The benefit to having USS Nobel as Task Force 47’s flagship, a now Fleet Captain Alexandra Sudari-Kravchik thought to herself, was that the ship’s expansive facilities accommodated the option and capacity for flag offices far more comfortably than any other ship in the current Starfleet inventory outside of the Odyssey-class ships, in her opinion. While Nobel sacrificed some of her scientific lab space for the flag offices, it wasn’t like the ship lacked any afterwards in the grand scheme.

Starboard compartments on deck ten had been given over to house the office space that was required to manage a task force, but the true luxury of compartments with windows had been set aside for two purposes – her own office and the task force conference room. Converted quarters, it was difficult to see them as such now.

“Ah, Captain Jori, please, sit,” she stated as her executive officer stepped into her office, past her yeoman who was at work in the outer office. “We are finally starting to see the ships of our task force arrive in the Thomar Expanse.” She indicated the large display on the wall opposite the windows which showed a brief status display of the ships assigned, at least administratively so far, to Task Force 47. “A few have arrived at DS47 and are partaking in leave before continuing into the Expanse.”

Looking at the newly promoted Fleet Captain she nodded as she took the seat that was offered, crossing her leg over her other leg she looked at the display as Sudari-Kravchik spoke. “After the events with the situation in the Romulan Star Empire and the Velorum Sector it’s good to see they get some much-needed leave,” Jori said as she looked back at the Captain. 

“Indeed so. I am however gratified to see the ships and personnel we were promised finally arriving in our theatre of operations.” Sudari-Kravchik slid a padd across her desk. “A draft of our briefing packets for the command crews of every ship that will be working throughout the Expanse.” She’d been working on it primarily herself but the helping hand of her intelligence chief was obvious upon reading. “I would appreciate your taking the time to fully review the document and come back to me with your thoughts so that we might distribute it as soon as possible.”

“Understood sir,” Jori replied as she made a mental note to do that once they finished this meeting.

“In the meantime, I shall be issuing generalised orders to all crews. Survey and exploratory work along multiple vectors across the Expanse will take quite some time to complete and likely be extended with each new discovery.” Sudari-Kravchik tapped a button and the monitor on the wall shifted to a star map. “I will also be issuing general guidance on interstellar relations, particularly with our nominal Cardassian allies. Nobel is due to rendezvous with the Mertec in a few days, and we will meet with a Gul Tresh to discuss some of the factionalism within the Cardassian border forces. No doubt we’ll be able to provide some further intelligence to our ship captains following that.”

Jori had listened to what was being said. “The meeting with the Cardassians should prove interesting. From what I understand they didn’t quite like the idea of Starfleet moving into this area of space,” Jori responded. “I hope we can smooth over relations between us and them.” She added as she adjusted in her seat while looking at the star map that was brought up.

“That would be nice. I will settle for Gul Tresh at least giving us a list of other Guls on border patrols that we should inform our people to be cautious of. Of concern is possible Tzenkethi and Breen provocations.” Sudari-Kravchik stood and approached the map, a hand rising to highlight the border regions. “I have decided to issue orders at this time to avoid direct engagements with either power if at all possible. I have no doubt something will occur in the future but I would prefer it to be the result of someone else deciding to start a conflict.”

“Yes, we don’t need any incidents with either of those powers.” Jori replied, “though we will want to keep an eye on the Breen. With their attack on Guardian Station, they are worthy of watching to make sure nothing like that will happen again.” Jori commented as she hadn’t been there, but read it in reports from the aftermath of that situation. “The Tzenkethi have been pretty quiet from my understanding,” Jori added.

“They will not stay that way I fear. Another Galaxy-class, a Sovereign-class, and an Odyssey-class when it gets out here, as well as a handful of lighter vessels, means that the Thomar Expanse is going to become rather busy with Starfleet ships. The diplomats can confess the truth of simple exploration as much as they want, many will not buy it.” With another tap on the map, Sudari-Kravchik highlighted dozens of star systems in the Expanse. “Territorial claims, counter-claims, counter-counter claims, suspicions between the Cardassians and the Breen since the end of the Dominion War, some rightly so, the Tzenkethi’s generalised xenophobia – all of this makes the Thomar Expanse a terribly interesting place to be.”

She traced a finger parallel to the Breen border, but well away from it. “Survey work along this arc here would give us a chance to establish sensor buoys to monitor Breen activity within the Expanse. Mark 8s should be sufficient, their range short enough to mollify any concerns about spying into Breen territory as well. We can then make overtures to the Union for shared maintenance of the array.” She turned back to Jori. “Draw up a deployment plan. We will not rush it, but notify all ships so if they are in the specified regions they can make efforts.”

Taking note again of what was being asked of her, “Understood.” Jori replied adjusting in her chair ever so slightly, “I just received word from Captain Dex of the Saratoga. They are being delayed within the Velorum Sector finishing up some humanitarian aid, it would be another week or so before they will be able to head to Deep Space 47.” Jori commented as Sudari-Kravchik had mentioned an Odyssey class arriving within the Expanse. 

“You can get back to Captain Dex and let her know to take as much time as she needs.” Her tone had come across harsher than she wanted, so remedying what was said was for the best. “I mean to say, inform her to take as much time as she needs to remedy the situation in the Republic to the best interest of all before she departs. With what we have already present or soon to be, I am sure we can make due. As long as we do not lose her and her ship to the Republic efforts long term.”

Jori nodded in agreement, “Understood. I will relay the message.” Jori replied, looking at her padd for a moment before looking up. “Anything else I need to be aware of?” She asked looking at the woman in front of her as she couldn’t think of anything else that wasn’t already covered.

“Just that our days of little paperwork and reports are at an end.” Sudari-Kravchik tapped once more on the wall panel and it showed estimated tracking lines for the task force’s ships and then coloured bands over the Expanse with stardate ranges, all radiating outwards from DS47. “It is, I hope, going to become quite busy in the near future.”

Since its inception as Starfleet’s forward position inside the Thormar Expanse, Deep Space 47 had in its short lifespan transformed from an out-of-the-box starbase, stark and barren, into an emerging little hub of commerce and cultural exchange. It was still mostly anchored around supporting Starfleet’s mission, but there was clearly activity taking place with no regard to that mission of exploration into previously difficult-to-access territory. It was no small comfort to those in charge that the people who inhabited the station now came out of choice rather than necessity, DS47 was quickly transitioning from a statement by Starfleet to an integral part of life in the Expanse. The Federation was here to stay and they were here with an open hand. 

“Noble should be finished with her resupply efforts the day after tomorrow and be ready to set sail once more.” Commodore Alexandra Sudari-Kravchik turned her back on the balcony of the task force office that looked down on the Galleria and stepped back inside, the sliding glass doors staying open and giving the faint impression of the offices being located on a planet somewhere and not high up on a space station. “Have there been any changes in the other ships of the task force since the end of the Borg crisis?”

“Unfortunately Gar’rath hit a dead end with the Chimerium thieves, despite a shuttle mission that makes for worrying reading and a decidedly shifty Bolian.” The Bajoran XO lifted the tall glass mug to his mouth, the large ice cubes clinking pleasantly over the muted chatter from beneath the balcony. “He did however manage to acquire some assets that might reveal some intel. They should be arriving at Gateway Station…” He looked at the antique chronometer on his wrists as he took a sip, the metallic hands clicking inexorably forward, “…now.” He nodded slightly as the wristwatch silently struck the hour. “Gar wasn’t particularly clear about how helpful they were feeling but I have no doubt a few well-placed snarls will be involved.” The man stifled a laugh at the thought of the towering Gorn Captain as he pushed his black rimmed glasses back up his nose. 

“And then there’s Helios, I’m hoping that this trip out to Bryntail Base to kiss some babies and shake some hands might help them move on from the incident with Unimatrix Zero.” A moment of reflection hung at the end of his sentence, disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “Tanek has confirmed our newest ‘diplomat’ from the Cardassian Union has been nothing but polite and cordial.” The slightest quiver of a raised eyebrow from the commodore caused him to hold his hands up in mock protest “I am trying very hard not to be suspicious.”

“Republic is still within Cardassian territory pursuing a matter important to Starfleet Intelligence. We should inform our captains that Captain MacIntyre is available to assist in matters along the border if required. He and his XO have been building bridges with certain members of Central Command that may prove useful, especially for the likes of Captain Tanek.” Sudari-Kravchik was slowly doing a loop of the office, nominally only used when she was in residence aboard the station. “And if any of our ships are heading deep into the Expanse, Captain Theodoras will be available. It would seem she intends to keep Atlantis as far from here as possible.”

“I’ll let everyone know that Tikva is nearby and looking for something to keep her clear of the Intel office. Maybe she wants to go chat up some miners with Tanek?” Wyll leaned toward the Commodore conspiratorially as she neared the desk in her slow perpetual loops, “Did you know there’s a rumour going round that Admiral Beckett has a picture of her on a dart board hung behind his office door.” He smiled at the thought of newly minted Ensigns he had overheard chattering in the corner of Beans’d It. “I half suspect the Admiral started the rumour himself.” Varen chewed his cheek as his focus shifted out beyond the Galleria’s tall windows, the rolling mass of the distant Rolor nebula visible to one side, the gateway to a new frontier, whilst the tumultuous orange storm of the Badlands hung just out of the corner of sight. Future and past all in one glorious vista. “I am worried we might have to call on captains like Tikva and MacIntyre to step up again all too soon. The Expanse is delicate at the best of times, doubly so with Starfleet’s recent troubles. We’ll need every faithful hand at the mast.”

“Rumours regarding Admiral Beckett you would do well to either ignore or quash when you hear them,” Sudar-Kravchik said. Her tone was level and bland as always, well-practised and controlled, but an element of irritation could be seen in her eyes. “As would rumours pertaining to any of our officers.” She let that sink in for a moment, then turned back to regard the modern rendition of a Spartan helmet that had adorned the offices when she’d first taken command of Task Force 47. “We must not forget the other ships under our command. Dragon, Sojourner and Cardiff are all exemplary vessels. I look forward to hearing from their captains soon enough.”

“We also have a new ship assigned to the task force.” Sudari-Kravchik had finally circled back around to her desk, picking up a padd, reviewing it momentarily and then handing it over to her executive officer. “USS Vallejo. California-class. I am certain we can find something…interesting for them, yes?”

Varen thumbed the thin screen, causing the small holographic display embedded in the desk to spring to life, projecting a scrolling newsfeed from the Thomar Expanse, its slow rolling bullet points highlighting the busy nature of the region. “Interesting? I can always find something interesting.” The man squinted as he examined the growing list of trouble spots. “I’ve got reports of Breen scavengers out near the Tassel asteroid field, they’re hunting space mushrooms?” He shrugged at the eternal mystery that was the Breen Confederacy. “Oh! This one is good, there’s a rogue Ferengi trader on Krinnal base selling moon dust as an aphrodisiac, that one came in as an anonymous tip… obviously.”. He turned dramatically to the Commodore as she leant back in her seat, “Do you know how good Captain Day is with pronouncing Tzenkethi?”

“Perhaps we can allow Captain Day to establish herself in the region with some more routine work before subjecting her to being ignored by the Tzenkethi.” And in that statement, Sudari-Kravchik displayed more emotion than she had all meeting – annoyance. “After the recent crises I fear we might end up with a Coalition that feels it can get away with settling a few debts with the Breen Confederacy. And the Breen are likely to have elements of their own society looking for easy wins as well to cement any bids for power.”

“It certainly is a busy party.” Varen thought back to the map that hung in his own office, a gift from some dignitary to the then XO when 47 was first built. The glowing green spectre of the Confederacy hung menacingly over the entire region whilst the familiar Tan of the Cardassian Union peeked out from the bottom of the frame; the two galactic powers squeezing the aggressively territorial Tzenkethi Coalition. In large black letters someone had scrawled ‘You are here’ over a blue dot in the centre of the jostling powers, a year later more small blue dots had appeared across the map, reminders of Federation diplomatic victories. “I hope we have enough chairs when the music stops, or things might get interesting….” 

“May we live in interesting times,” the Commodore said. “Though after the last few months, I am sure everyone would prefer quieter times for a while, yes?”

“Quiet is overrated.” he stood from the chair with a smile, swinging the empty glass from his fingers. As the clinking of glasses and low hum of chatter floated past the balcony he saw a familiar vision in the Commodore’s stoic visage, one he had witnessed a thousand times as he played in the corner of the Provisional Government’s offices on Bajor. A woman, acutely aware of the load show bore on her shoulders; the weight of legacy, the weight of expectation, the weight of the future. As the small child in him looked out on a woman who had been handed responsibility for ushering in a better future, he found himself desperate to make her smile like he had his mother. 

“You know, it reminds me of a joke I heard on 72. How many ears did Captain Kirk have?” He took a step into the open doorway, readying to make a quick exit.  “3. A right ear, A left ear. And a final frontier.” Varen turned quickly and rushed off to admonish some ensigns, hopeful he might have made the day a little brighter.

“Who the hell did they make these damn tubes for? Four year olds?” Theo grumbled under his breath as he folded himself into a pretzel. 

Arranging himself like some kind of freakish human spider in the middle of the tiniest jefferies tube he’d ever seen, he managed to brace one foot on the wall opposite and started to unscrew the panel cover above him. 

It was hot work. The base always ran hotter than he’d like to account for all the species aboard, but a fault in one of the environmental clusters had set it raging out of control. The base as a whole was running three degrees above normal, with other sections running hotter than that. 

Like the jefferies tubes… which were currently about the same temperature as a sauna. He’d stripped off down as far as he could, right down to his sleeveless undershirt, and even that was soaked through with sweat, the skin of his arms glistening as he worked on the last screw on the panel above his head. 

The screw gave and he caught it with the ease of long practice, slapping it against the magcuff wrapped around his wrist. Even if he hadn’t worked as an engineer for many years there were some things you never forgot. One of them was the sure and certain knowledge that any screw you allowed to hit the deck would immediately find either a hole in said deck, or something heavy and immoveable to disappear under. 

He grunted as he lowered the panel cover and set it aside, looking inside as the cluster was revealed. 

“Where are you?” he murmured, quickly scanning over the relays, counting them from left to right and taking note of the batch numbers. “Nine-five, nine-five, nine-five—“

He was looking for relays with a batch number ending nine-six. A manufacturing fault meant that they locked in the temperature settings at higher levels, and because they were all in series (a design fault if you asked him), one faulty relay meant it would affect the whole damn system. 

“Well, hello beautiful,” he smiled, then said. “Computer, take environmental cluster five-seven-alpha-four out of sequence please.” 

Reaching in, he plucked a nine-six out of the line. The cluster whined and went dark as he dropped the faulty relay into the toolbox by his head. A second later he was pushing a nine-five in place, waiting for the soft click more felt that heard that told him it was sited correctly. 

He waited, watching the cluster, but it didn’t light up again as it should. Sighing, he reached for his padd, cradling it against his chest as he snaked the wires from the top and plugged them into the control panel for the cluster. 

“TFXO and I’m doing diagnostics again,” he muttered as he ran through all the standard diagnostics quickly, but his words were without ire. The engineering department was busy with other issues and while he wasn’t the most qualified engineer onboard, he was the only qualified engineer who’d been available to deal with this. That and his office was one of the ones running hotter than Hades and he’d had to do something before he turned into a crispy critter. “I guess you can take a guy out of engineering, but you can never take engineering out the guy.”

“Yes!” he murmured in triumph as he found the setting that was at fault and the cluster lit up again. “Computer, run a level five diagnostic on environmental cluster five-seven-alpha-four.”

He watched the cluster for the next couple of seconds until the computer replied. “Level five diagnostic complete. No abnormalities found.”

“Excellent, bring the cluster back online and reintegrate it with the environmental systems. Run level five diagnostic on the entire system and report,” he ordered, already lifting the heavy panel cover and starting to screw it back into place.

He’d just finished on the second screw and started on the third when the computer replied. “Level five diagnostic complete. Environmental system  operating within normal parameters. Base ambient temperature dropping to normal levels.”

“Thank heavens for that. Inform main engineering the last of the faulty relays are now replaced,” Theo said, finishing up the panel and twisting to grab his tool box. It didn’t take him long, half crawling, until he reached an intersection with a hatch. 

Cracking it, he reached up and over, catching the edge of the hatch so he could unfold himself. Then he was out, in the blessed cool of the newly activated air-conditioning. 

“Captain Barrington?” The soft voice of his yeoman emanated from his commbadge. “Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to remind you that you have a comm call scheduled in five minutes.”

He sighed, tipping his head back to murmur. “I’m too old for this s—“ Cutting himself off, he answered. “Of course, I’m on my way now.”

Reaching back into the tube, he picked up his toolbox, his uniform jacket stuffed in the top and closed the hatch up. Then he headed along the corridor to make his way back to his office.

“No signals whatsoever?” Ashimola stroked her chin thoughtfully, her fingers twirling through an imaginary rakish goatee.

“No ma’am. No signals in or out, no power signatures, not even a wandering biosign.” The young helmswoman span in her chair to face the two women seated at the bridge’s centre.

“There’s no one home,” she concluded with a shrug before turning back to her console.

“And there’s no sign of damage, a critical issue that would cause them to abandon ship?” Ashimola asked over her shoulder, her curious eye still focused on the viewscreen. In the inky blackness of space, the tapering form of a Romulan ship hung like a creature caught in amber, its slender green wings frozen in the starfield.

“Handwritten note?” Fennick joked quietly, as she scrolled through data on the small pop-up screen that sat between the Captain’s chair and her own XO station.

From the small science console to the right of them a young bolian officer shook his head, before offering another shrug. The second one of the morning, Ashimola did not want this to become a habit.

“Apart from some minor impact damage on the dorsal tip of the port warp nacelle, it looks pretty pristine,” the young Bolian advised.

“Weapons fire?”

“More likely meteoroid impacts, nothing that would entail abandoning the ship though.” He turned back to his console, his chubby fingers beginning a new set of scans.

“The SAR team are ready ma’am. All fitted with EVA suits and emergency supplies,” a voice called across the bridge from tactical.

Ashimola leant in close to her XO, the Bajoran woman’s attention still on the scrolling list of ship registries and recorded flight plans.

“Anything Number One?” Ashimola whispered in hushed tones.

“There was a Romulan ship, the Surlest that was meant to be headed this way but according to logs, it’s still in dock at Starbase Bravo. Some issue with supplies,” Fennick looked up at the Captain, her slender eyebrows bunched together in frustration.

“Not everyone has to log a flight plan I suppose,” Ashimola mused.

“Bravo would have still caught them on long-range sensors, especially with everything that’s going on.” Fennick raised an eyebrow, “unless they took specific measures to avoid detection.”

“That still doesn’t explain why they’re here now, empty but otherwise fine.”

“There’s only one way to be sure it’s empty.” Fennick tilted her head inquisitively.

Ashimola sighed, sending in an away team with such little intelligence was less than ideal. Fennick was right though, it was the only way to be sure.

“Send them in,” Ashimola announced to the bridge. “Tell them to keep their eyes open.”

The silence on the bridge was palpable as they held their collective breaths. A few decks below on the small cutter, 4 figures in boxy white environmental suits disappeared in a flurry of dancing lights. Moments later, several hundred meters away they materialised aboard the empty civilian ship.

A chirp from the comm system cut across the silence on the bridge.

“Away team to Durandal, we have made it aboard into the cargo hold. There is no power and minimal atmosphere, we are making our way to engineering.” A collective exhale wafted across the bridge.

Several minutes passed with a cruel sluggishness, each second falling from the small chronometer in the corner of the spartan bridge with the speed of treacle. Durandal was awfully close to the buffeting edges of three major galactic powers, one of whom had recently become less than friendly. Every second spent here meant their attention was away from the precarious border.

“Durandal, we’ve made it to Engineering. The main core appears to be secure but inactive.” An audibly relieved breath skittered across the comm link. “No risk of singularity implosion.”

“That’s a small blessing,” Ashimola whispered beneath her breath. Despite several years of good relations with the nascent Romulan Republic, Starfleet was woefully under-informed about the functions of the Romulan-made singularity cores. They were, however well aware of the dangerous results of their failure.

“Any sign of life Lieutenant?” Fennick asked, tugging at her traditional Bajoran earring, a telltale sign of her normally well-masked nervousness.

“Nothing yet ma’am. Though they seemed to have left in a hurry, there are engineering kits and equipment all over the place. We’re carrying on to the bridge.”

Ashimola felt a shiver run down her spine as a long-forgotten voice echoed from the campfire light of her childhood. Breathy tales of ghost ships and abandoned freighters, all empty, like the crews had simply disappeared. Her father had loved a ghost story.

Ashimola had not.

“We’re approaching the bridge, ma’am. Still no sign of anyone or anything that might cause the crew to abandon ship.”

Fennick leaned across the central console again, her voice low and buzzing with tension.

“Those transports aren’t designed for automated flight. There had to be someone aboard to get it here,” she whispered.

“How many would it take to fly? Absolute minimum.” Ashimola felt the tingle of another shudder down her spine.

“You could do it with two at a push, but singularity cores are unpredictable. You’d be foolish to fly more than a few lightyears without at least a mechanic aboard as well.”

“How many engineering kits would a few crew need? There must have been more than three.” Ashimola’s tingle was threatening to brew into a worried twinge.

The pair’s quiet consultation was interrupted by the deep baritone of the tactical officer from the rear of the bridge.

“Ma’ams, the away team is beginning a live stream.”

With a short tip of the head, Ashimola gave the order, causing the viewscreen to become a vista of shadowed bulkheads and furniture. Sharp-edged beams of light lept out from the away team’s flashlights, floating through the gloom, silently scanning over dark consoles and vacant chairs.

Slowly, the feed panned across the empty bridge, until it landed on the ship’s centre chair. A security officer stood nearby, his stark white environmental suit glove strikingly alien in the grey brutalistic surroundings.

The video link dipped as the away team officer gave a nod and across the room, the officer swung the chair around.

Draped over the seat lay the familiar tan uniform of the Romulan Republic, its patchwork of lush green and olive pierced by a great silver talon of a Bat’leth.

“Now that,” Ashimola sighed. “Would be a good reason to abandon ship.”

On the spinward front of the United Federation of Planets, there is a Starbase, a great citadel of silver where the banner of blue flies proudly above the parapets. Aboard that great watchtower of liberty, there is a bar; one of a number but favoured by a great many beings whether they walk on two legs, or four, or none at all. It is a bar which plays host to the Fourth Fleet’s greatest officers during their brief respites, as they journey across the stars and allows the mix and mingle of any who seek to lay down their woes.

Within those wood-panelled walls, illuminated by the glow of faux tungsten lamps, there is a quiet side room. Many claim its seemingly flimsy wooden door is stronger than the portal of a keep. For it holds great warriors at bay and fends off the most ingenious spy; it has guarded against the galaxy’s most devious foe and held fast before the most devilish machines.

Within that room three friends now sit, grateful for it’s oaken safety after a day of endless meetings and reports.

For within this discreet side room, there is one golden rule. ‘No Shop Talk’.

Varen’s eyes narrowed as they swung between the pair of men opposite, evaluating the poker faces of his two dear friends. He had faced the spittle-spewing bluster of Klingon commanders and the slippery snaking smiles of Cardassian diplomats, but this pair were completely inscrutable. No twitch of the eyebrow that may reveal a gambit, nor twist of the lip that might signal a stratagem. This, it seemed, may be entirely down to luck.

“Do you have any sevens?”

Mamof leaned back in his chair, his demeanour softened in the comforting embrace of this rare sanctuary. He glanced down at the cards in his hand and pursed his lips together in mock contemplation before raising his gaze to Varen.

“Go fish,” he said with a smirk. Leaning back in his chair, he cradled his drink and shot Varen a wink. “You never know. Maybe the universe will smile on you with this next catch.”

He looked over his cards again before glancing toward Callen. Raising his drink slightly as if in a toast before setting it back on the table beside him. “Got any eights?”

Callen’s gaze flicked to Varen, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know…” he said, the words rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

He leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing the edges of the eight in his hand before holding it out toward Mamof. The pause stretched just long enough to betray his reluctance before he let the card go.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in a mix of appraisal and disbelief. “I’ve sat across from empaths and telepaths, even the kind who can see right through you,” he said, his voice low and edged with humour. “And yet here you are, Mr. Mamof, putting them all to shame.”

Mamof accepted the card with a grin that lit up his face, giving Callen an exaggerated nod of appreciation. “Well Callen” he began “I’ll take that as high praise, though I assure you no telepathic tricks here. Just good old-fashioned intuition. Or maybe I’m just that lucky.”

Callen’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Mamof with a sharpness that cut through the friendly banter. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, as though holding back a retort. “Luck, sure,” he muttered, the words slipping out under his breath like an afterthought. His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned back in his chair, the quiet creak of the wood punctuating the tension.

He tapped his fingers against the edge of his cards, the rhythm deliberate, steady, revealing nothing. Without breaking his stride, his eyes shifted to Varen, studying him as if searching for cracks in his composure. “Wyll, Got any threes, maybe?” he asked, the casual tone almost too smooth, his poker face firmly intact.

The Bajoran captain’s head swung theatrically around the room, before settling on the officer across the table.

“I’m still not convinced you don’t have hidden mirrors in every corner.” Varen reluctantly plucked a card from his small hand and slid its three dark diamonds across the table. “That or some secret telepathy of your own. I might have to start hiding you in the corner of my office for staff briefings. Did you know that Canterbury managed to-”

Callen’s laugh burst out, sharp and sudden, slicing through Wyll’s words like a well-aimed jab. He leaned back in his chair, the dim light catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. His grin broadened as he tapped two fingers against the table for emphasis.

“It’s my job to know the Canterbury managed to misplace their CO,” he said, his voice laced with mock gravity. He let the words settle for a beat, then tilted his head, his grin sharpening into a sly smirk. “But you…” He pointed at Varen with exaggerated precision, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “…you, my dear friend, are breaking the prime directive of games night.”

He paused, letting the moment linger before delivering the final blow.

“No shop talk.”

Mamof chuckled as he swirled his drink gently in one hand as he watched the exchange unfold. He shot Varen an amused look, his eyes twinkling with that ever-present jovial warmth.

“Careful Varen,” he said leaning in just a bit. “Break the rules too many times and we might have to start assigning penalties. And trust me you don’t want to know what Callen and I can come up with.”

He winked, taking a slow sip of his drink before settling back in his chair, clearly enjoying the friendly ribbing. “But by all means carry on,” he added lightly, his grin widening. “This is far too entertaining to interrupt.”

Letting out a defeated sigh Varen took to shuffling the positions of the cards in his hands, hoping to outplay the apparently all-seeing pair of officers. “Fine,” he huffed from behind the fan of playing cards.

Callen leaned forward, the faint creak of his chair breaking the heavy silence. The dim light caught the edge of his smirk, sharpening it like the glint of a blade. His gaze swept across the table, lingering just long enough on each face to drink in the wide eyes and hesitant stares. Slowly, he straightened, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, his features unreadable, as if nothing had been said at all.

“The mirrors?” His voice was quiet, almost offhand, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. “I don’t need them.” He paused, letting the words hang like smoke, his fingers brushing idly against the cards in front of him. “My career’s shown me a trick or two…” His eyes flicked up, locking onto his friends for the briefest moment, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “…maybe three.”

Mamof let out a low rumbling chuckle, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he gave Callen an approving nod. “Well now” he mused. “That explains an awful lot, doesn’t it?” He leaned forward slightly, his grin never faltering. “All this time I thought it was just sheer luck and impeccable timing. But no—turns out you’ve been holding out on us with those tricks of yours.” Shooting a glance at Varen with an expression full of mock suspicion. “I don’t know about you but I’m starting to feel a little outmatched here. We might have to start checking under the table for hidden subspace relays.”

He took a sip of his drink, settling back again with an easy smile. “Of course, if you’ve got a few honest tricks to share Callen, I’m all ears. And trust me, these ears know a thing or two about a good deal when they hear one.” He flicked his ear with a light chuckle. “Might even help me next time I’m haggling over a ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ opportunity at the station’s trading post.”

“Hey, I warned you that trader and his crates of ‘ancient Vulcan herbs and spices’ were bogus,” Varen crowed from across the table. “Salt, 50 metric tonnes of completely normal salt. It wasn’t even from Vulcan!”

Callen’s smirk crept across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “At least we won’t have to worry if the replicators go down on Starbase 21,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You can always cure your meats, pickle your vegetables, and ride it out.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, then straightened, his expression turning playful as he raised an eyebrow. “So, I believe we were playing a game, gentlemen?”

“Have you got any-” Varen began before a fearful cough from the room’s corner interrupted his inevitable slide into defeat.

All heads turned to the corner, a collective narrowing of brows honing in on the young petty officer who stood at the secreted doorway, her timid mousey features hovering bodyless from behind its dark oaken form.

“Sorry sirs, I know you said that you didn’t want to be disturbed.” She twitched noticeably as the trio each raised an unimpressed eyebrow in unison before ushering a quivering arm into the room with glacial hesitancy. A cluster of slender golden deltas nestled in her shaking palms, all three emitting the incessant, hungry chirps of responsibility.

“But they all started going off at once…”

“They can take their best shot, make it true…

But baby, I’m bulletproof because of you.”

Theo let loose with the last line of the song, his voice strong and powerful as he threw his hand out, his arm outstretched toward the audience beyond the lights in front of the stage.

He held position, even though sweat ran down the groove of his spine. The Screaming Helltoads stage show was fast paced and energetic, and as the lead singer most of that was down to him. Straightening up, he grinned as the music finally died away and he heard the screams, catcalls and cheers of the crowd. Seemed the ‘toad’s music had gone down well with SBB, the crowd demanding not one, but two encore’s.

Turning, he caught Ryke, the bass player’s eye. The only other member of the band here in person—the others were performing over hololink—Ryke was rocking a similar look to Theo himself; long ‘big hair’ wig, eyeliner and leather pants more sprayed on than worn. Ryke was still (mostly) wearing a vest top, whereas Theo’s had long since been torn off and flung off the stage to parts unknown, revealing the heavy tattoos that covered his torso and arms. Unlike the wig, they were real.

As a look, it was a world away from the straight and narrow senior officer he was during the day.

“More! More! More!” the crowd chanted and he laughed as he stepped back up to the mic.

“Thank you Starbase Bravo! But… that’s us for the night! Thank you for your support!”

There were more calls as the ‘toad’s all stood, slinging arms over shoulders as they took a bow. The lights snapped off and Enna and Steele, the two remote members, disappeared, their hololinks cut.

“That went well,” he murmured to Ryke as they headed off the stage. He looked for his shirt as he went but it appeared to be long gone. No matter, they were all replicated anyway.

The moment they stepped behind the coulisses, the buzz of the venue still humming in their ears, a figure darted toward them. Xaevo, the venue’s manager, her dark hair cascading in waves, was already beaming. She threw her arms wide, her smile almost too big for her face. “Great show, guys!” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Loved it!”

“Hey Xae! Thanks!” Still high on the high from the performance, Theo grinned back. “It went really well. No hitches with the hololinks or anything!”

Xaevo’s grin stretched wide, her eyes sparkling under the stage lights as she stepped closer. “Come find me later,” she said, her voice warm and effortless, “and we’ll book your next performance.” She hesitated, leaning in slightly, then added with a sly wink. “Some Starfleet Brass were in the crowd—they asked for you. Don’t keep them waiting, yeah?”

“They did?” Theo’s grin slid off his face. What on earth did the brass want with him? Well, what did they want with him as the lead singer of the ‘toads anyway. None of the band’s real identities were known. Not a secret, so much as… not widely advertised that they were all Starfleet officers.

“Sorry boss, I have to get gone,” Ryke slapped him on the shoulder, his voice way more cultured than expected for the way he was currently dressed. He sang backing for the group, but his voice lacked that raw whiskey-roughness of Theo’s. “I have patients first thing in the morning, and I need to read up on my case notes.”

“Yeah, sure thing, you get gone. I’ll see what they want and clear down the set.” Theo nodded, watching as the tall counselor headed off, his bass slung over his back like a soldier would sling a rifle.

Issuing instructions for the stagehands to start packing up, Theo dropped down off the stage, landing lightly on his feet to stalk through the crowded room, sliding back into his stage persona as he went.

Callen Varro sank deeper into his reserved booth, the remnants of the performance still dancing in his chest, the pulse of the music vibrating through him. His fingers absently traced the rim of his glass, but his mind was far away, still caught in the energy of the show. The raw intensity of it all—the way the crowd had swayed with every note—reminded him of something distant, something he couldn’t quite place. It felt like home, but not in any way he could name.

His eyes scanned the dim room, catching the last flickers of light as the club settled into a relaxed hush. His gaze drifted toward the stage, then flicked to the entrance as a figure moved through the shadows. The figure’s posture was confident, almost purposeful, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Callen’s breath caught for a moment when the performer’s silhouette became clearer, the broad shoulders and familiar outline of the man who had just commanded the stage now unmistakable. He was heading directly toward him.

Of all the people Theo had expected to be in the crowd, in a booth at the back like he was trying to deny being here, Captain Varro, Director of Fourth Fleet Operations, was most definitely not it. Which meant Theo was faced with a dilemma. Did he act as Captain Barrington, Executive Officer of one of the Task Forces Varro commanded, or was he going to be Theo, lead singer of the ’toads…

Still high on the buzz of performing, the choice was an easy one.

Grabbing a chair from a table as he passed it, he spun it around easily and dropped down to straddle it; his arms looped lazily over the back. “I heard you were looking for me, Captain?”

“I was!” Callen burst out, his voice thick with excitement. He leaned forward, his hands resting on the edge of the booth as if the energy of the performance was still charging through him. “I just had to tell you how much I enjoyed the show. It reminded me of the local bands back home—so raw, so real. Truly stellar!” He grinned, a glint of admiration in his eyes. “You’ve got that kind of energy that pulls you in. Have you been in the business long? Because you’ve got the kind of stage presence that makes it look effortless.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Theo’s smile widened in response, and he flicked his hair back over his shoulder out of the way. It seemed that Varro was a fan, nothing more, so he relaxed a little.

“I’ve been singing all my life, but only with the ‘toads for a couple of years,” he revealed. “We’ve really been lucky recently, managed to land some awesome gigs so we’re really beginning to get out there.”

“It really sounded great!” Callen said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm as he leaned forward, barely able to contain his excitement. He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before he glanced away, pretending to consider something. His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table as if weighing the thought.

“Just off the top of my head,” he continued, his tone casual, yet with a hint of mischief, “would it be possible to book you for my next set of quarterly reports?” He let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth curling.

“Usually, we try to relieve the stress with a game of Go Fish, but I’m thinking… a private concert might do the trick. Something to help my COs let loose, shake off the tension, and get their heads back in the game.” He looked back at the singer, a spark of excitement flickering in his eyes as he imagined the scene.

“It would certainly be different,” Theo chuckled. The fact that he’d be there while wearing… yeah, definitely not correct uniform… just deepened his amusement. Varro didn’t seem to have recognised him, so perhaps no one else would. “It’s something we’d be open to, sure. Schedules permitting,” he added. Ryke was here on SBB, while the other two were on a ship somewhere in the Thomar Expanse, so it was doable.

“Hey, let me grab you a drink,” he said, noticing Varro’s glass was empty. Lifting his head, he nodded to the bartender over the other side of the room. “So… is rock your preferred genre of music?”

Callen gave a thoughtful nod, his expression softening with genuine appreciation. “It is, actually,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ve always had a thing for the classics. They’ve got this timeless pull, you know? But every now and then, something new pops up that really grabs me.” He tilted his head slightly, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “What do you think about that new contemporary stream? Some of it’s been pretty interesting.”

Theo nodded his thanks to the waiter who brought their drinks, sliding Varro’s over the table to him.

“It’s interesting, but some of it I find a little too… elevator music? For my taste anyway. I’ve always definitely been into classics. There was some Klingon cello a while back I found really interesting.”

“Klingon cello?” Callen’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his drink pausing halfway to his lips as he absorbed the idea. He lowered the glass, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Now that’s an idea,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “That would definitely make my quarterly report get-together a lot more interesting!” He leaned back, already picturing the unique touch it would add to the event.

“It’s surprising, but it’s good. I mean, I have no idea where they even got the cellos for a start off!” Theo chuckled, knocking back his drink. He hissed as it burned all the way down. Then he tilted his head as he looked at Callen. “So you wanted to hire us? That’s why you left a message with Xae, the venue manager?”

“No, no, that’s just something I came up with on the spot, Mr. Barrington,” Callen said with a soft laugh, raising a hand as if to dismiss the idea, a playful glint in his eye. He took another sip of his drink, then set it down, his posture shifting as he leaned in slightly, his tone softening. “But honestly,” he continued, his gaze meeting Barrington’s with genuine sincerity, “I really just wanted to congratulate you. That performance was something else. You had the whole room in the palm of your hand.”

Theo was startled for a second, then he laughed.

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have expected this…” He gestured to himself. “To have fooled a former spook. But thank you, that’s kind of you to say.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement as he picked up the glass in silver-ringed fingers, rolling the edge against the table. “I also realise that I have backed myself into a corner anyway.”

Callen’s laugh was warm and effortless, a sound that seemed to fill the space between them. His eyes danced with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth lifting into a sly grin. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to catch on,” he said, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. He shook his head with a soft chuckle, the lightness in his voice betraying his enjoyment. “But hey, that was fun!”

He settled into his seat with a satisfied sigh, but his gaze sharpened just slightly as he leaned forward again, his voice taking on a playful edge. “So, does my dear friend Wyll know about his Executive’s extracurricular activities?”

Theo’s lips quirked up at the corners, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Not as far as I know. So far we haven’t been recognised. But we have a gig booked at B’Aar on DS47 next week. So, we’ll see…

“Captain Varen is an exceptional diplomat—maybe the best Starfleet has,” Callen said, his voice thoughtful as he tapped his fingers on the table. “His deductive skills? Well, they’re certainly up there with mine.” He paused, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But let’s be real,” he continued with a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if at a private joke. “You won’t catch him at a classic rock concert anytime soon. He’d probably rather sit through a week of debriefings.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the contrast.

Theo inclined his head. “That may be why we haven’t been recognised yet then,” he chuckled. “Plus… B’Aar is a relatively new establishment. Excellent bloodwine though.”

“I’ll make sure to check it out next time I’m there, then,” Callen said, rolling his glass between his fingers before setting it down with a soft clink. A smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ve got a taste for Klingon beverages—at least the ones that don’t squirm. Generally, I like my drinks, and my meals, to stay dead.” His eyes gleamed with amusement as he pushed himself up from his seat, smoothing out his jacket with an easy shrug.

“Well, Mr. Barrington,” he said, his tone warm but laced with finality, “thanks for the incredible performance and the good conversation. You put on one hell of a show.” He cast a brief glance toward the exit, his expression shifting as duty crept back into his stance. “But duty calls.” A knowing smile flickered across his face as he met Barrington’s gaze one last time. “I have a feeling this won’t be our last conversation.”

“Likewise and thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed the performance, sir.” Theo smiled as he rose at the same time. He offered his hand to shake. “And I suspect not. Although, the next time we speak,” he chuckled. “I’m likely to look a little different. But anyway, I’ll let you go. You have duty calling, and I have a set to help break down before my transport tonight.”

Callen dipped his head in a slow, easy nod. “Good luck, and safe travels,” he said, his voice low but certain. The faintest hint of a smile flickered across his face before he turned away.

He moved effortlessly through the dim haze of the club, the neon lights pulsing against his silhouette, briefly outlining his form before swallowing him into the crowd.

“Just tighten that up there… not much, just a gnat’s knacker… yeah, that’s good.” 

Captain Price smiled at the young engineer as he leaned one arm against the edge of the Jefferies tube so he could see the panel he was working on. “Excellent work, Ensign. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

The ensign smiled at him upside down. “Thank you sir, I just wasn’t sure about that last part. Sorry, it must have seen a stupid question to you.”

”No problem at all,” Price shook his head. “And no question is stupid. I’d rather you ask about things you’re not sure on rather than get it wrong. Out here… with a secondary ops panel like this, it’s not such a problem… but in main engineering, or in the Forge and on one of the primary systems, getting it wrong is much more dangerous. Which is why you ask, ask and ask again if you’re not sure, okay? Now, I do believe it’s nearly shift change, so how about you get yourself on out of there and head up to the mess. Grab a drink, captain’s orders, okay?”

”Aye sir, yes sir!” 

The enthusiastic response made Price chuckle as he pushed off the wall to stand upright. He resisted the urge to rub at his lower back as he headed through main engineering, nodding to crew as he passed. They were a good, solid crew and he knew most of them by name. 

“Captain to the bridge,” he said as he emerged into the main corridors and turned to head on up to the bridge. “How are we doing with the relays? The last one should be coming online right about now by my reckoning.”

There was silence and he frowned. It wasn’t like McLachlan to be tardy in response. Ever. The Lieutenant Commander was so punctual and perfect at times Price had had to give some serious consideration he was some hitertoe unknown variant of robot or something. Apart from the fact robots tended to have more of a sense of humour.

”Bridge? Commander McLachlan?”

Perhaps comms were down. Price tapped his commbadge a couple of times to test it, but it responded like normal. 

“Sorry captain,” McLachlan finally answered just as Price sped his pace up. 

“Hold the lift!” he called out as the door was about to shut. An enterprising Lieutenant stuck his foot in the door as Price jogged up to it. 

“Thanks. Bridge please,” he mouthed to the Lieutenant—Diaz—and carried on his conversation with McLachlan. 

“No Captain, we’ve had no response from the relays. Investigating the source now.”

He nodded as the lift swept them away. Diaz had ordered the bridge on priority without him asking, which he appreciated. But then, when he appeared with that frown on his face, his crew knew something was going on. 

“How far are we from the last relay location? We can’t be that far away. Let’s head back and check on it. They’re the LM-42 build, aren’t they? I bet Comms didn’t apply the latest patch…”

He frowned, rubbing his forehead. They needed these relays up and running, especially with the current unrest. 

”They are. And we’re doubling back now, sir.” As always, McLachlan had anticipated his order. “I’m checking the installation data but everything seems to be in order. I’m not sure yet why the array isn’t responding. Coming up on the last location now.”

He nodded. “I’m almost to the bridge now.”

“Of course…” There was a moment’s silence as the lift slowed, then he got McLachlan’s voice in stereo as he strode out of the lift. “Sir, dropping out of warp at the last location now.”

Price came to a stop behind McLachlan in the center chair, both their gazes latched onto the view in front of them. 

“Well, I can see the problem,” Price commented. 

The relay wasn’t responding because it wasn’t there. 

Unfortunately, the Klingons were.