant no disrespect, just that I was under the impression Commander that you were to have arrived by now and forced Starfleet to quit the system, leaving us to bring about the new order as arranged here on Daloon.”

“There has been a complication,” Koteb said with an idle roll of his hand. “Galae Command has suffered setbacks on the military intelligence front and our assumptions about assets that would be deployed to Daloon have been proven to be…less than ideal.”

Marik kept the impassive expression on his face as he studied this man before him who seemed utterly unphased about military intelligence not knowing at least what forces would be arrayed against them. “I can confirm the captain they sent reports she is in command of the starship Atlantis. All records indicate it is a light cruiser yes? You expect me to believe your warbird was unable to overcome a Starfleet light cruiser?”

Koteb rolled his eyes, looking up at his ceiling momentarily. “Apparently Intelligence couldn’t even get that right. Atlantis is in fact a Starfleet Sovereign-class battlecruiser. Either military intelligence is dangerously incompetent or Starfleet’s counter-intelligence forces managed deceive us rather convincingly.” A hand idly tapped at a screen, Koteb’s attention there for a moment. “Likely the latter as the ship was recently deployed to the Delta Quadrant, making verification of facts difficult.”

Marik however was more inclined to believe the former. The best military intelligence was found by engaging the enemy, not trusting sneaks and spies to deliver the enemy’s secrets to you. A good recon in force would tell you much more than years of some idiot sitting in a port watching ships come and go.

“You are gathering more ships than to oust Starfleet from the system?” he asked.

“I am awaiting reinforcements. Another D’deridex and a Valdore should be joining me within the next three days. We will then undertake a day of drills before making our way to Daloon to relieve Starfleet of one of their premier vessels and secure Daloon for the Star Empire once more.” Koteb’s smile was predatory, like a man waiting for a fight he knew he’d win.

He couldn’t help but smile as well, though perhaps not as enthusiastically as Koteb. It would be nice to be done with the civilian government, to take over as garrison commander of Daloon once Koteb established himself as military governor. Then he could finally bring about some proper order and greatness. “That may even be fortuitous timing Commander.”

“Oh?” Koteb sat forward slightly.

“Starfleet are, as a sign of good faith to the people of Daloon, making repairs and modifications to the planetary defence system. My demands for inspections have been granted and I can confirm that so far no remote control systems have been in place.” Of course, those inspectors had to abide by so many rules to do their jobs and from the reports he’d read and even listened to stated the arrogance of Starfleet officers knew no bounds as they treated his people like idiots, refusing to answer even the simplest of questions in a sensible manner.

“How does this help me? I don’t relish the idea of fighting a Starfleet battlecruiser with a planetary defence grid at its back.”

“You won’t.” Now it was he who was smiling. “I have people within the garrison and I’ve slipped a few loyalists into the repair crews working alongside Starfleet. We can be in a position to seize control of the control center when the time is right and bring the system to your side when you arrive.”

That seemed to get Koteb’s attention, the man leaning back with a wicked grin, then actually letting out a laugh. “Oh, now that is magnificent! They’ll have no choice but to surrender or die!” He laughed again. “They’ll have no choice! Either way, a prize to bring back to Rator!”

Marik shook his head as Koteb was already celebrating his victory. It wasn’t done yet but was near enough. His people were inside the building, they had weapons enough to take the facility, and there was no Starfleet security to stop them – it was as good as complete. Koteb’s three ship’s would be the hammer upon the anvil he would steal from Frent. He couldn’t help it – he let out a single chuckle, then clamped down on it.

“I need at least an hour’s notice before you arrive to ensure my people are in place,” he said, bringing Koteb back to reality.

“Yes yes, an hour. The signal to strike will be my ship’s decloaking. Surely your retirees and veterans can work with that, yes?”

“We shall.”

“Good. Then I shall call you once more in four days, Major Kavos,” Koteb emphasised his rank this time, giving him the respect he deserved. With a nod of the head from both of them, the channel closed.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he’d be able to convince Kavos to be a hands-off military governor and let him run things. Of course, once a proper order had been installed, he could arrange for the idiotic moron to suffer an accident. Galae Command would be foolish to not make him the local ruler in that instance, yes?

———-

“How’s it looking?” came Maxwell’s voice over the speakers in Velan’s helmet as the shuttlecraft neared the orbital platform.

“Not too bad actually,” he replied, then looked up from the access panel to spot the shuttle as it slowed down, just making out Maxwell at the controls. He’d been here for about four hours with two other engineers working on this one while Maxwell had been flitting between the rest, acting as a mobile troubleshooter and when needed bringing a shuttle’s sensors and power supply to bear.

“Well I’ll be,” Maxwell replied and he could make out the man smiling from here. “You called it with the control centre being totally doable by Rrr’s folks, now you’ve called it with these platforms. Any guesses on the Ferenginar Lottery?”

“Yah, the Nagus always wins. But we’ve still got a long way to go with some of these platforms actually.” He looked over to the two still working and waved a flashlight in their direction to get their direction. “Finish up and then back to our shuttle. We’ll head back to the ship and get those relays refurbished.” They both took the hint and went back to work with renewed speed – the quicker they made everything safe to leave for a while, the quicker they could be out of the EV suits.

“I’m heading back as well. Jamieson just arrived in the field with the Corfu so everyone’s still got support.” Maxwell offered a wave, then closed the comms and flew off, his shuttle quickly becoming a small spec of light as it headed for a very bright light very far off in the distance. As big as Atlantis was distances in space were bigger still.

“Hey Chief,” one of the newbies said as they both approached with toolkits in hand. “We’re done here.”

“Right then, all board,” he said pointing to the Kea, sitting a few meters away with its single door open and waiting for them.

“Another question Chief, how much longer do you think this is going to take?”

“Oh, three, four days at most,” he guessed. “Of course, I’m going to tell the captain we’ll need at least two weeks.” The knowing chuckles he got told him these two would fit right in with his engineering department.

———-

Ritihe Faler was a man whose fortunes had undergone some radical reformations in the last few weeks. He’d been an ostracised member of society, for the most part, not many people wanted to speak with him because of his political views. He abhorred the dogged determination of the Old Guard to hang on to the failing institutions or the complacency of the populace who let them claim they just wanted normality and safety to return. He championed reforms to the government and radical changes in how things Romulans traditionally governed themselves.

Decades ago he’d have been shot a dozen times over or made an example of by those in power. But he was lucky to live on Daloon. While he wanted nothing more than to see the Magistrate stripped of power and removed from office, the actual man himself he held no ill will too, for his own continued existence he recognised was because of him. He had always fought to govern his world, to manage Daloon’s affairs.

Yes, Ritihe had been visited by the Tal Shiar in his youth, or by other secretive factions seeking to silence him, but none of them ever acted because of the Magistrate’s position. This is why he advocated for a bloodless coup – to give the man as fair a deal as he’d inadvertently given him. But the rules and institutions had to go!

And so someone had done so on Rator and suddenly folks on Daloon started talking about the planet going its own way, forming its own path. Suddenly people wanted to listen to him and his ideas and concepts of a government of and for and by the people. Ideas that seemed so radical here on Daloon but which he knew and heard weren’t just a mere handful of lightyears away in the Republic. He could have fled, moved there and lived those ideals, but that would mean surrendering his fellow Daloonites to archaic institutions.

He wasn’t one of the people in the Assembly soon to deliberate with a Federation representative moderating, but he was now highly influential to them, sought after for his views and ideas. Apparently, people had been listening to him, just afraid to speak up unlike him. But with the threat of the Senate and a coherent reply gone, with the entire Velorum Sector up in revolution distracting from quiet little Daloon, people were speaking their minds.

And so he’d gone from outcast to movement leader, or at least ideological font. He’d entertained multiple representatives at a time in his home, deliberating with them, discussing ways of government with them, just as he had done tonight, the last of them having just departed and leaving an exhausted Ritihe and one other alone in his house.

“I would say,” the other figure said, stepping out of the darkened doorway that led deeper into the house, “that went well tonight.”

“I really think Representative Cretel is starting to get the idea, Del,” he said, turning to his husband with an exhausted smile on his face. “See how she had that moment of revelation when we discussed the concept of an independent judiciary and public order force?”

“I was pouring her a cup of tea at the time Rith, I kinda noticed.” Del stepped forward and gave Ritihe a hug, holding him tight for a moment, then letting him go. “Should we clean up before bed or do it all in the morning?”

He sighed, rolling his head back in exhaustion before drawing in a breath and the energy he’d need. “Do it now, then it’s done.”

“Sensible man,” Del replied, then kissed him on the cheek before moving past and into the lounge to start cleaning, which he joined in on.

It didn’t take long to sort everything out. Dishes went into the cleaner, food into a composter, cushions were fluffed back into shape and reset, furniture put back where it should be from the large circle they’d made for the gathering. They’d just about finished when he saw the glint of the padd between some cushions.

“Huh, didn’t think anyone brought a padd with them tonight,” Del said as he caught him pulling the padd out.

“Neither,” he replied. Turning it over to check the screen, hoping for a clue as to who to call to let them know he had their missing padd, he froze. The screen was active, green text bold against a black background.

Your death serves a greater cause than your life would comrade.

He had just enough time to look to Del, but not enough time to speak, before the lounge of their modest little house was consumed in fire and fury.

“Move!” Blake stated at the junior doctor, rather firmer than she’d normally have, but right now wasn’t the time for niceties. She’d been down on Daloon, rushing headlong towards the sounds of sirens following an explosion on the outskirts of Tama Flats, when she’d suddenly been called back to Atlantis by Terax.

Site to site, straight from running down the street to the ship’s primary sickbay – Terax’s sickbay. Oh sure, the entire medical department was his, the entire medical complex was in one place, save for a smaller facility in the engineering hull, but he and she had settled on an uneasy truce of keeping their distance. It wasn’t a professional disagreement, but a personality one.

All of that was put aside right now however as a crisis presented itself and took priority. She’d not had time to scrub up properly, merely made sure her hands were splayed out as she pushed through the bio-field around the surgical bay, letting the field do its work of cleansing her hands before shoving them into waiting surgical gloves. She wasn’t really present through the transport, clearing across sickbay or gloving up, but came to opposite Terax as they worked on the mangled body before them. The lack of perception from being on automatic, preparing oneself for this sight was just a coping tool she’d been told, her mind too busy preparing to commit actions to memory that weren’t important.

“What happened?” she asked, taking in the man before her.

“Bomb in a residential home. We scanned for and beamed everyone out immediately,” Terax answered, his left hand waving over to the other surgical bay. “Wilcox and T’Lanith have the other.” His other hands were working to stem bleeding from a chest wound, green blood rapidly making work difficult.

She didn’t need any further information, assessing injuries. Terax had his situation, but this man had other injuries, just as life-threatening and she was a doctor after all. A frontier doctor, which meant every discipline was technically something she could do.

A quick assessment, then a few orders barked to a nurse, another barked to the junior surgeon she’d pushed aside earlier to come and assist her, this man rapidly gaining the attention of numerous doctors and nurses all in an effort to save him.

No one, save for T’Lanith, was a telepath in the room, but doctors, like engineers in a crisis, had a shared mentality. It came from training, experience, and working with your colleagues. You learned to anticipate their actions, and telegraph your own so they could do the same. That was the intent at least, the hope, so as to make an effective medical team.

Luckily for this man that rung true. The same for the other it would turn out. Hours had passed, desperate moments spaced with methodical ones as they triaged damage to keep their patient alive, then went back over their work to make good what they could, fix their adhoc repairs properly, race desperately to save their patient when fate decided to intervene. More than once she found herself cursing numerous gods, and more than once she heard Terax doing the same.

But in the end, they had prevailed, beating Death once more at their game. Both men had lost a limb, their right arms, likely indicative of where a bomb had been placed in the room. Other bodily damage concurred. Both patients were now under the care of other doctors in the ship’s ICU, the four doctors now in Terax’s office, recording all they’d seen and noticed before it fled their memories.

“Shrapnel all on their upper right.”

“Legs seemed mostly fine. Likely something between them and the bomb.”

“Crushing damage was light, so not enough to collapse the building.”

“Shock damage I saw looked consistent with low-speed explosives.”

“Recovered shrapnel looks like it was all meant to cause extensive bleeding.”

“Lucky we could scan and beam them out eh?”

It went on like this for a bit before everyone had captured what they could, agreed on a preliminary report, and then went their ways, save for her and Terax. She stayed seated, the Edosian waiting for the others to leave before he looked up at her and spoke.

“Yes?”

“Why’d you call me to help you when you had T’Lanith, or Wilcox?” she asked.

“I wanted to see your work,” he said plainly. “And I know your record. My experience with Romulans is minimal, yours is extensive.”

“That’s it?” she challenged.

“I took what I was told was the most important patient. I wanted the best trauma doctor on the ship with me. Laroux is a capable surgeon and I’m glad you utilised them as your second, but I needed someone else with me who specialised in making difficult calls to save a patient.” Terax’s voice was much less harsh than it normally was, a professional talking to another, not two people who didn’t seem to get along outside of their work like it normally was. “Your work was satisfactory.”

She scoffed at that, catching his eyebrow rising at that in response. “Satisfactory? It was fucking amazing thank you.”

“It was adequate to the task, even above average once we had saved the patient’s life. My logs will reflect that.” He crossed his left and right arm under where his middle arm protruded from his chest. “With some proper discipline Doctor Pisani, you could make a fine, an excellent even, ship’s doctor.”

She’d politely, through gritted teeth, departed Terax’s personage, taken a shower, and then headed straight for the Captain’s Mess with the intent of drinking her way past Terax’s dismissive tone and attitude. What she found instead was a number of the ship’s officers present, clustered around the room’s singular holodisplay. Her entrance had garnered some attention and a wave from Mac had brought her to his side. “Nice work,” he said quietly. “Any update on when we might ask them some questions?”

Straight to business, but his attention was split between waiting for her response and the screen. She shook her head in denial. “When they come around I suppose,” she answered.

“Turn it up!” came a voice, an officer in yellow, one of Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr’s people, and the volume of the screen was turned up.

She recognised Marik Kavos straight away, standing behind some sort of podium in the dawn light, a banner behind him with his stupid Citizen’s Guard logo on it, then the emblem of the Star Empire above it. He had a couple of his goon squad behind him, all of them in their off-brand uniforms. From what she’d heard, she was glad she’d missed the meeting with him.

“This brazen attack, this cowardly attack!” Marik bellowed, looking past the camera like he was addressing a crowd, which she imagined was likely just his own people hooting and hollering for effect. “It proves the weakness of the Magistrate and his Fool’s Assembly! It proves the weakness of the Public Order officers, of the planetary garrison! They refuse calls for martial law until the perpetrator is brought to justice! They refuse the assistance of the Citizen’s Guard to track down this coward who brings death to our beautiful Daloon!”

She couldn’t help but moan in mental anguish. The stupid rolling off this puffed-up idiot was no longer confined to one planet but allowed to be broadcast into the universe at large, but importantly into a room where she had intended to get a drink. “Fucking hell,” she said deflated.

“He’s playing to a crowd,” Mac admitted, turning away as the rest of Marik’s press conference continued along the same line.

“It’s a fucking trap,” she said, then excused herself just long to get a drink and return. “Deploy the garrison to the streets, the Magistrate is overstepping his mandate and must be resisted. Don’t deploy them and he’s weak on crime and should be overthrown by someone who will do something.” She sipped at the whiskey she’d gotten herself. “Seen it before.”

“No doubt. Pity this Major Kavos though,” Mac said with a grin. “He’s got the Captain to contend with.”

———-

Tikva’s morning had gone up in just as much ruin as the house of Ritihe Faler. She’d been scheduled to meet with the Democratic Daloon Movement that morning but they’d changed their mind, opting for safety and security in light of the bombing. She couldn’t blame them really, it was the sensible thing to do. Then she’d waited, like so many others for reports from the public order investigators, from her own medical personnel, on the fate of the house’s residents. Both survived, but barely and unlikely to be conscious for some time.

But before they could even consider damage control they had Kavos agitating on the news feeds with his incessant spouting of nonsense. Damned if they acted one way, damned if they acted another. Rel warned her about sending anyone down, not wanting to make a bad situation worse by playing into fears of a Federation invasion. Points to that woman and points to her for agreeing, even going so far as to back her own security detail down to just Ch’tkk’va and Ensign Ryans, though cheekily supplementing with Lieutenant Fightmaster. He couldn’t be Security, he was in red, besides, look at him.

The boy needs to eat.

The boy needs to grow up. I’m sure he’s lying about his age.

Well, no one could hit him if they tried, he’s too narrow.

“There you are,” Pam announced as she barged into the office she herself had assigned to Tikva while she conducted her business. “You should go back to your ship. This could get ugly.” The tiny, ancient little Romulan woman didn’t speak with her normal gruffness, or directness, but more with a grandmotherly tone now.

“And give the impression that I’ve been scared off? I’m sure that’ll play into someone’s plan somewhere. Kavos is up to something.” She’d been looking out the window in the direction of Kavos’ auburn with pretensions of glory, pondering the news feeds, the seemingly random bombing in the light of successful discussions and on the eve of formal debates starting.

“He’s an idiot. He’s not up to something, someone else is up to something,” Pam stated, then moved to sit in a chair, actually having to climb slightly into the seat. “And I hear your Commander MacIntyre had an incident in orbit yesterday with a Commander Koteb.”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Koteb, son of Tanok, scion of the House L’rilt,” Pam said.

She turned slowly around, staring at the old, wisened political figure. “Koteb, son of Tanok? As in Governor Tanok?” She took a few steps and sat herself down in the seat next to Pam’s. “You think it could be related Pamisa?”

“Empire falling apart, Daloon relatively stable and self-sufficient, wayward son looking for any port in a storm to set himself up as a warlord to fight over the scraps, highly likely.”

She shook her head. “Great. He promised to return.”

“Of course he did. Bullies always do. What are you going to do about it?” Pam asked.

“Get Daloon’s defences in shape and get these debates moving. We need to change the media conversation and make Kavos look like he’s a day behind.” She shrugged in thought and offered a wry smile. “Shouldn’t be hard should it?”

“Ha!” Pam barked out. “Easier said than done, but not by much.”

Engineering aboard the Atlantis wasn’t like the engineering spaces aboard those first-generation Sovereign-class starships with their massive cavernous spaces. No, it more resembled something akin to the Galaxy-class, as all that empty volume was given away to other functions on other decks and access to the dilithium armature was actually possible without a ladder. A concession had been made for space, like the Chief Engineer’s office, or the larger space around the ‘pool table’ for teams to discuss as whole groups. Or that there were in fact two pool tables, one near the core, the other further back in the control space.

It was at this table that Velan and Maxwell were both standing around, looking over a series of diagrams on the table surface and a slowly rotating green hologram in the space between the two men. “You know,” Velan said as he stopped the hologram rotating and looked at a specific part of it, hands zooming in an access panel he’d become rather intimately familiar with over the last two days, “this all looks very familiar to me for some reason.”

“Because you’ve been working on them for two days Ra,” Maxwell said without looking up. He’d been more focused on the status reports coming in from the teams still working on the platforms. Over half the weapons platforms have been restored to some semblance of functionality. All of them had functioning power supplies, their fusion reactors fully refuelled from Atlantis’ tanks, which they could refill in an afternoon if they wanted to. Most of them had functional shield generators, but only half of them had weapons, marking them as green on the status display. The shielded ones were yellow and the rest red, though the number was smaller than it was a mere day ago, it still irked both men.

“No, not that. Like I’ve seen this design somewhere else before.” Velan stroked his beard, and tugged at it gently, pondering his options. “Computer, compare specifications and scans of the Daloon defence platforms with all PDS schematics in memory and return similarities.”

“Working,” the ship’s dutiful computer replied. “There are two similar systems in memory.”

“Show them here and here,” he stated, waving his hands in the space on either side of the Romulan platform’s hologram that he’d zoomed out of. “And highlight similarities”

All the holograms became mostly translucent as similar components were highlighted. The platform on his left only had a few similarities, which he attributed to being really only one sensible way to layout a comm array. The other however was awash in neon green as similar parts and components were highlighted. “Dismiss this one,” he said, waving at the left-most.

“Geez, aside from the weapons and power plants, these are almost the same platform,” Maxwell said, walking around the table to join him in examining the similarities.

“Wilcox and Leckie Mk3 Gallant Planetary Defence Platform, circa 2297.” He folded his arms across his chest with a smile. “Knew I’d seen that platform out there somewhere.”

“So what, a hundred plus years ago some Romulan spy stole the plans for a state-of-the-art defence platform and the Star Empire actually put it into production on their side?” Maxwell asked. “I mean, it was pretty damned good for its day, but why not just use it for inspiration for their systems?”

“They did,” he answered. “They kept all the good bits, swapped out phaser and torpedo launchers for disruptors and plasma launchers, put their own shield generator on it and called it a day.” He shrugged. “They didn’t have to do any of the complex design work really. They likely stole all the software as well, put a layer over the top to make it look like their own, wrote some modular code to handle calls for weapons and translate to their own systems, called it a day and let the Federation foot the design time. We would never have suspected at the time and they knew the ins and outs of a premier defence grid.”

“Well, okay, but how does that help us?” Maxwell followed up. “We’re still needing to finish work on these things and their design and software isn’t our major holdup Ra.”

“Your right, your right. Just…it had been nagging at me you know.” He smiled, then dismissed the additional hologram. “Right, so, what do we need to finish off the last of these platforms? I want them online ASAP.”

“You mean Mac wants them online ASAP,” Maxwell corrected with a smile. “So, we’ll need…”

Roughly an hour later Velan had called Mac down to Engineering, opting for his office versus the pool table, where he and Maxwell had their two-day plan on display. Work schedule, priority listing, calibration testing schedule with the ground side control centre – everything needed to bring the old system online. It still wouldn’t deter a determined assault on Daloon, but lone ships and pirates, once Atlantis left, would likely not have a good time.

“Your worst estimate is two days?” Mac asked as he stood before the main display, his hands idly scrolling through some of the information presented there. “Your best is this time tomorrow?”

“Assuming we don’t find any interesting problems, testing goes well and we don’t hit any manufacturing snags,” Maxwell chipped in as he’d been leading most of the briefing anyway. “The reason why we think we can speed things up is it took us a while but we came to a realisation,” a cough from Velan gave Maxwell pause, “Ra came to a realisation.”

“Thank you,” he interrupted with a smile.

“That the Daloon defence grid is a Romulan clone of a Wilcox and Leckie Mk3 Gallant Planetary Defence System, from the control centre all the way to the platforms,” Maxwell finished.

“A what now?” Mac asked as he turned to face the engineers.

“Federation defence system from a century ago. Was pretty damn good for its day but woefully out of date now,” Velan answered. “With that though we were able to pull up the old testing programs to help out, as well as some software updates to improve targeting time, sensor data resolution. Now it’s only sixty years out of date.”

“Does this help us out in any other fashion?” Mac asked.

“Well,” Maxwell looked at Ra with a shrug, got one in return, and then continued. “We could build a system control override and run the entire system from Atlantis if we wanted to. Our computers are more than enough to handle the entire platform grid.”

“We’re not hijacking their planetary defence system.” Mac’s tone was firm on this. “We’re trying to build trust here, remember?”

“Just a hypothetical,” Maxwell responded. “And honestly, not difficult. Wilcox and Leckie had actually designed a starship control module for the system at one point. Needs to be installed on a single platform and assuming ground control isn’t fighting you for control, the network is yours.”

“Shelve it,” Mac said. He turned back to the work schedule and nodded his agreement with it. “I like this plan, gentlemen. Drinks are on me if you can achieve the one-day plan.”

———-

Commander Telrit Frent, commander of the garrison of Daloon, was a woman in awe right now. Her own people were still working over the scene around the Faler household and yet here she was visiting the Starfleet vessel to see the results of bomb reside analysis her people had only just started investigating.

The entire ship felt new, was new she’d been told in fact. That was perhaps why they’d been able to figure something out so much faster than her people who had to make do with older, less sensitive equipment.

Her escort through the ship had been a rather energetic young man at first, chatty but quick on the uptake that she wasn’t and so he’d slipped to just showing her to a science lab where the ship’s science officer was. The entire staff present looked young and new to her, save for the Tellarite, but they all looked wisened and grumpy to her from any age. “Lieutenant Camargo,” she addressed the dark-haired woman who came to shake her hand in that human tradition. “Commander Frent, Daloon Garrison.”

“Pleasure to meet you Commander,” the young woman said, then led her over to a piece of scientific equipment whose purpose was unknown to her just from looking at it. Held in a suspension field however for all to see was a piece of charred wood splinter the length of her forearm and just as wide. “We’re continuing to refine our analysis,” Camargo continued as she brought up some data, “but we’re confident enough in our first-order analysis.”

“And what have you found?” she asked. What was it with scientists always needing to be prompted to continue giving the answer?

“The explosives are Romulan in manufacture, that much was obvious within minutes, but certain trace chemical signatures make us believe that they are of Star Empire manufacture over those of the Republic or Free State.” Camargo then brought up a display of the explosive used, its chemical nature and structure. All of it immediately over Frent’s head. She wasn’t a scientist, but a garrison commander. She’d not even be investigating this at all, letting Public Order do it, if not for Kavos’ gesturing in the aftermath. “My people are confident enough that these explosives likely originated from Rator itself thanks to trace elements within the explosives.”

“So Rator is providing explosives to someone on Daloon who is using them to blow up key faction leaders,” she mulled out loud. “Why though?”

“My opinion,” Camargo said, then waited for Frent to signal to continue. “Blowing up a key leader, killing them even, could have possibly led to the targeted faction taking a regrettable course of action.”

“Rioting you mean, feeling like they’re being targeted.”

“Or withdrawing from the debates to minimise their contribution,” Camargo added. “Didn’t the democratic leaders do just that as well?”

“Kavos,” she muttered.

“Commander?” Camargo asked.

“Marik Kavos. He stands to remove one of the largest counters to his ideology, thereby pitting the old guard versus his idiotic militarist nationalism.” She looked over the data once more. “Can you send all of this to me immediately? I need to consult with my people and present this to the democratic leaders as well, to let them know who most likely went after their deceased leader.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Camargo asked with a slight tilt of her head. “Both victims are alive.”

She stood there shocked for just a moment, staring at this young woman. She hadn’t heard, or if she had she hadn’t absorbed it properly. But here she was out of her comfort zone, so that likely helped. “Show me.”

“Up to the doctors really ma’am,” Camargo said as she started to lead her to the door, the security escort falling in behind, “but I’ll take you to them right now.”

“Report,” Koteb languidly stated as he stepped onto the bridge of the IRW Implacable. He’d worn this best-tailored uniform for the day’s festivities, seeing as how by all rights he’d be setting foot on his homeworld as its liberating hero, freeing it from a traitorous regime and returning it to the glory of the Empire.

“Rator’s Pride and Admiral Ketterac have both signalled they are ready to commence operations,” his operations officer stated. The man was barely competent in Koteb’s opinion, but one had to make do where one had to. The man had insisted on low power signals or waiting for optimal moments to signal the other cloaked ships, versus simply signalling when he was told to.

As if Starfleet could pick them up, or their communications under cloak! It was laughable!

All three ships sat under cloak behind the largest moon of the next planet out from Daloon, its orbital positioning currently putting them in favourable strike range of the planet by a mere matter of coincidence. Like his own Implacable, Rator’s Pride was an older but still serviceable D’deridex-class warbird, both having seen major refits just after the Dominion War. Admiral Ketterac however was one of the newer Valdore-class, which he wasn’t a fan of, but had to admit served their purposes. They lacked the double hull, the imposing mass, the gravitas that his own ship possessed, but their speed and manoeuvrability complemented the stalwart juggernauts that were the D’deridex-class.

“And have we heard back from Uhlan Kavos?” he asked as he sat himself down in his command chair, the seat having never been occupied by anyone but himself since he assumed command of the ship. Why would he let his executive officer sit where the commander of the ship rightfully sat? The young woman had only made that mistake once.

His continued use of the Marik Kavos’ official rank when not talking with the man directly was petty, he knew, but proper as well. Kavos self-promoted himself to Major, and might even get that promotion once Koteb was installed as governor of Daloon, but until then he was just an uhlan, nothing more or less. Particularly useful yes, but beneath his worst-performing centurion.

“Personnel are standing by to seize the PDS control centre as well as a few transport hubs. He reports troops standing by to beam into the area surrounding the People’s Assembly and make a push on it and Government House to begin making arrests.” His ops officer then stepped forward to present a display pad to him with the original message content.

He mulled the report over, even read Kavo’s response, then waved the man away. “Very well. Signal the others, we’re moving in. Helm, take us to high Daloon orbit, just outside of the Starfleet battlecruiser’s optimal weapons range, one quarter impulse power.”

———-

“I didn’t think Frent would have been the one to get the democrats to actually show,” Tikva said to Pam with a whisper. They both stood before the Speaker’s chair in the Assembly Hall watching the procession of representatives filing in for the first day of debates.

She’d met with the leader of the Senate Traditionalist, an older statesman whose conservative streak was as wide as could be expected, but more because he saw the might and majesty of the Romulan Star Empire through rose-tinted glasses. If the Romulan people had been so successful for so long, it had been because of a firm and stable government they should return to. He had arrived with the first lot, said nice things to her before the cameras, then taken his rather prominent seat in the first rank, clearly intending to speak.

Then a rather nervous-looking Representative Cretal arrived with her people. They spread themselves around the room, eyes glancing everywhere, checking everything. They were spooked, she could feel it, but couldn’t fault them. Security had done what they could do here, sweeping the building twice, limiting what people could and couldn’t bring with them. Cretal had confided with Frent that it had to be one of her people who had brought the bomb, but so far no one fit the bill and investigations were ongoing. Cretal wanted to avoid a witch hunt, everyone did in fact, but without much evidence to go on, it might become inevitable to find the bomber.

Noticeably absent however were Representative Kavos and his people, citing a lack of trust in the proceedings and security to warrant his appearance. That had sent alarm bells off from Public Order, to the Daloon Garrison, the Assembly’s own guards and even her own people, but there had been nothing for it but to proceed. Perhaps an uninterrupted day would force Kavos to the debate, or perhaps he’d just marginalise his position with obstinate behaviour and become politically irrelevant.

“Frent can be persuasive when she wants to be,” Pam said. “And my tailor still does a fine job I see.”

Tikva couldn’t help but smile at that, looking down at her own body, holding her arms out to admire the Romulan-style robes she wore. Pamisa’s tailor had provided her with no less than four sets of robes, two traditional style and two which she could wear over her uniform with barely her collar presenting itself. It was her preferred style she was wearing one today, the dark purple and greens wouldn’t have been her preferred colours, but the man had made them work. They were also more muted than the dark reds of the other robes. The only blemish to the magnificent sartorial work was her communicator that she’d moved to the outside to make it painfully obvious who she was really working for her.

“And which camp are you going to sit with today?” she asked Pam.

“I was thinking of taking that chair there,” the smaller woman said, a crooked finger rising to point at the seat which she knew would have been Kavos’ had he been present today. “Teach that uppity little child how little I think of him.”

“I’m starting to see why your people asked for an outside mediator,” she said, earning a slight chuckle from Pam. “Your honesty is appreciated, as has been your guidance these last few days.”

“You’re no politician, not even a staffer in my experience,” Pam said. “But you’re a quick study. And an outside source of fresh air that this body needs in these times.” She patted Tikva on the lower arm. “I look forward to the debates and how you keep us all in line.”

“Did you know there’s a seldom-used clause in the People’s Charter that allows the Speaker, during special debates, to suspend the normal parliamentary rules and impose another set of rules?” she asked Pam, seeing the woman’s confident mask crack slightly. Like a master who was being confronted with a student who had found a workaround and desperately trying to think of a way to restore the proper order of the universe. “I wonder how many here are familiar with Tellarite debating rules?”

———-

Ch’tkk’va stood in the main foyer of the People’s Assembly with the Assembly’s guard captain, a Sub-Commander Cah, looking out past the large pillars to the street beyond. Across that wide avenue sat Government House, just visible past a line of trees and the House’s gardens. Both of them hadn’t said a thing since the debate started, but Cah had at least accepted that Ch’tkk’va and their one other Starfleet security were going to be present in the foyer while the captain was in session.

“Transporter inhibitor is online,” an uhlan reported after approaching and a wonderfully executed hell pop and salute.

“Return to your post,” Cah had responded, not even looking at his inferior.

“To prevent someone beaming in while the Assembly is in session?” Ch’tkk’va asked.

“And to prevent bombers from departing. No cowards today,” Cah answered. “We detected nothing, but that doesn’t mean something didn’t slip past us.”

“A reasonable precaution then.” Ch’tkk’va turned to the yeoman at their left side, the man’s red shoulders giving him away as not security, or so the hope was at least. “Inform the captain that the building is secure Lieutenant. And discretely please.”

“Aye sir,” Fightmaster responded then marched off.

“I do hope this is a failure of either of our universal translators but is that man’s family name really Combatleader?” Cah asked, the first time Ch’tkk’va had known him to not be solely about his job.

“Fight and master,” they provided in response, breaking the name up to help either translator to achieve the correct translation. “I looked it up and it apparently is a human sub-hive name. It originates with a particular hive grouping known as Germans…” And with that, they commenced explaining the name to Cah. Something had to fill in the time after all.

———-

“Two, no three Romulan warbirds have just decloaked in high orbit.”

“Thank the Raptor those Starfleet folks got the PDS online. Signal Atlantis and let them know we got their backs. Bring the PDS online and begin getting targeting solutions on all enemy ships.”

“Aye Commander!”

The control centre for the Daloon PDS was a term interchangeable between the entire building responsible for coordinating a planetary defence grid as well as the actual room responsible for calling the shots. The building above ground was a hardened bunker designed to take a beating and keep functioning but mainly served as office and storage space. The true facility sat underground, even further protected. Subspace communication equipment didn’t care about the density of a planet, it just needed protection. The computers and control centre could have been anywhere as well, as long as they could talk to the platforms in orbit, but they sat beneath the bunker and above the antennas built into the ground below.

“And someone get me Commander Frent as well,” the PDS commander said as he looked up to the large display across one wall, taking in the scene before him. “And Sub-Commander Cah at the Assembly.”

“I’m afraid,” a voice said behind as a disruptor barrel was pushed between his shoulder blades, “that won’t be happening.”

Across the control room two other people had stood up with a weapon in hand. They were outnumbered nearly five to one, but a weapon was a good equaliser after all.

“No one is going to make any further moves unless we say so, understand?” One of the others in amongst the operators asked, a few heads nodding in understanding.

“Give us command of the system if you value your life,” the man behind the PDS commander said.

“Computer,” he said aloud, feeling the disruptor pressed against him some more to dissuade him from any foolish action. “Command transfer protocol,” he waited for a chirp from the computer as it processed his request.

“Command transfer protocol not identified. Please dictate which protocol,” the computer calmly said.

“Frent One,” the man said, then spun with the intent of slamming his fist into his attacker. He saw others in the room respond to his choice of words and charge the others. It was the last thing he saw of them as the blast from behind took him before he was even a quarter of the way through his turn.

He lost all feeling, knew he was dying, dead even, as he slumped over his console. But then he saw the computer monitors in the room start to wink out, screens going blank, smoke rising from a handful of computer banks. Green flashes of disruptor fire cut down his fellows, good men and women all, but in their deaths, they denied whoever these people were the Daloon PDS.

———-

“Commander, three Romulan ships just decloaked off our port aft,” Adelinde said from behind him and Mac turned to look up and over his shoulder at her. Her face was deadly serious and it was all he needed to see to know this wasn’t some joke. Though when on duty he was pretty confident Adeline was allergic to jokes.

“Red alert,” he said calmly and immediately the lighting on the bridge changed, klaxons started to blare and Atlantis made ready for combat. His own mental image of people running through the ship, securing compartments, and making their way to damage control stations or triage stations was completely the opposite of the cool, calm nature of the bridge.

“Daloon PDS started scanning the enemy ships but it’s just gone down,” Samantha Michaels said from Ops. “The entire PDS has just stopped working.”

“What?” he asked for clarification.

“Incoming hail,” Adelinde stated before a response could come from Michaels. “It’s from the Implacable.”

“On screen.”

He was immediately greeted with a scene repeating from a few days ago, this time though Koteb seemed far more confident, far more relaxed. Likely because he had friends this time with him. Bullies always seemed happier with backup. “Intruding Starfleet vessel,” Koteb said, with a slight wave of his hand as if to convey ‘you lot’ like some lazy noble of old, “you are hereby ordered to lower your shields and surrender your vessel to the might of the Romulan Star Empire, or face your imminent destruction. And I do so hope you choose the latter.”

A wave of his hand was all the signal Mac needed to give for the comm channel to be cut. He hoped that would suffice for an answer for Koteb and if it didn’t, well, Atlantis had a few more choice responses soon to come. “Time?”

“Two minutes for them to make weapons range at this point,” Gantzmann said.

He spent a precious five seconds thinking before his hand jammed on the Engineering comm button on the centre seat’s arm rest. “Bridge to Velan, you said you could hijack that defence grid?”

“Yes…” came a cautious reply over the comms. “But I’m going to need a few minutes just to get ready to try.”

“Faster would be better,” he stated as he lifted his finger. “T’Val, bring up about to face the enemy ships. Gantzmann, we’re not joking around with three ships.” He stopped himself for just a moment, running through one last mental checklist to see if he was good with his next decision. “Load quantum torpedoes on all launchers.”

“Aye air,” she said without hesitation. “Quantum torpedoes, all launchers.”

“Incoming hail from one of the Romulan ships sir,” Michaels spoke up. “A Sub-Commander Grel of the Admiral Ketterac.”

“More gloating? Put him through.”

The man that appeared on screen however was not in the standard uniform of the Imperial Star Navy, but that of the Republic Navy, which seemed a curious choice for a ship that was currently lining up to attack his own. “Commander, I’ll explain later, but we’ve got your back. We’ll handle the Rator’s Pride, you handle Implacable.” And with that, the channel went dead.

Before he could voice any sort of a question to his bridge staff the viewscreen exploded in conflict as two D’deridex-class warbirds started firing on Atlantis, though one quickly veered off its attack as it came under withering fire from the Valdore-class ship that it had likely very good reasons to assume was an ally. “We’ll take it for now! T’Val, evasive manoeuvres, your choice, just don’t let both of those ships get lines on us.”

Atlantis rocked as more fire splashed across her shields and it was soon joined by the cycling and discharging of phaser arrays, punctuated with the whomp of launched torpedoes as Atlantis started to dance.

———-

Marik Kavos, soon to be the military commander of all of Daloon, had not gone to the Assembly this morning because he planned on marching in there this afternoon. The word had been given, his people were right now taking control of the planetary defence centre elsewhere in the city, which meant it was his privilege, his honour, to do his part of the plan.

His people, his Citizen’s Guard, had made their way into Tama Flats all morning in dribs and drabs, organising themselves a few blocks from the Assembly. Somewhere out of immediate sight where it wouldn’t be noticed that they were donning their uniform jackets, removing their limited supply of weapons from vehicles of crates already delivered. But now they were armed, now they were ready to march!

“Men and Women of the Empire!” he shouted as he stepped up on an empty crate, gaining the attention of his loyalists. “In that building that has been foolishly called the People’s Assembly, a meeting takes place to make traitors of this entire world!” Cheers of agreement met him. “In that building old and tired men, or youth with no spine and experience, discuss how they want to turn our beautiful world away from the Empire!” Jeers this time. “We all fought for the Empire! We know what loyalty looks like! We march to remove those fools from their offices! We march to show the weak of Daloon what strength looks like! We march under the Raptor’s Wing! For the Romulan people!”

“For the Romulan people!” was shouted back at him and the people went forth.

Soon, oh so very soon it would all be over! Daloon would be free of disloyalty and answer Rator’s call once more!

———-

The ship shook once more and Velan nearly fell over, if not for the two people busily helping him get the EV suit on as quick as they could. Clicks, twists, ratcheting of seals, all the needed steps, but none of the slow methodical checks and double-checks. There just wasn’t time really.

“Damage control teams to deck five, section twelve,” Rrr’s voice came over the shipwide. Wherever they were right now, Velan knew they’d be doing their best to keep his ship in one piece.

“I’d really appreciate,” he muttered as one of the transporter room techs lowered his helmet over his head, “if they’d stop putting holes in my pretty new ship.”

“You and me both sir,” the operator said with a smile, then checked an indicator on the outside of the helmet. “Green seals all over.”

The other tech stepped back, picked up an awkward-looking device and handed it over, followed a moment later by an engineering toolkit before they both stepped off the transporter padd. “Transporter room five to Bridge, Chief Velan is ready but we’re going to need a gap in the shields to beam him out.”

“Standby,” came Mac’s voice.

———-

“T’Val, swing us around on one three eight mark eight seven,” Mac said with a glance at a screen, having given up the centre seat and moved around to give Adelinde a hand with weapons control. He had needed something, anything else to do besides riding a seat in combat and from here he could at least see everything and move around quickly as need be. “Get us between the Implacable and platform seventeen.”

“Aye sir,” the Vulcan helmswoman said, throwing Atlantis through a turn that the last ship to bear the name would have made without a problem, but which this one did with just the slightest complaint from the inertial dampeners. Sovereigns weren’t the same nimble little ships as Argonauts, but far more manoeuvrable than the lumbering D’deridex that T’Val was running rings around.

“See it?” he asked Adelinde and her reply was a lowering of the ship’s ventral shields. “Transporter room, now!” he shouted as she finished her action.

———-

One moment Velan was standing in a transporter room, red lights pulsing, klaxon’s blaring, Rrr’s voice discharging from the shipwide as more damage control teams had to report to somewhere aboard the ship. The next he was in the serene peace of space, standing on the green-plated outer hull of a defence platform, far from the fight he could see in the distance. No sirens, no lights, no rocking ship, just a nice stable existence, removed from all that chaos.

He didn’t take a moment to enjoy any of it. His eyes immediately searched the hull, looking for the access panel he wanted, needed, so desperately. A single warbird and he’d have said Atlantis would win hands down, two D’deridex-class ships he’d wager it came down to the crew, but three ships were too many. He had to work fast to avoid Daloon becoming another Narendra III. The cover wasn’t lifted and set down carefully, but frisbee’d off into the bright disc of Daloon, doomed to burn up sooner rather than later, but orbital trash wasn’t a concern right now.

The device he’d made wasn’t even properly finished, but more a ‘can I do it’ project he’d worked on. A high bandwidth comm system from a ground scanner array, the salvaged brains from a desktop computer that had come to Engineering for repair and a portable power supply. It had passed an initial bench test, but would it work long-term?

Only one way to find out.

Dragged into place he looked carefully at the contraption and then the open access panel. It took him a moment to locate what he was looking for – exposed steel. Then another to find a bit on his device before taping the two pieces of metal together, hoping for just the barest bit of vacuum welding to hold it in place while he worked. It held and he sighed in relief, then grabbed his tool kit and went to work connecting it to the platform’s controls.

“Velan, I’d really like those platforms now,” Mac’s voice came over the helmet’s speakers.

“I know, I know,” he muttered. “Give me two minutes.”

“I’d love to, but both of these warbirds are picking on us right now.” Mac must have been delirious he thought. Both? That meant two, where was the third? He stopped momentarily to look up, to make sure he wasn’t about to be vaporised by the third.

“Oh,” he said, spotting the newer of the warbirds strafing one of the older ships. “I see.”

———-

“My scanner says one hundred fifty,” Ch’tkk’va said as they scuttled up besides Cah. The foyer of the People’s Assembly had a large opening with no doors, relying on a very faint atmospheric field to maintain the climate inside the building. While it gave the building a welcoming presence to those climbing the handful of stairs from street level, it did make the defence of the building somewhat more challenging with no external doors to close and barricade, not that anyone ever thought a mass charge like this would ever take place.

They had the advantage of pillars and behind them a mezzanine for covering fire, but the Assembly Guard was a grand total of twenty men and women, versus a much larger attacking force. Disruptors were ranging from both sides as the attackers progressed up the avenue outside, keeping more to the Assembly’s side of the street and away from Government House’s front gate. Another shot whirred past the first defenders, blasting chunks of marble off the rear wall.

“Someone clearly has a weapon set to ‘make problems go away’,” Cah said. Hand signals went between him and a few of his people as they started to fall back. They knew the building, even Ch’tkk’va could see how the foyer could be a killing zone if the attackers would be so obliging as to walk in, assuming enough of the defenders would still be around. “Call your ship, start beaming everyone out. Transporter inhibitor frequency is two eight nine point seven three terahertz.”

They nodded, tapping at their commbadge. “Ch’tkk’va to Atlantis, we need immediate evacuation of the entire People’s Assembly.”

“Little busy here Lieutenant,” Samantha Michaels answered. “We’re under attack from two Romulan warbirds. Standby.” And the channel went dead.

“Did she say two warbirds?” Cah asked incredulously. “Seriously, could this day get any worse?”

———- 

“Any minute now Starfleet will start sending down their stormtroopers!” Kavos bellowed as he marched behind his own people towards the Assembly. He wasn’t at the front, but close enough they could hear him as he shouted. “Our fear and concerns will be vindicated for all of Daloon to see! But we are stronger than they are! Better than their weak amalgamation of desperate peoples for we are Romulan!”

Just then a single orange lance of light launched from the darkness of the Assembly’s entrance, knocking one of his brave men off their feet. Then a second, before another volley of the defender’s disruptors. “See! See! Starfleet is already inside the Assembly! They’ve already got their security forces on our world!”

He was playing it up because he had his own newsfeeds to populate after all. The people of Daloon needed to see, to witness the story he’d been arranging, to fear what he told them to fear! Oh, sure, he knew it was just the Federation captain’s own security people likely lending a hand, but it played well, at least to him. Some editing after this would likely make it better to stir the Romulan people across the Empire to action.

———-

“Velan to Atlantis. Michaels, you’re going to get a request for new hardware setup, just say yes, accept all auto settings and then switch the hardware to autofire.”

Samantha looked over her shoulder to Commander MacIntyre, who just nodded at her emphatically, before waiting for the warned about prompt on her Operations screen. The prompt that came up on her screen didn’t display correctly, some sort of somewhat conflict most likely, before enough for her to accept the request, to answer the challenge for her command codes, then just push through the follow-on screens.

“Chief, there’s a lot of options I’m seeing here,” she stated, dealing with screens she’d never seen before in her life, options she wasn’t reading in-depth in order to clear them.

“You’re setting up a planetary defence system Lieutenant, just accept the default settings, agree to all the documentation and turn it on,” came Velan’s rather calm tone over the comms.

“You want me to accept without reading the terms?” she asked back.

“Lieutenant!” came a shout in unison from both Velan and MacIntyre.

“PDS switching to automatic now,” she said in response.”

———-

“Rator’s Pride reports they’ve lost all aft weapons. Sub-Commander Fulmek is suggesting cloak and retreat while we can.”

Koteb pounded his fist on his armrest, the gloom of the bridge at battlestations not helped by the gas leak in some overhead life support conduit, or the small fire at a console that was being dealt with. “Damn you Grel! I knew I should have had him shot for not beaming over when I demanded it!”

“Sir?”

“Tell Fulmek to bring his ship around and ram Grel out of the sky if he has to! Helm, bring us back around on that Starfleet ship. I want all weapons to target their bridge as soon as you can and fire without mercy!” he shouted at his crew, who were finally starting to act without questioning orders. Fear seemed like the right motivator. He’d remember that once he installed himself as governor of his birth world.

“Sir, something’s happening with the planetary defences,” his ops officer spoke up. “They’re coming back online!”

“Kavos finally does something right! Signal them to obliterate both enemy ships immediately!” he shouted.

There was no warning from anyone on his bridge before the first disruptor bank opened fire on his wounded ship. Implacable was right in the middle of the PDS platforms, right where they’d wanted to catch Atlantis. Fire wracked at them from all directions, withering the shields away in seconds with the help of the Starfleet ship, conspicuously untouched by the platforms. There was a shout of warning when the first torpedo was fired. His own XO shouted to abandon ship when the shields collapsed and the port nacelle was ripped from his ship.

“So, this is how Kavos betrays me huh?” he said out loud to no one. “Kill me, then them?” Alarms blared all around him, his ship dying and broken and the only thing he could see was that damnable Starfleet ship dead ahead, its tractor beam latching onto his ship. “Any second now,” he said, watching, waiting for those platforms to fire upon that hated ship.

———-

“Ground vehicles coming up the street!” Someone shouted behind Kavos, but he wasn’t concerned. He was standing in the foyer of the Assembly. His men, trained by him, selected by him, had pushed the defenders back, seizing the entrance into the building. Enough were outside on the grounds to prevent Representatives from escaping, ready to retreat inside as soon as he had the hostages. Soon Koteb would secure orbit and start sending down troops to deal with the pitiful garrison forces. All he had to do was capture the representatives, wait, and then they could start cleaning house.

As he headed for the stairs on the left that led up a floor, his troops giving him space, he couldn’t help but notice not a single defender laying dead on the ground. None had given their lives in defence of this building. Green blood smeared the floor in places, handprints on the walls, obviously there were injuries, but as a unit kept hindering themselves, making themselves weak by caring for their injured.

“Sir,” an uhlan saluted him at the top of the stairs. “All the defenders retreated into the Assembly Hall and they’ve barred the doors.”

“And? Why haven’t you blown the doors and marched in there?” he demanded, not stopping and forcing the man, only a few years younger than him anyway to follow.

“They said they were willing to negotiate a surrender directly with you.”

He stopped, smiling like a fool he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Someone finally recognising his greatness. “Hail Commander Koteb, tell me we have the Representatives. He can handle the Magistrate himself. We’ve done it!” he clapped the man on the arm and kept walking. He passed more of his men, all of them repositioning to either defend the foyer as he’d have expected the Assembly Guard to do, or to cover the main door that he was about to knock on himself.

After a few exchanged words with his immediate inferiors, he approached the door to the Assembly and knocked three times. No response. Three more times. Again no response. But then he heard it – the whine of a transporter! He snarled and put his shoulder into the door, which instead of resisting gave way under his charge, parting to let him enter into the totally empty Hall.

There wasn’t a soul present, no representatives, no Starfleet captain, no Assembly Guard! No one but some incessant chirping! It repeated itself, a series of two chirps in quick succession. His men poured in behind him, expecting to need to put down the guards but as equally stunned as him to find an empty room.

It only took a minute for someone to find the chirping and bring him the Starfleet communicator causing it. The small silver and brushed steel device fit in his palm, so much smaller than the communicator he had in his service days, or the handheld civilian model on his belt today. It chirped again, demanding his attention and he tapped at it.

“Uhlan Marik Kavos,” that woman’s voice issued from the device, that Captain Theodoras who’d been ‘invited’ to sweet talk his world into the Federation, no matter what she said about Daloon picking its own fate, “I was wondering if you’d like to discuss the terms of your surrender? I understand Commander Frent of the Daloon Garrison will be with you shortly.” And to punctuate her statement he could hear the sound of swooping shuttles flying overheard, of increasing weapons fire approaching his position.

There was no backup, no support from the Empire, not even from Koteb. Once again the Navy had failed him. Once again the universe had conspired to prevent him from reaching his greatness.

Public debates for the day had ended and Tikva couldn’t have been any more thankful for that. No media, no rules, a chance to relax. That of course didn’t mean discussion, debate and downright arguing wasn’t over for the day, but it could be behind closed doors, informal and if need be a lot rawer, which actually helped not just her but everyone else in the room.

And as she had learned over the last few days, aside from a few people, it turned out that most of the Assembly’s representatives were at least congenial with each other, if not outright friendly, when not discussing politics. Likely a development of having to work with people day in and out for so long. The large meeting room she’d been given initially was currently set up with a few small tables surrounded by a ring of couches and seats and seemingly by an unspoken natural law, everyone had not just grouped themselves by their political camps, in the same arrangements respective to where she and Pamisa were seated, as if this was the Assembly itself.

“Damn you Toman, just get your people to sign the Continuing Certificate and we can move on to other matters of state,” Cretal said as she was filling a small plate with snacks from the table in front of her. “It’s not the end of discussions, just a document agreeing to maintain the current status quo until we agree on a path forward.”

“Honestly I don’t see the difficulty myself,” Representative Devtil spoke up, one of Secretary Rel’s supporters within the Assembly. “It’s a simple one-page document Toman and just gives the people security knowing we’re not going to burn everything down without a plan in place.”

“I,” Toman said slowly and carefully, “just see little purpose with the Continuing Certificate.”

“It’s not about purpose,” Pamisa said over her cup of tea. “It’s about public perception you obstinate ass.” For a woman who barely passed 1.3 meters in height and old enough to be the mother of most in the room, save perhaps for Toman, she held no fear about speaking her mind.

“And? The common people will fall in line as they always have. The system has served them well, they’ll not want to upset it now,” Toman countered.

“Save that,” Tikva finally spoke, “just three days a sizable number of people attempted to do just that by force of arms and would have gotten away with it too if not for a remarkable series of circumstances that can’t be trusted to repeat. You might just want to consider the will of the people and reassure them in light of recent events?”

Toman huffed, slumped slightly, just enough to be seen, before sighing in defeat. “It’s performative art for the masses.”

“Yes,” Cretal said. “But it’ll play well and let them know we’re taking this seriously.”

“Find, I’ll speak with my caucus in the morning and we’ll sign the damn thing.”

———-

“Commander Grel, welcome aboard the Atlantis,” Mac said as he greeted the Republic officer who had just transported over. “Sorry the captain can’t be here, but she’s tied up with civil matters below.”

“Oh don’t worry about it Commander, I’ve already spoken with your captain in person this morning. I wanted to come and meet those I fought side by side with in person,” Grel said with a smile, meeting Mac’s handshake heartily. “And when you offered me a tour of a modern Federation battlecruiser, well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t accept.”

“Well Atlantis isn’t a battlecruiser, she’s an explorer,” Mac said, then indicated the door out of the transporter bay. “Intermediate to long-range explorer that admittedly is able to defend herself reasonably well.”

“If this is a science vessel, then if Starfleet ever decided to build dedicated warships, I’d be truly concerned,” Grel said with a smile. He was certainly a lot more expressive and chipper than Mac was expecting. “I’ll have to get you over to the Admiral Varren for a tour sometime. I understand you’re staying for another week or so?”

“Until negotiations reach a point where it’s just arguing over the paint choices,” Mac said, then clarified when he saw Grel’s confusion. “Once the primary points are finished and they’re just arguing over the fine details, we’ll be on our way. All outlined in this Continuing Certificate that got realised a few hours ago.”

“Ah, yes, need to read that. The Republic is naturally very interested in Daloon, but we don’t want to force ourselves if we don’t have to.”

“Noble, and I’m sure Daloon appreciates the sentiment as well.” Mac had led them to a turbolift and ordered it to main engineering to start the tour at the bottom and work his way up. “So, I know you gave me the broad strokes, but your ship, the Admiral Varren, overheard Koteb’s request for reinforcements and you all decided to pretend to be the Admiral Ketterac to find out what he was doing?”

Grel actually barked out a laugh at that. “Essentially. Helped that Ketterac’s commander was a Grel as well. Wouldn’t have worked if Koteb hadn’t been such an idiot. Let me tell you, it was a pleasure seeing that man get his just deserts. All ready to play along for a bit until he decided to pick a fight with Starfleet.”

“Okay, I’m adding the Captain’s Mess to the tour, you have to tell me the whole story,” Mac said. “But let’s work our way there. First stop, main engineering. Commander Velan, meet Command Grel.”

———-

“I’m sorry, but the idea of a hereditary monarchy just isn’t going to work with my people,” Cretal protested. A new day, same arguments.

“Cretal, please, the people trust the L’rilt family and it would offer governmental stability,” Devtil said. “We nominate the Magistrate to the position and our head of state issue is resolved.”

“We’re a sovereign nation now,” Toman said. “The head of state should be a Preator.”

“Preator, king, chief seat warmer, the title is inconsequential Toman,” Devtil countered. “Who it is is the primary point I’m trying to make here.”

“Not to my people. The system of governance that made the Romulan Empire strong for centuries only failed because of weak and overly ambitious men and women. The system should simply be restored.”

“Not happening,” Cretal said. “It just won’t happen Toman and you know it. Get with the times, please.”

“Could I perhaps offer a point of discussion?” Tikva asked and everyone’s attention turned to her. “It’s just for this room mind you, not something I’d suggest in the Assembly.” Cretal nodded, Devtil too. It took a moment before Toman rolled a hand to let her continue.

“A dual head of state system, one hereditary, the L’rilt family as conservators of Daloon’s past, the other elected by the people, on a term set by the new constitution to act as the people’s voice.” Toman scoffed straight away, Devtil and Cretal however both looked at her with scrunched eyebrows.

“I don’t like it,” Certal said, breaking the silence after nearly a minute of everyone just looking at each other. “But I don’t hate it. We’d need rules governing how they balance each other, interactions with the senate, how to resolve deadlocks between them.”

“Naturally,” Devtil said. “Term limits on your elected king so as to get fresh blood in and prevent stagnation?”

“Of course. Just like we should have the senate in general. And powers to remove the hereditary head of state if required.”

“Preposterous!” Toman exclaimed. “The Senate should not have term limits. If one is good enough to retain their position, then they should.”

“You Toman,” Cretal said with a pointed finger, “are the perfect example of why there should be limits.”

———-

“Princeps?” Pamisa asked in her own office as Tikva and Gavin Hu sat down opposite her.

After the yelling match between Cretal and Toman that morning had carried over into official debates, which only lasted an hour before she’d been forced to call a recess, she’d called Gavin down to help her out, at least with those two. But Pamisa’s request to speak won out over trying to smooth that problem. She apparently had wanted to speak about a singular point that had come up, again from Tikva’s discussions that had carried into the wider debates.

“It’s a title from Earth’s history, from our Roman Empire,” Gavin said. “Roughly translates as first, chief, most eminent, noble. It was a governmental title.”

“Roman Empire?” Pamisa asked, an eyebrow raising. “Interesting name.”

“Perhaps there was some cultural,” Gavin paused, looking for a diplomatic phrase, “exchange in our ancient past and wayward Romulans?” He had avoided ‘contamination’ well enough that she doubted Pamisa even considered it as the next potential word out of his mouth.

Pamisa nodded, then moved on. “It’s an interesting title, gender-neutral so we won’t need to have document revision every so often.”

“Thought that might get your approval,” Tikva said with a smile. “What about the others, think they’ll go for it?”

“Cretal and Devtil, certainly. They had both started throwing it around in discussions after all. Toman’s being an ass, but I’ll have a word with him about it,” the older woman said. “He’ll know what’s good for him.”

“I have to ask,” Gavin said. “What is your relationship with Representative Toman?”

“Secret keepers,” Pamisa answered. “We’ve known each for so long, since childhood really. We both know things about each other that no one else knows and we’d never betray that trust.”

“He’s a confidant,” Gavin summarised.

“Crudely, but yes.”

He nodded. “Could I perhaps ask for some insight on him before the captain and I go to speak with him? We’re trying to iron out his conflict with Cretal after all and I’m hoping you might have an idea of how to approach things diplomatically.”

“Ask away young man,” Pamisa said.

———-

Another long day, another mentally exhausted Tikva entered her quarters. “Computer, any messages?”

“Two messages from Captain Dayton, USS S’lun,” the computer announced.

“Matt?” she asked, though the computer wouldn’t answer. “Play message,” she commanded as she stripped off her uniform tunic, tossing it over a chair back.

“Bug, grapevine says someone gave you a brand new ship of the line,” Matt’s voice came over the speakers of her quarters. “We’ll have to talk about that when I’m in range for real-time comms, but in the meantime, I’m answering your call about songs. I spoke with Darren and he’s listened to some of our old duets and he’s got a few selections for you. He’s got a way better ear than I do. The list should be attached to this message. If you’re honestly going to enter this talent contest girl, you best do it to win, captain’s not winning be damned. And maybe, just maybe, don’t rely on the dutch courage before taking to the stage?”

The recording stopped, only an ever so slight pause before the computer announced the second message and started playing it.

“I’m an idiot,” Matt’s voice once more. “List attached this time.”

“And I’ve checked it,” another male voice said, which she knew was Darren, Matt’s long-suffering fiancée. “Seriously Tikva, ignore the top half of the list, go with the power ballads. Matt always had you singing out of your best range anyway.”

She sighed, smiling as fingers tapped at a computer screen to bring up the list, then transferred them to a padd. Academy hoodie found and donned, she left her quarters, soon enough knocking on Adelinde’s door.

“We’ve got important work to do,” she said, holding up the list. “I’m winning this talent contest.”

“Princeps, Princeps,” Tikva said, greeting both Rel L’rilt and a still shell-shocked Ritihe Faler, the newly elected People’s Princeps as he was being referred to. The diplomatic soiree was in full tilt and naturally that meant dress uniforms for the senior staff who’d come down to attend, Rrr and Terax both drawing short straws and remaining aboard the ship to keep the lights on.

Neither had looked particularly put out she noted about that particular development.

Ritihe still bore surgical bandages from his injuries, but he’d been cleared to leave medical care and attend this event, put on to celebrate the ratification of the Founding Principals and Actions Declaration. Apparently, Daloon’s government were quite happy to have a lot of founding documents iterating on each other to full form their new regime, free of Rator and the Star Empire. It did have the benefit she noted of letting them get certain offices formed and in action to then guide the next steps at least.

“Captain, Commander,” Rel said to her and Mac. “Your assistance over the last two weeks has been instrumental and the people of Daloon thank you.” Rel had become Princeps instead of her father, the older Magistrate opting to ‘let fresh blood govern’ in the wake of such changes. But speaking with Rel and Tanok privately she knew it was the sudden appearance and imprisonment of Koteb that had brought the elder statesman to his decision to quit day-to-day politics.

“Just doing our jobs,” Mac said with a smile. “Before we leave tomorrow, we should have restored the defence network to full operations, as well as get the Rator’s Pride to be at least combat capable.”

“And the Implacable?” Ritihe asked. For a man who’d preached plenty about radical governmental change and been reluctant to accept the title of Princeps when it was forced upon him, he took to the broad strokes of the job well enough. No doubt he had plenty of people advising him, for better or worse that would remain to be seen. And he’d been keen enough on ensuring that Daloon had the ability to defend its fledgling democracy from any further outside interference.

“After what happened when Koteb pushed his attack, I’m surprised the ship is even in one piece frankly,” Mac said. “You’re best asking the Republic when their engineers arrive in numbers, but she’s likely bound for the scrapyard due to age and damage.”

“For the best,” Rel said. “My brother’s ship shouldn’t hang over Daloon any longer than it has to.”

“Heck, you want it gone, we can tow it away when we leave,” Tikva said. “I’m sure we can find somewhere to finish it off and let the singularity consume the wreck before evaporating away.”

“Now that would be a waste,” Commander Grel said as he approached the knot of individuals, resplendent in his Republic dress uniform. “The Republic wouldn’t mind salvaging the singularity after all for some new ship. They are after all tricky beasts to bring into existence. Oh, my manners, sorry,” he excused himself before offering a bow to Rel and then a slightly deeper one to Ritihe, which he’d done from day one. She suspected out of some respect for an elected individual, even if the election had only been from the Assembly and not the general populace, which Ritihe was insisting would have to be the proper procedure in the future.

“I’m sure Daloon can come to some sort of agreement with the Republic for the salvage rights to the Implacable,” Rel said with a polite nod to Grel. “But perhaps we can table that discussion for tomorrow when your ambassador arrives?”

“Of course, of course,” Grel said with a smile. “It would of course all be much easier if Daloon just joined the Republic after all, but yes, I know, another discussion for another day. I’m sure Ambassador Tren will be more than pleased to discuss the close association proposal until the heat death of the universe.”

“And I look forward to speaking with her,” Ritihe said, earning a momentary glare from Rel, who reined herself in very quickly. Tikva could sense the momentary spike of emotions when Ritihe spoke, then the follow-up when Rel had realised what she was thinking, admonishing herself for it.

“I hope this isn’t too out of place Princeps L’rilt, but what of your brother, Commander Koteb?” Tikva asked and she couldn’t help the slight smirk when she saw Mac take a sip of his wine immediately.

“He’ll be held prisoner as an enemy of Daloon until such time as the Star Empire sends someone to apologise for an undeclared war and negotiates for the release of our prisoner of war. He’ll be held in accordance to interstellar law and I welcome the Federation and the Republic to send inspectors to check that.” Rel’s words were cold and hard.

“The Star Empire has essentially collapsed and gone into the history books,” Grel stated.

“Then it will be some time before their negotiator arrives, won’t it?” Rel asked in response and Grel nodded in understanding.

“Lock him up and throw away the key, is it?” Tikva asked, then looked to Ritihe. “And you agree with this Princeps?”

“I have more than a few legal and judicial opinions on the matter, yes, but emotionally, since interrogations of Kavos’ men revealed that he supplied the bomb one of Kavos’ men used to try and kill my husband and me,” Ritihe stopped and looked across the room to his husband who was in a knot of people and apparently far more at ease with this situation then Ritihe himself was, “I find myself not caring as much as I know I should. I will push for a proper trial, once we’ve established a new judiciary to replace the current one, but I suspect his actions may fall into the high crimes category, or set precedent for them going forward.”

“A politician, admitting faults?” Grel said with exaggerated shock. “Princeps Faler, consider me a fan. Could I perhaps impose upon you to introduce me to your husband?” And with a few pleasantries, the two men departed.

“I’m not entirely sure I trust Commander Grel,” Rel said with a salute of her wine glass to the man’s back. “But he’s certainly a charming enough character.”

“Decent drinker too,” Mac quipped. “Oh, we’re out Romulan ale by the way,” he said to Tikva, but just loud enough for Rel to hear. A carefully managed ploy to be sure.

“That is something I’m sure can be remedied before Atlantis’ departure,” Rel said. Everyone’s attention however shifted as musicians started to file in, moving the evening into another phase. “Though Commander MacIntyre, perhaps you’d do me the pleasure of a dance as recompense?” she asked.

And that was how Tikva Theodoras, captain of the Starship Atlantis, came to be standing at a diplomatic affair delicately holding onto three glasses of wine until one of the serving staff came to rescue her.

———-

As it turned out the crew of the Atlantis still hadn’t been able to agree on a name for the ship’s primary lounge. It had gotten so bad, no name lasting for more than a few days, that a chalkboard had been replicated and used for the name plates outside the two doors. Four Forward had never been a real possibility, that much everyone had agreed on, but nothing else beyond that could be attributed to some reported heated discussions.

And so, as Tikva had walked past the doors this particular night, the sign dutifully reported the space had been renamed ‘Port Royal’ with a chalk drawing of a couple of pirates with tankards that frankly could have been an entry into the talent contest, confirmed later in the evening as the handy work and entry for one Ensign Wilkins, their now Artist in Residence as so declared by Mac.

The current set piece on stage, a three-part band, she had to admit had some chops though rough around the edges as they’d only formed two weeks ago when Mac announced the competition. But entertaining enough and had the crowd’s attention as Port Royal was packed to standing room only, save for a table for the panel of judges on an elevated platform at the other end of the lounge.

Mac was truly living it large, and so where his two other judges – Lieutenants W’a’le’ki and Gerald Wilbur-Northcote, whom it had come out had won previous talent competitions at the Academy, which endeared Mac to pulling them in as judges.

“Think Daloon will be okay?” Adelinde asked as she pushed gently through the crowd to her, drinks in hand, having opted to brave the masses for whatever deadly brew was being served tonight. No fancy drinks or meals, just bar food and either a choice of beer or punch she’d been informed.

“They’ve got a long way to go, but they’ve got the broad strokes sorted, I think. They’ve entered into an arrangement with the Republic, food for security wasn’t it called?” she answered, taking a sip of the offered beer, opting for that versus the unknown quantity of the punch, the ingredients of which she’d not been able to find out. “And apparently a few other nearby worlds have reached out asking about procuring foodstuffs. It’ll be months to get the farmlands sorted and a season for growing, but I think Daloon’s got a strong future.”

“Think they’ll remain independent?” Lin followed up.

“Give it a generation or two and they might disappear into the Republic, but I think they like their peace and quiet to be honest. The Empire considered them pastoral backwater; the Republic is already looking at them as a key breadbasket for the Velorum Sector with so many other worlds wrecked by the Empire.” Tikva shrugged. “It won’t be the same going forward, but I think Ritihe is a breath of fresh air, Rel too to be honest.”

“And Speaker Pamisa? You seemed to like her.”

“She retired!” Tikva exclaimed happily. “Something about more time with her great-grandkids and chasing after the man that got away. If he’s as old as she is though, he’s in trouble. That woman is fierce.”

“Good things come in small packages,” Lin teased, just smiling joyfully at Tikva’s mock glare before kissing her on the forehead. “When are you up?”

“Next,” she answered, then proceeded to drink her beer with some gusto, aware from the sound of it that the band was winding up. Darren said to avoid the Dutch courage, but frankly, it always worked before she took to the stage in her youth. She’d never been caught singing in public completely sober yet, why change that?

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was The Philosophers, which I can’t help but think took inspiration for their name from our good ship,” Gerald said, standing to make the announcement and receiving a slight acknowledgement from the band members on stage. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard a punk take on classical Vulcan music before, but we’ll reach out to a few of our resident Vulcans for their opinion shortly.”

A few cheers went up, especially around the few Vulcans in the room who all looked like someone had clearly dragged them along. She could taste the exasperation in the air from the nearest two, but the overall joy from the rest of the crew present washed it out.

“Next up ladies and gentleman, a very special entry, Atlantis’ very own top gun, our one-armed bandit, you know her, you follow her orders because you have to,” a few muted laughs at that one, a solid ‘Ha!’ from Mac in his seat, “Captain Tikva Theodoras!”

For someone clearly wearing a tweed jacket just for this evening and his role as a judge, Gerald’s announcer’s voice was pretty spot on and not something that should ever come from someone wearing tweed, at least in her opinion.

She finished the beer, handed the empty glass to Lin, rocked up on her toes to kiss her quickly on the lips for luck, and then shouted “Make a hole!”. Lin could part a crowd by sheer presence but Tikva had rank and she’d learned how to put authority in her voice to convince people to move as she had now. The parting of people, reacting on trained instinct to move when ordered so she could move from where she’d been to the stage was a thing of beauty.

As she took the stage, in jeans, a black t-shirt with ATL on the front, she grabbed the mic, tapped twice, and then looked over the crowd. “Two songs, one in recognition of how I got here,” she glared at Mac, who just offered a salute with his glass in response, “and to those crewmembers who have found my flight simulator program for the holodeck. Oh, such naive souls, there will be a reckoning,” she joked, smiling at the crowd. “The other because I fell in love with it. I’ve tweaked the words slightly, but my hero knows who she is.” More than a few ‘ooooh’s went up at that, a few folks turning to look at Adelinde momentarily.

She had no band, no accompaniment on stage, just the musical tracks she’d selected. She counted to three in her head, tapped the control on the mic to start the first song and let the guitar and synth music wash over the crowd, finding the beat and waiting for her entry, which wasn’t long on this one at all.

Revvin’ up your engineListen to her howlin’ roarMetal under tensionBeggin’ you to touch and go

Highway to the Danger ZoneRide into the Danger Zone

By the time she finished she already knew ‘Danger Zone’ was going to be banded about by the crew for a few weeks at least.