Captain’s log, USS Aitu, stardate 5266.7

 

We’ve been tasked with ferrying some highly sensitive cargo from a salvage operation in the L-374 system back to Rigel where hopefully someone will be able to make heads or tails of whatever we’ve got in the main cargo hold. I asked what we might have on hand but was informed that not even the SCE doesn’t quite understand it.

 

To make matters more interesting, whatever it is that we’re carrying is also incredibly massive. Roughly the size of a shuttle, it actually outweighs the Aitu, which is likely why we’re the ones transporting it. Oversized engines mean we can move the cargo, but even at maximum power, we’re barely pulling warp six.

 

Commander T’Mir calculates it will take us two weeks at this speed to get to Rigel. Suffice to say, I’m looking forward to getting this particular monkey off our backs as soon as possible.

“What’s all the ruckus about?” Captain Brandon Somers asked as he stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge of his ship.

“A few small issues that when combined make one big problem,” Lieutenant Commander Lisa Peralez said as she stood from the centre seat and indicated for Somers to join her at the Science station. “Sensors have detected some sort of subspace distortion dead ahead and every course correction we make, it matches with a delay that’s getting shorter the closer we get to it.”

“That’s one,” Somers said as he took in the readings on screen.

“We’re speeding up,” Peralez continued. “As we near the distortion we’re increasing in speed. We’re currently at six point two and climbing slowly. It’s like we’re caught in an eddy and falling in. And before you ask, we’ve tried shutting down the warp engines as well but they’re not responding.”

“What’s Gram got to say?”

“He’s finishing a diagnostic right now, but he’s already admitted if we need to stop it’s looking like we might need to eject the core.”

Somers sighed, shook his head and then looked to Peralez. “Anything else to make this morning more fun?”

“Long-range sensors picked up something that’ll give the boys and girls in Intelligence kittens,” she said punching up the last surprise for the morning. “Resolution isn’t great, but we’re eighty per cent on it.” A silhouette of a triangular ship came up on one of the monitors, then rotated to provide a front view of the tri-radial craft.

“Tholians? This far inside the Federation?” He shook his head in the negative. “Has to be a sensor glitch. Get Baker and,” he started to say before being rudely cut off as the entire ship shook, red alert klaxons rising to the occasion of their own volition.

“Report!” he barked as he made his way for his seat and threw himself into it, Peralez making for Tactical.

“Warp drive just surged in power Captain,” Lieutenant Ramosh Taroo said from the helm. “We’re pushing warp eight and still accelerating. Course is still set for the distortion. One minute till impact.”

“Christ,” Somers cursed. He took a moment more to think, weighing up his options. A finger jammed down on the button that called straight through to Engineering. “Gram, eject the warp core right now.”

Over the comm channel a warning siren could be heard warbling, then what could only be described as a woosh before an angry Tellarite barked back at Somers. “Done.”

It was however far too late as USS Aitu was unable to avoid the subspace distortion before it. As the ship tumbled through strange physics the crew was tossed wildly as alarms screamed for attention from every console on the bridge. But as soon as it started, it seemingly came to an end, the ship settling, light flickering on the bridge, failing, then dull red emergency lights coming up in their stead.

Somers clamoured to his own feet and looking around decided not to ask for a report. There wouldn’t be much he couldn’t see with his own eyes as most consoles were blank, or flickering wildly. The helm was completely blown out and Somers quickly spotted the mangled form of Taroo, having caught the electrical explosion straight to her face and upper torso.

“Sound off,” he said instead, loud, firm, confident. The voice of a commander trying to reassure the shaken everything would be okay. Trying to reassure himself it would be okay.

A few meagre moans, a couple of responses including Peralez who was soon scrambling for a first aid kit to help someone else on the bridge.

Somers sighed, muttered a short prayer for Taroo, then made his way to the normally vacant communications station and assessed the situation. Subspace radio was down, but the normal space radio was still operational. Maybe someone was close enough, or would come to investigate a warp core explosion and hear?

A few button presses and he was rewarded with the tone that the system was recording and ready to transmit.

“Mayday mayday mayday. This is the USS Aitu requesting immediate assistance from anyone who can hear me. We’ve suffered severe damage and primary power loss. If you can hear me, please respond.”

That weak cry for help, recorded and looped, beamed across the void space at the speed of light, seeking any who could hear it, recognise it and bring such sorely needed help to the stricken ship and crew.

What was to remain unseen by any of the crew of the USS Aitu until far too late however was the planet they’d been deposited near by their strange journey. A planet they had no way of breaking away from and whom the added weight of their cargo would have made escape impossible from anyway.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 77662.3

 

I’ve just received a formal invitation from the Fleet Captain to attend an impromptu meeting with herself and a Gul Mercel of the Cardassian 12th Order. The 12th is responsible for the Union’s defence along this border so it’s likely a good chance to meet up, rub elbows and maybe make some friends.

 

Or get the measure of potential problems in the future.

 

Atlantis is however still picking its way around the Rolor Nebula, and I think the crew are enjoying the change to do some proper exploring as well as showing off the ship. We’ve already had a Breen and Tzenkethi scout shadow us for a few hours each over the last few days.

 

That said, I’m not going to steal Atlantis away to run me off to a diplomatic meeting in a few days and interrupt the ship’s good work. Not when I’ve got a captain’s yacht I need to break in. The best part is, we still haven’t named her yet.

 

I’m thinking Adrestia but we’ll see.

Stepping out on the bridge with Mac in tow, Tikva held her out and caught the gently lobbed keys from Samantha Michaels as she stood from the centre seat, a huge grin on her face. “Don’t let the power go to your head Lieutenant,” she said to the young woman who returned to the vacant Operations console at the front of the bridge, “but do enjoy it when you can.” She’d barely been a few years older than Samantha was now when she’d been made the Second Officer on the Aroha and could still remember the absolute joy at sitting in the centre seat.

But Atlantis wasn’t Aroha, with her much larger crew and the occasional need for someone as junior as a lieutenant junior grade to mind the bridge while the captain or first officer were just a single door away tending to other business. There would normally be at least a full lieutenant around, but Atlantis was also a busy ship and throw in a full planetary survey in the works right now and senior officers started to get spread thin when they disappeared to do their actual jobs.

“Someone,” Mac spoke up, “might also find themselves enrolled in Command courses if they keep adjusting the seat settings.” He’d gone past her and stopped in front of her chair, examining the little console on the right arm. “You and the Lieutenant are both far too short.” A finger came to rest on a single button and the seat rose just a touch to Mac’s preset, his other hand unwatched reaching out to Tikva, palm open and facing upward. When he didn’t get what he immediately wanted he turned to face her. “Hand them over, you’ve got places to be.”

She glared at him, trying vainly to burn a hole in his forehead, before grumbling, her best impression of Rrr to date, and handing the set of keys over to him with a sigh. “Remind me again why I opted to take three ensigns and Lieutenant Burke to fly the Adrestia?” She looked around the bridge, the few officers around either not seeing her, or pointedly finding something far more interesting, leaving only Mac who just grinned, and then made a show of slowly sitting himself down in her chair.

“Fine, I’m going!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and heading for the turbolift, not even getting three steps before she let out a few short laughs at her own behaviour. “I better have a ship when I get back, or you’re all court-martialled.”

As the doors to the turbolift were closing she did hear Samantha’s question back to Mac. “Aren’t court-martials standard in the event of a lost ship anyway?”

Tikva had afforded herself the time to pack and stop by the science labs to get Gabrielle’s latest news from the survey work before leaving the ship. That briefing had turned into an early and light lunch in the Captain’s Mess, making the briefing less dry and letting Gabrielle extol her with the work of her people in a far less formal setting. Even now after she’d been called away the table was littered with a handful of padds with discoveries yet to be filed. Her quiet reverie was broken as a figure entered, scanned the room and then calmly walked over and sat herself down opposite Tikva with a gentle smile.

“Aren’t you supposed to be leaving in five minutes?” Adelinde asked.

“The benefit of being the captain,” she started in response, not having looked up from the report in hand about some mineral survey work, but was rudely interrupted.

“Is the shuttle doesn’t leave until you’re ready for it.” Adelinde tilted her head slightly sideways, then reached forward to gently push the padd down and draw Tikva’s attention. “What’s up Bug?”

“I’m planning how I’m going to kill Rhea for sharing that nickname. I’m thinking torpedo through the mail service.”

“I can stop calling you it if you want,” Lin replied. “But it always makes you smile.”

“I’m joking!” She said, smiling at her lover. “I like it, especially from you I’ve found.”

“You’d avoided the initial question though. What’s up?”

She sighed. Avoiding answering certain questions from Lin had been the discussion of more than a few recent therapy sessions and to which they’d been working. Lin’s gentle return to the point versus letting it slide past, her own actually answering the question directly. Lin was right of course.

“Two weeks stuck on a small ship with a handful of ensigns and Lieutenant Burke.” She rolled her eyes, which earned her a slight chuff of agreement from Lin. “His dossier is impeccable, all his reviews were spot on, his former COs all had nice things to say, but man oh man I find him such hard work.”

The man in question, Lieutenant Jason Burke, was one of Lin’s people in Tactical. Coming over from the USS Pardush he’d gone from Security which handled all ship security and tactical matters, to Atlantis in just a tactical and ship combat systems capacity and apparently it had gone to his head, himself now the epitome of the gold shirts, elevated above mere mortals.

“He has aspirations of command,” Lin said. “Probably thinks he can do a better job of commanding this ship than all the senior officers combined.” She shrugged. “He’s a hotheaded lieutenant that needs a few chips knocked off his shoulders. Isn’t that one of the reasons you’re taking him with you to see the Fleet Captain?”

“Not really. I wanted to sit there and judge him with a small crew and get ready to pounce.”

Wait for him to make a mistake and then BAM! New torpedo!

You can’t shoot a lieutenant out of the yacht’s torpedo tubes. He’s too big.

BAM! Out an airlock, new space-mine!

Better.

“How about you mentor him like you did Mac instead? Sit him down, constructive criticisms and sort him right.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re right,” she said to Lin with a smile. “Beautiful when you’re wrong too.”

“And falling short in sorting Burke out, when you get back we can just add him to Ch’tkk’va’s Hazard Team as a Tactical liaison and let Ch’tkk’va sort him out.” She too stood, collecting the padds, taking a quick look at one before turning the screen off and staking them, accepting the one from Tikva at the end. “I’ll get these back to Camargo.”

“Walk with me first?” she asked and was answered with a simple nod.

By the time they did get to the yacht Tikva was only running ten minutes late, having insisted on stopping by the primary geological sciences lab to return Gab’s padds to her, then a quick bit of nosing around before a gentle cough from Lin got her back on track. Ensign Jessica Chu, one of the original Atlantis’ crew was standing by the airlock, waiting, snapping to when she had looked up at the sound of people approaching and spotting the captain. “Captain, Commander, Lieutenant Burke asked me to wait and let him know when you were ready to board.”

He was getting impatient you mean and you found a way to get away from him.

Clever girl this one.

Isn’t she one of those lower deckers always plotting and planning away?

They’re lower deckers, they’re always plotting and planning.

Tikva offered a genuine smile and then unslung her pack, offering it to the young woman. “Pop that inside my cabin would you and then tell the Lieutenant he can finish pre-flight. I’ll be with him shortly.”

“Aye ma’am,” Chu said, then disappeared into the small craft.

“She’s a smart one,” Lin said. “Keep an eye out for I think.”

“I’m going to be cycling all the ensigns and even Burke through the centre seat on the Adrestia on the way to the Nobel and back. Hoping to find a few new team leads and maybe a few to put in command mentorships. You’ll be getting a few hopefully once we break out into the deep unknown.” Tikva smiled and turned to Lin. “Two weeks, gonna miss you yah know.”

“You’ll be fine Bug,” Lin said, then looked down the corridor of the yacht, making sure no unwanted faces were looking in their direction, before leaning in and kissing Tikva gently on the cheek. “I had someone stow your good dress uniform aboard already anyway, just in case this gets formal on you.”

She’d closed her eyes at the kiss, just enjoying the proximity with a goofy grin on her face. “Don’t redecorate my quarters,” she commanded, opening her eyes to see Lin giving her an expression that read ‘no promises’ to go with the cheeky feeling she was getting from her lover. “Best get going.”

“Yes, you best.”

They stood there for a few moments, stretching into awkwardness before Lin broke it. She offered a slight wink, then turned to walk away, leaving Tikva at the threshold of the yacht.

Seriously, she’s just going to walk away?

We are running late.

That wasn’t a proper goodbye kiss. I want a proper…

Shut up you, we’re professionals and on duty.

“Commander Gantzmann,” Tikva barked out as Lin was about to round a corner and disappear from sight. With the name said Lin and stopped in her tracks and turned, just as she herself was striding down the corridor with long, determined steps, closing on Lin who was giving her a quizzical look.

“Yes?” Lin asked just before she had closed enough to reach up, grab a hold of Lin’s uniform tunic in both hands and pull her down for a proper kiss. One that she felt was proper for going away for two weeks. Soon enough Lin’s arms were around her, holding her tight. When she broke for air she was pleased that Lin didn’t turn her loose immediately.

They stayed there, holding each other for maybe half a minute before slowly letting each other go, then gently smoothed their uniforms out and said sweet nothings before turning, goodbyes said and done.

“Ma’am,” Ensign Chu said from the airlock as Tikva turned around. Immediately she could feel her face blushing at that, then angry at herself for getting caught with such a display of affection in public, doubly so while in uniform.

A captain was supposed to be better behaved, not some school girl crushing hard, dreading distance from a girlfriend. And here she was facing the reality that a fresh-faced ensign had just seen her. An ensign who didn’t look like or even emotionally feel like they were worried and dreading that the knowledge they now possessed could ruin them. “Ensign,” she answered.

“Lieutenant Burke is ready to depart at your pleasure,” Chu continued professionally, though there was something underlying it, some emotion that Tikva was having difficulty placing.

“Very well,” she replied and then proceeded to board the yacht, stepping past the ensign. “And Ensign, you saw nothing.”

“Nothing at all ma’am,” the young woman said as she stepped in after Tikva, pausing only to operate a series of controls that closed the yacht’s and Atlantis’ airlocks doors and then signal the cockpit that they were ready to depart. “Nothing at all,” Chu repeated as she turned with a conspiratorial grin on her face.

“Good. Now, shall we get this particular show on the road?”

“Lieutenant Burke is this way, ma’am.” Then Chu slid past her in the narrow corridor and towards the yacht’s cockpit. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

No, he won’t.

This is going to be a very, very interesting road trip.

Commander’s Log, stardate 77664.9

 

We’re just finishing up the routine survey work of the system TE-101. A few notable, but unremarkable finds overall. We’re not set up for highly detailed surveys like a proper survey ship would be, but good enough to know this system isn’t terribly worthwhile in the scheme of things.

 

We’ll be progressing along to TE-157 within the hour and continuing the task at hand there. A few days at warp, a week of survey work, then off to TE-237 and meet the captain there. Nothing too stressful, if you don’t mind the fact that we’re within pouncing distance of the Breen border.

 

I’m taking the time currently to get ahead of some personnel reviews which are going well. Have a few interviews lined up as well to discuss things like career goals and direction with a number of our middle band of officers.

 

Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va has settled on a list of candidates they’d like for the Hazard Team and I have a meeting with them later today to discuss the list, as well as a few cosmetic issues they want to talk about. Not sure what that could be able, but guess we’ll see. I’ve invited Lieutenant Fightmaster along as well to the meeting

“What’s so special I had to come out here?” Mac asked, stepping out of the ready room with coffee in hand and coming up short of the Operations console where one Samantha Michaels was seated currently standing behind her ready relief.

“You’ll want to hear this, Sir,” she said, then gave the ensign, fresher-faced the Michaels herself, the go-ahead to play the recording they’d picked up over the bridge speakers.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” the crackling voice said, firm and clear for all to hear and from the sounds of it not translated at all. “This is the USS Aitu requesting immediate assistance from anyone who can hear me. We’ve suffered severe damage and primary power loss. If you can hear me, please respond.”

The message had just started to loop when the ensign stopped it, looking up from his seated position between the two officers he found himself between. “It just loops over and over Commander,” he said, a little unsure if he even should be speaking.

“You’re right Michaels, I did want to hear this. Petrov,” he said to the man at the helm, “bring us out of warp, will you? Don’t want to have to backpedal much if we don’t have to.” Then his attention turned back to the ensign. “Ensign James, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good catch. What can you tell me about this signal?” Mac asked, spotting Michaels smiling at his directing a question to the ensign and not her. Had she picked someone to mentor already? She was barely wearing a hollow pip herself.

“It’s radio sir, not subspace. Lightspeed communications. The signal is pretty weak, so I’m guessing the transmitter is pretty low-powered. We’re barely able to make it out actually from the background noise of the galaxy.” James looked like he was ready to justify his position, turning slightly towards his console, hands starting to move to bring up information to show why he said what he did.

“Get me a direction and source Ensign,” Mac said, causing James to pause for a moment. He knew vaguely what the young man was going to say as he turned back. “And Petrov, if the Ensign needs to move the ship to triangulate the origin, do it.” That stopped the Ensign, whose face went white actually as Mac then stepped away, heading for the back of the bridge and giving Michaels a head nod to follow.

“You had all those answers and you still threw him under the bus,” he said quietly to her as they rounded the arch and Mac led them into the operations area at the rear of the bridge, presently vacant, the consoles dark. “You trying to give the ensign a heart attack?”

“He’s now got experience talking to a senior officer and he’s one of the newbies, fresh out of the academy even. He needs to know the senior officers can be spoken to and will listen.” She had clasped her hands behind her back, trying to appear a bit more formal, if not for the grin on her face.

“Please don’t give ensigns assigned their first bridge shift a heart attack in future, will you?” He shook his head, then nodded his head at one of the consoles. “What do we know about this USS Aitu?” he asked, punctuated with a sip of his coffee.

It only took a few moments after she had sat down to bring up the records of the Aitu, kicking them over to the large monitor on the back wall for both of them to look over without crowding around a single station. “Captain Brandon Somers, commanding. Presumed lost with all hands stardate 5565 after an extensive search and rescue operation along her last known flight path. She was a Sombre-class cruiser, with no major technical or mechanical faults after her shakedown cruise. Lived a boring life mostly as a highspeed courier and troubleshooter.”

The multifunction system display disappeared, replaced with a series of screens arrayed across the wall. One contained a beauty shot of the USS Aitu, taken a year before her disappearance from the date on it, along with her specifications and a crew manifest. A series of small windows popped up, bios and pictures of the ship’s senior staff arrayed in a grid.

“What was she doing when she went missing?” he asked, eyes casting over the ship’s specifications. For a ship of her day she was fast, but light on the crew and those systems that made ships like the Constitution-class that much better in almost all regards. Reliable ships, but not able to get into or out of trouble as well as others of her era.

“She’s merely listed as carrying sensitive cargo from an SCE operation back to Rigel for examination.”

“That’s it?” he asked, turning on Michaels.

“That’s it. No origin point, just a destination and her cargo is listed as ‘sensitive’. Likely why it merited a Sombre-class in the first place.”

“Hmm,” he intoned, then turned to walk away from the large screen, pacing in the small space as he thought. “Right, as soon as Ensign James figures out the source of the signal, set course and proceed at warp seven. No need to go full speed for some old distress call. In the meantime, I’m going to go let Gabs know we’re not heading for TE-157.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Gabrielle Camargo asked a few minutes later as she looked up from the computer monitor on her desk. Mac’s triumphant entrance into the primary science lab was barely noticed, let alone by the person he’d just spoken to.

“I said we’re diverting away from TE-157,” he repeated himself. “We’ve picked up a distress call, so the survey will have to wait until we sort out whatever is going on.”

“Oh, okay,” Gabrielle responded, then looked back down at her monitor. “We can just survey whatever system we arrive at. Makes no difference to the team since the survey is just cover for those sensor buoys, yes?”

“The survey work is equally as important,” Mac replied, though his heart really wasn’t in it at the moment. The band of systems that Atlantis was surveying were from a distance unremarkable and from up close even more so. They’d found nothing in the last two weeks to merit a follow-up from a dedicated survey ship in the future that was more complex than coral-like compositions in a methane sea.

“But it’s still cover,” Gabrielle insisted. She turned away from her monitor and smiled up at him. “It’s work enough to give whatever Breen leader is watching us on long-range sensors the idea and concept that we’re actually doing boring survey work. Doesn’t mean my people aren’t doing their jobs, but frankly, we don’t care where until we see something interesting.”

“Hey, only three more platforms to deploy then we can sprint to Ultima Thule and do something truly interesting.” He shrugged, half turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, just so you know, we’re answering a hundred-year-old distress call. Want in on the away team?”

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

“Scans show a crashed ship on a freezing cold world. Think Titan but larger. Bet some of the planetary sciences folks will want to look the world over, system too, to figure out how a terrestrial world got out past the snow-line and hasn’t been captured as a moon.”

She furrowed her brow at him, then slowly stood to walk around her desk and into the lab properly. “You’re right,” she said as she passed him. “They will be.” She stopped at a table and whispered into the ear of one of her fellow scientists who perked up, smiled and then offered a nod to Mac before standing and leaving the lab as Gabrielle rejoined him. “Put me down for the away team as well as W’a’le’ki and Wilbur-Northcote.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you know the ETA as soon as I know it.” And with that he departed the science lab, only to run straight into the one woman on the ship he both wanted and didn’t want to see right now. “Commander Gantzmann, walk with me?” he asked and was joined by Adelinde as he headed for the nearest turbolift.

“You’re not going on the away mission,” she said flatly.

“And a good morning to you too Commander,” he countered. “But I’m the XO, so I set the away team assignments.”

“With the captain off the ship, you are the commanding officer and I’m your executive officer. As such I’m reminding you of regulations and insisting you remain aboard ship.” She’d clearly been readying herself for this he thought to himself, perhaps why she’d met him just outside the lab as she’d been on her way to see him in person.

“You want the mission,” he stated.

“Damn right,” she replied, with actual emotion in her voice, a slight bit of mirth. “I’ve also been dying to remind a superior officer that their duty is to stay aboard the ship.” The turbolift door opened as they neared and they both stepped in. “And in lieu of the captain, I get to remind you instead.”

He chuckled slightly at that as the doors closed. “Fine, fine, it’s your mission. Besides, by the time we get there, Ch’tkk’va will be ready to present their hazard team ideas to me and I’ll be stuck in a meeting.”

“They’re good ideas.” Adelinde smiled at that and gave a slight wink. “Though maybe take Fightmaster into the meeting with you? He’s been talking with the captain about this whole thing anyway so he’s likely got a good idea of where her mind is at.”

“See, here I was hoping she’d have taken him with her,” he said with an element of exasperation. “I have no idea what to do with a yeoman. I’ve always been on smaller ships where officers were expected to handle their own problems.”

“If you have no idea what to do with him work-wise, ask him. It’s his job. Maybe, just maybe you have no idea because he’s doing it all already.” And with that, the turbolift came to a brief halt on deck five, just long enough for Adelinde to step out. “I’m taking Lieutenant Pisani with the away team.” It wasn’t a request, but a flat statement of intent.

“Your away team,” he replied. “Just bring them all back in one piece.”

As the away team materialised on the surface of the frozen world a gentle dusting of methane snow was falling from the sky, condensing not from clouds but directly from the pitiful atmosphere of the world. There wasn’t even enough of an atmosphere to tint the sky any colour, the bare majesty of the band of the Milky Way snapping the entire sky instead. A singularly bright source of light hung suspended in the sky, but even its brilliant was diminished by distance to merely the brightest star in the night sky.

Ahead of the new arrivals at barely a kilometre away lay the mangled and broken wreckage of the USS Aitu, its hull recognisable despite being broken into so many pieces, a single nacelle pylon stabbing upwards from the ship as it lay on a lean, the nacelle itself sheared off and its skyward end a jagged mess. Its hull was covered in a thin layer of methane ice, dulling the sheen of the metal in the meagre light.

“Easy hike,” Blake said over the EV suit comms, the first words likely spoken on this frozen world as she looked at the mostly flat landscape between them and the ship. “Though would have been nice if we could have beamed into the ship itself.”

“There wasss sssignificant radiation,” W’a’le’ki said from behind Blake, one of the handful of support personnel that had come with the away team. “While our sssuitsss are sssufficccient, the transssporter would have had difficulty.”

“And I for one prefer to arrive in one piece,” Adelinde said as she took a step forward, then turned to face her team. Blake was their only medical staffer, along to assess any bodies they might find, would find more likely. Gabrielle had W’a’le’ki and Wilbur-Northcote with her to indulge the Science department’s survey needs as well as identify the so-called sensitive cargo aboard the ship should they find it. As for Engineering, she’d snagged Maxwell and Merktin, both capable engineers with field experience – Maxwell for his generalist skill and Merktin for a self-proclaimed interest in old technology.

“Scans show large parts of the hull appear intact, but others are mangled beyond recognition. We’ll stick together until we can determine it’s safe to start breaking into smaller groups.” She saw the head nods from everyone, some a touch more restrained than others, Wilbur-Northcote in particular whom she figured wanted to start some geological study right away.

“There’s an airlock on the Engineering hull that’s close enough to ground level that we should be able to use it to access the ship.” Merktin was eyes down on her tricorder as she spoke, a few key taps before she looked up. “Might need to melt some ice but nothing we can’t handle.”

“Let’s get to it then,” Adelinde said as she proceeded to lead the group across the ice sheet towards the mangled wreckage of the Aitu.

Ten minutes later and everyone was standing in a loose group as both Merktin and Maxwell were carefully phasering away at the methane ice, sublimating it straight to gas and doing their best to move it away as it rapidly refroze and fell as snow, which itself was being brushed away as best as possible by Wilbur-Northcote. Close enough to ground level was roughly two meters down, so a ramp was being cut into the ice to give access and eventual egress, but it was still slow going.

“So,” Gabrielle said as she sidled up next to Blake, “I hear you and the Commander are…dating?” The last word was said with a hesitant drag as if testing the word while saying it would lessen the impact if she had it wrong.

“We’re not dating,” Blake said with a roll of her head so she was looking straight up, where somewhere overhead the Atlantis was maintaining a geostationary orbit. “But we’re not not-dating too,” she added on to the end.

“So…complicated then?” Gabrielle followed up.

“Not really.” Blake shrugged and looked back to Gabrielle with a smirk. “We’re having fun, being adults about it. No need to really put labels on it right?”

“Sounds like you and the Commander need therapy more than the Captain and Gantzmann over there do.” When Blake’s expression turned into a quizzical glare, Gabrielle continued. “To you know, label whatever it is you have going on.”

“I can hear you both,” Adelinde’s voice came over their suit comms in her typical calm, flat tone. “Perhaps we can focus on the work now?” She had turned to indicate that the others were working down the slope into the ship proper and that Gabrielle and Blake could join them as well.

“Sorry Commander,” Gabrielle said as she gave Blake a wink and proceeded on in behind her people, descending the icy ramp carefully, gentle with each of her steps to avoid slipping.

As Blake brought up the rear Adelinde stopped her and leaned in, bringing her helmet in to touch against Blake’s own and with a command muted their comms for a moment. “I would seriously recommend therapy if you are seeking to maintain any form of relationship with Commander MacIntrye. Setting professional and personal boundaries is important,” Adelinde said. “That said, if you ever just need a drinking buddy, you know where to find me and I promise to keep secrets unless they threaten the safety of the ship.”

And with that Adelinde stepped back, re-engaged both of their suit comms and then proceeded down the slope, leaving Blake to stand there for a moment slack-jawed at just what had happened.

With only the occasional spoken update as the group proceeded through the wreck, updates from tricorders and announcements of which ways were blocked, the group all came to a halt at a major intersection of corridors. “Scans look clear in multiple directions Commander,” Maxwell spoke, checking his tricorder, confirming with Merktin and then looking up to address the entire away team. “Main engineering and the secondary computer core is that way.” He pointed down a corridor, the darkness barely turned back by the suit lights. “Main cargo bay is that way.” In the opposite direction, uphill slightly before turning left and once more into the foreboding inky darkness.

“No life signs?” Adelinde asked, multiple negative headshakes answering the question for her. “Right, we’ll split up to cover a bit more ground. Gabrielle, Merktin and Wilbur-Northcote, head for the cargo bay and see if you can’t figure out what this sensitive cargo the Aitu was carrying was. Maxwell, W’a’le’ki and Pisani, with me. We’ll get to what’s left of engineering and see if the portable generator we’ve got should be enough for us to power up what’s left of the main computer and get some idea as to how this ship ended up over a light-century from its last reported position.”

“And what if we find something really interesting?” Merktin asked.

“Then we call it in,” Gabrielle answered. “Let your tricorders just keep scanning. Do a high-detail scan of each room as you enter and another over anything you find that’s interesting, corpses included,” she said with a nod to Blake. “We want the best data possible for holographic reconstruction either back aboard ship or for some forensic folks back home one day.”

“As the Lieutenant said,” Adelinde followed up, “scan everything, scan it a second time before touching it and stay in touch. No going off alone, understand?” With a series of affirmatives, both teams wished the other good luck and departed in opposite directions, tricorders chirping in the near vacuum a poor heralding horn, but very common for Starfleet.

“And what is this?” Mac asked Fightmaster as the young man sat a cup in front of him before taking a seat at the conference table himself.

“Dark chocolate mocha, two sugar,” the yeoman said as he sat his own cup down as well as the padd in his other hand on the table.

“And why,” Mac followed up, “would I want this?” He wasn’t objecting to the drink, in fact, he was lifting it up to sniff at it, to confirm that sweet scent of chocolate, the stronger notes of which would hint at dark chocolate, to be delighted with the results.

“Your replicator records show you tend to replicate one most afternoons so I thought to anticipate your request before our meeting starts,” Stirling Fightmaster responded flatly.

Mac couldn’t help but chuckle lightly to himself, then took a sip of the drink, giving a happy little hum before setting it down. It was exactly as sweet as he remembered and decadent with that dark chocolate base, but it wasn’t his preferred drink. Not that he’d turn it down mind you. “While I appreciate the thought Lieutenant, it’s not my drink. I tend to replicate it most afternoons for someone else.”

Stirling’s face never scrunched up in confusion or thought, never hinted at any sort of concern. The man was an impressive wall of impassivity as he considered the statement just presented, then picked up his padd, ready to type a query into the device but stopped himself as the door to the conference room opened once more to allow entry to Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va, the one who had called this meeting after all.

And exactly on time as well.

Something that Mac had become very comfortable in expecting was that if Ch’tkk’va set a meeting time, then that was exactly when they would arrive and the meeting would start. As if work time was a precious commodity and was not to be wasted. Which did lend the Lieutenant’s meetings a certain air of focus and speed some others might flirt with but never quite commit to the same degree.

“Commander, Lieutenant,” Ch’tkk’va said, stopping at the large screen and with only six quick taps, identifying themselves to the computer in the process, brought up a presentation that had been in the works for a bit. “I would like to formally present my changes and adaptations for the Hazard Team and seek your approval Commander to proceed with them as soon as possible.”

“Anything discussed will be considered, but the captain does have final say Lieutenant,” Mac said.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” Fightmaster spoke up, “but the captain did say this was your project and your call.” And to add a bit more weight to what he just said, Stirling brought up minutes he’d clearly been taking from some previous meeting on his padd and turned it for Mac to see.

Mac knew he could have strangled the yeoman right then and there, but then who’d do all the mundane paperwork, like filling in the yeoman strangling form that just had to exist? And he’d have to explain to Tikva upon her return anyway what happened to her yeoman just as she was getting used to. It would prove too much hassle, so he settled for a mere grumbling before conceding the point, which seemed to bring some emotional outburst of unprecedented levels from Fightmaster.

He politely and rather subtly smiled.

Where did junior officers get off pulling stunts like this? He had been the epitome of respect in his youth and twice in one day he’d been pulled up short by his juniors. And curses be that both of them had valid and correct points too. Ones he’d been hoping they wouldn’t have spotted.

“With Lieutenant Fightmaster’s correction, I shall naturally be making a final judgement then it would appear,” Mac finally said as he looked away from the padd and the yeoman to the Xindi-Insectoid offer who was waiting to start their presentation. “When you’re ready Lieutenant.”

With a sharp nod of their head, Ch’tkk’va tapped the screen once more, moving it from the screensaver that was the rotating seal of the Atlantis and moving straight onto the first slide of the presentation. “I am proposing a total team size of fifteen members, myself included forming Atlantis’ hazard team. I currently have several personnel I would like to request join the team but am still short of the full fifteen I would prefer and will be consulting with other department heads for their recommendations”

The slide was a breakdown of the fifteen-strong team into three lots of five. Two of them were mostly security personnel, or more likely in Mac’s expectation meant for those willing with decent marksman scores, with a single medic per team. The last team was a single security officer with two medics and a single science and engineering officer to round it out. Each was blandly labelled Point 1, Point 2 and Support.

“I intend to operate in a two-pronged combat model with a support team to provide medical, engineering or scientific support as and where required. The support team will however typically be operating in reserve and I hope only need to be called up occasionally. I will want them to train as regularly as possible to prevent any skill loss from lack of deployment though.”

“I would hope,” Mac found himself speaking up, “that training to prevent skill loss becomes standard practice Lieutenant. We’re forming this team purely as a preventative measure and I know I speak for the captain when I say we sorely hope that our typical and standard practice security measures will more than suffice.”

“That is my hope as well Commander,” Ch’tkk’va said before tapping the screen once more and launching into intended organisational structure, training regimes, intent for exercises against their regular security forces and so on.

It was nearly a full fifteen minutes later when Ch’tkk’va brought up another slide, this time with no further structure charts or timelines, but an illustration of the light combat armour typically worn by hazard teams. “I also have some modifications to the equipment we procured at Deep Space 47 that I would like to discuss.” And with that, the screen brought up a few blue boxes around various pieces of the armour to draw attention to them.

The shift from the organisational and logistical matters of the hazard team, which MacIntyre had noted that Fightmaster had more than a passing interest in, had stirred his interest. He trusted Ch’tkk’va to handle the matter and ensure the team was up to the task, but he had enough org charts and manpower requirements in his job. This however was not related to his day-to-day and therefore vastly more interesting.

“Might as well start at the top then Lieutenant,” he commented and Ch’tkk’va nodded their head once before highlighting a set of goggles on the mannequin-esqe stand-in for an officer in the diagram.

“Low-light goggles adjusted ever so slightly for the adjusted shoulder lights,” the Xindi-insectoid said moving rapidly to the shoulder lights on the armoured clamshell chest piece. “Modified lamps to primarily shine only in the infrared spectrum so as not to give ourselves away visually when possible. And when possible the goggles will filter out sudden flashes, and the shoulder lamps can be configured for a short-term strobing effect, to disorientate or incapacitate non-lethally if possible.”

“That’s a nasty little combination,” Fightmaster spoke up, “but not all species are limited to such narrow bands of the EM-spectrum for visibility. Some can see quite well in the infrared, your own for example.”

“With forewarning, the lamps and goggles can be adjusted before deployment with a simple secure tricorder connection. A task we can perform in the transporter bay.” Ch’tkk’va watched Fightmaster for a moment and when the young man nodded, they continued to the next piece, which was on the back of the combat gloves. “Chemical ablative padding that is detectable by the goggles, but which is nearly invisible in a wide spectrum. For use on tagging walls or the floor if need be at intersections to assist in guiding follow-up teams or in the event of a hasty retreat.”

“Breadcrumbs,” Mac said with a smile.

“I was inspired actually by the tale of Theseus, Commander.” Ch’tkk’va brought up an illustration, which didn’t seem very sophisticated, going so far as to even label characters in it, but which showed the hero Theseus in distinctly medieval-style clothing with the string the myth attributed to him in the labyrinth. “Save this one can’t be so easily cut. The chemical tag will fade within a few days, though I suspect it will more than suffice for most operations.”

“So, lights that only help our people and a modern string for helping find your way home,” Mac summarised, earning a nod in response. “Sensible enough precautions. Anything else?”

“I would like permission to replicate several TR-116 rifles and train the hazard team on their use.”

“Is that really necessary?” Fightmaster asked before Mac would, offering a nod in apology for speaking first, but Mac let the question stand as it was what he was going to ask after all.

“I hope it won’t be,” Ch’tkk’va replied. “But we don’t know what threats may lie beyond Ultima Thule and should we run into a situation where even the regenerative power cells on modern phasers have issues, I would prefer to have a backup ready that our people are trained with.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, then looked to Fightmaster to try and read the yeoman’s expression. Which was as bland as ever, so no help there. “Ten, but they stay under lock and key,” he conceded. “And make that a double-key lock as well while you’re at it.”

“Yes sir,” Ch’tkk’va replied, then tapped the screen once more, this time bringing up a patch. A circle device, it featured ‘Atlantis NCC-90562’ in an outer track along the bottom third. The top half of the same track read ‘Hazard Team Myrmidon’ and to go along with that, the core of the patch was a stylised rendition of a handful of Ancient Greek warriors all marching to the left, all identical to each other. The whole thing featured a terracotta background with black figures, writing and banding for the outer track, giving it a vaguely Ancient Greek art style.

“Leaning a touch heavy on the Greek myth there aren’t you, Lieutenant?” Mac asked with a slight smile, appreciating the unspoken joke of naming the team Myrmidon. Those high-school classics lessons might be in the distant past, but he retained enough to get it. “No need to explain,” he said with a raised hand to stop the incoming explanation. “The team patch is wholeheartedly approved. Heck, make up a larger version and you can hang it in whatever Security space you’re setting aside for the hazard team.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ch’tkk’va said. “I have nothing further to present at this time. I will have a list of candidates I would like to approach for the Hazard Team to you and their respective department heads within the hour.”

Mac stood, nodding his head in understanding, then smiled as a thought came to mind. It was a nasty little thought, but then again senior officers were meant to have them from time to time, yes? “I would like you to add a single name to the list Lieutenant. Someone I would think would, with some training, make an excellent member of your team.”

“Who, sir?”

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Stirling Fightmaster,” he said, then turned to the yeoman who was in the process of getting to his own feet and stopped for a mere moment, before completing the action. “And in the absence of the captain at this time, approval from myself is granted. I suspect the Lieutenant’s organisational skills will be quite useful in your early stages.”

And with that, he gave Ch’tkk’va a nod, then turned for the door that would lead him back to the bridge. “As for everything else Lieutenant, consider it approved. Let us continue to hope we never need your new team.”

“Honestly ma’am,” Alexi Petrov’s voice came over the comm system as T’Val settled her fighter into orbit over the gas giant blandly labelled T-162Af, “I don’t know what horse trading the captain did to swap out those Type-8 shuttles for fighters again, but I’m glad she did.”

“Indeed,” was all she said in response to the younger man’s comment. “Though the fighters have presented their own issues.”

She however did find herself wondering how the captain had managed to negotiate a swap of 3 Type-8 shuttles for 3 Valkyrie-fighters, or why Captain Theodoras had decided she needed fighters over the multi-mission shuttles, but she didn’t let it occupy her for long. She simply lacked enough information to make any logical assumptions and any further thought on the matter would have been wasted.

She had been charged since the fighters had arrived aboard Atlantis to have the names of the now gone shuttles transferred over to the fighters, though they all flew under callsigns instead, as well as arrange them to be as ready for rapid launching as possible. Her efforts, in conjunction with the bay chiefs, had concluded that Sovereign-class starships were not meant to be rapid launch platforms. Shuttlebay 1 was cramped, the majority of its dedicated space below elevators and away from the launch bay itself. Shuttlebay 2 was slightly better, but its narrower aspect meant launches were one at a time.

So far the best solution was still avoiding them, even after consulting the Flight Operations departments of other ships of the class. Most had opted not to bother with fighters, preferring to let other ships handle such things if it ever needed to be done, or rely on their runabouts and heavier shuttles in an adhoc capacity.

“Ma’am, I’ve got a weird sensor return coming from that moon that’s just come over the horizon,” Petrov said nearly ten minutes later, breaking the silence that had settled over the two. For a human, he seemed quite apt at recognising that not every moment needed to be filled with speech and so when he spoke, she was more inclined to notice.

“Understood,” she replied and went to her own instruments to verify Petrov’s claim. Her fighter, Harpy 2, formally on the records as Kos, wasn’t a standard Valkyrie-A, or attack model. It was instead a Valkyrie-A/R, or Attack/Recon, and hence why Petrov was asking without directly asking for her to focus on the moon in question. She had exactly two micro-torpedoes aboard, already in the launchers, with no reloads unlike Harpy 1 and 3. Instead, the entire magazine space had been given over to a more sophisticated sensor suite and ECM hardware.

If an enemy’s sensor profiles were known and analysed prior to a mission, that very same ECM suite could mask the entire Harpy flight, assuming they maintained a close formation, up until just shy of a final attack run. Assuming they weren’t diligently looking for them that was, or distracted by something far larger like the fighter’s mothership. More importantly, it meant that recon flights like this could hopefully see but not be seen, then return back to the ship without giving away that they’d already spotted the enemy.

As for the more sophisticated sensors, they were very, very good in a narrow observational window forward of Harpy 2 and significantly better than the standard Valkyrie in all other directions, but for survey work, they paled in comparison to the standard sensor suite aboard most shuttles.

All in all, it meant that Harpy 2 was very, very good at spotting things, pretty good at masking it and other fighters within a handful of kilometres of itself but in a fight required a pilot who could deliver ‘gun kills’ versus relying on guided munitions to do the work. This ultimately also leads to the best pilot needing to become a decent capable science officer.

These two factors combined to land T’Val in the seat of Harpy 2 right now. And the list of pilots aboard ship she’d trust with the craft, able to get the most out of the craft in all aspects, was relatively small and something that needed to be addressed sooner rather than later.

“Lieutenant, please move your fighter behind mine. Your engines are disturbing the sensor return,” she finally said after adjusting the sensors for nearly a minute with no luck in refining Petrov’s ‘weird sensor return’ outside of it being an unusual magnetic return around the moon’s northern magnetic pole that hadn’t been noted by Atlantis when the ship entered the system.

“Aye ma’am,” Petrov’s reply was quick and to the point, as he dropped behind her in orbit, falling back nearly five kilometres, the edge of Harpy 2’s ECM bubble if it had been active.

With the interference of a fighter-sized impulse engine no longer in the way, she continued to adjust the sensors, attempting to determine if Petrov’s initial return was anything of concern or not. It took nearly two minutes before she calmly spoke out. “Contacts, two of them, bearing zero-zero-six mark zero-three-nine. Designate OB1 and OB2.”

“Roger, OB1 and OB2,” came the reply. Petrov would only be seeing them on his equipment right now thanks to the networking between the fighters, but she could pass on certain tasks to him to accomplish while she continued to refine the information she had.

Two returns, large ones too, hiding in the noise of magnetic poles. Better yet, magnetic poles that were further charged with radiation and electrical charge due to the flux tubes connecting the moon and the gas giant’s magnetic fields. They were too far out for direct imaging just yet, at least for what the Valkyries had aboard, but it wouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes before they were close enough if they maintained their orbit.

“No evidence that they’ve seen us yet,” she said for the record, her sensors showing no changes in the unknowns since she’d started observing them. “We’ll maintain orbit and once we’ve circled around the planet with a bearing for Atlantis we’ll break and return to the ship.”

“So, we’re just going to pretend we haven’t seen whomever these folks are?” Petrov asked.

“That would be the plan. We should be able to get close enough to directly image whatever we’re seeing on sensors. And the odds that they’ve seen us would be minuscule,” she answered.

“No Vulcan precise value?” Petrov asked and she could hear the teasing nature in his voice.

“I am more concerned with maintaining a difficult sensor lock on unknown ships than doing calculations in my head that would simply give a number to minuscule odds that I’m sure neither of us needs right now,” she answered.

And so nearly forty minutes later both Harpy 1 and 2 broke orbit as if nothing was amiss, heading for Atlantis with only a perfunctory communication to inform the ship they had completed their initial survey of the gas giant and its moons, finding nothing of concern at all.

“Nothing ma’am?” Petrov asked shortly after updating the ship.

“Not on long-range comms,” she answered his question and his reply was to fly along and offer a salute to acknowledge he understood. A glaring gap in the communications had been discovered and she could see a need to work on a series of code words that the Harpies could use with the ship. But right now, that wasn’t the concern. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

“Roger that,” Petrov answered.

An hour and a half later, still bedecked in her flight suit, T’Val stepped into the changing room opposite Transporter Room Four where she had been informed Commander MacIntyre was to be found. He was in the process of donning an EV suit, which she mentally filed as curious, before moving past such matters. “Commander, we have a problem.”

“No, no we don’t,” MacIntrye said in response. “A problem would mean I have to stay aboard ship instead of beaming down to what I’ve been reassured is a completely safe recovery site for a bit of sightseeing.” He stood, having secured his boots and started on his gloves. “A problem means that your report of absolutely nothing interesting at all wasn’t true.” He got one glove on, then looked up and sighed.

“The report was intentionally lacking in details in case our transmissions were being monitored,” she defended herself.

“Can you wait five minutes to deliver your report to Gantzmann when she beams up instead?” he asked, then deflated when she refused to give his question the response it most certainly didn’t merit. “Out with it.”

“Lieutenant Petrov and I were able to positively identify three Tholian craft hiding in the magnetic eddies of one of the larger moons of T-162Af.” She dutifully raised a hand, a padd with the sensor readings taken directly from Harpy 2 already loaded on it. Sensor readings, the calibrations used to spot them and visual images of all three craft were ready for his perusal.

“What the hell are Tholians doing out here?” MacIntyre asked after a moment as he handed the padd back and started to reverse progress with his EV suit. “We’re ages from their space. Heck, there’s an entire Cardassian Union between here and there.”

“And the Talarian Republic,” she added for completion.

“Yes yes, and chunks of the Federation, half a dozen pocket polities and I’m sure a gorgamander pod or three as well.” He sat down and started unfastening the buckles on his boots. “Tell Chief Michaels I won’t be beaming down after all then tell Commander Gantzmann as well. Then I want you to get some rest after your survey run. If Tholians are here then something is up and if something is up, I want our best pilot rested and ready, understood?”

“Yes Commander,” she answered before heading for the door, stopping just as it opened. “Sir, I feel I would be failing in my duties if I didn’t suggest we take the ship to yellow alert as well.”

“Not yet,” MacIntyre said. “Let’s play it cool for now. Heck, they might be off doing something completely different and just following some protocol about hiding suspiciously while doing…whatever it is that Tholians do.” The second boot came off and he stood once more. “That’ll be all Lieutenant. As I said, I want you rested in case something does come up.”

“Aye sir,” she replied, stepping out to carry out her orders finally.

“You found what?”

“Neutronium,” Gérard Maxwell’s voice over the bridge speakers. “Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, to be honest.”

“Because it should explode violently without gravitational pull to keep it as such?” Mac asked as a follow-up.

With the recent update about a Tholian presence in the system, Mac had upped the duty watch on the bridge, going from a fresh-faced crowd just logging bridge hours and familiarising themselves with stations and controls to a slightly more experienced collection of officers. A number of those fresh-faced folks were still present though, learning from their seasoned superiors which meant the bridge was feeling a bit crowded.

This meant there were no less than three scientists on the bridge all looking at him now as if he was a font of knowledge, that could answer their unspoken questions. Or more likely were trying to beam their questions into his mind so he’d voice them and get the answers they wanted.

“I don’t think this is natural neutronium but manufactured,” Maxwell replied. “The lattice is too consistent, too perfect.” There was a pause, then a ‘huh’ before he continued. “It’s also extremely thin I think, like a shell or shielding.”

“So, this artefact is about the size of a shuttle, has a neutronium shell around it and weighs how much did you say?”

“Give or take about the same mass as an early run Constitution– or Sombre-class starship,” Maxwell replied. “Makes sense. Aitu would have had the spare enough power to move whatever this is at a decent clip unlike some other ships of the era.”

“And I’m guessing you can’t tell me what it does?”

“Going to need to get some more powerful scanners from the ship down here first, Commander,” the engineer said. “Tricorders just aren’t doing the job. But I’ve already spoken with Gabs and she’s got her people getting some scanners ready to beam down for us.”

The sound of swivelling chairs caught Mac’s attention, turning his head just to see the three science officers all turning back to the stations they were using and bringing up whatever information they could to satisfy their curiosity. No doubt chat windows to colleagues, seeing what had been checked out of inventory, transporter logs and the like. He shook his head with a smile.

“Well Lieutenant, sounds like you’ve got yourself a right mystery. Keep on it and keep me updated.”

“Will do Commander,” Maxwell replied before the line went silent.

Mac for his part stroked his chin for a moment, catching some stubble and rubbing at it for a moment in thought before he nodded his head twice and spoke. “Atlantis to Gantzmann, how’s it going down there?”

“For only five hours’ worth of work on what’s left of the ship’s computers, pretty well I’ve been told,” Gantzmann’s typically calm voice came over the speakers, sounding as if she was just behind him at Tactical. “It’s slow going as so much of the computer is just gone or frozen into uselessness, but we’ve found a backup memory unit we’ve been able to thaw out.”

“So any idea on what Aitu was doing and how she got out here?” he asked.

“None so far,” Gantzmann responded.

“Commander, Merktin here,” another voice, the Tellarite engineer’s, broke into the line. “This backup memory isn’t a computer so much as a flight recorder and data recovery module all in one. We’re basically having to read it like a book that we can’t skip to the end and read the last few pages.”

“So how are you reading it then?”

“We’re streaming it to Atlantis as we speak. Our computers can store the entirety without a problem and we can then run an emulation of the Aitu’s operating system and access the logs from there. It’s not going to be complicated, just annoying. At our current scan rate,” Merktin paused for a moment, “should take about fifteen more hours to read this module.”

“Fifteen hours?”

“It would go faster if we warmed the memory module up more,” Gabrielle suddenly spoke up over the comm channel. He hadn’t specified it to be a private call he figured, so no doubt each group planetside was operating open channels and hence now he had a joint meeting. “But then we might damage it, so we figured slow and steady is better than fast and not at all. Besides, once we’ve got all the data off of this, we plan on removing it and transporting it to Atlantis for a proper analysis.”

“No arguments from me then Lieutenants. We’ve got a problem up here that I want you back up on the ship for Gantzmann. I’ll explain when you get here. We’ll also be sending down some pattern enhancers Merktin so you can set up a couple of beam-out sites within Aitu in case we need to get people out of there in a hurry.”

Less than an hour later and Mac had both Gantzmann and Velan in the ready room opposite him. Velan had come up from Engineering about five minutes earlier, having spoken with Maxwell about what had been discovered so far, whereas Gantzmann herself had just stepped in. She’d been back aboard the ship for less than fifteen minutes, long enough for a shower, a fresh uniform and likely a quick bite to eat.

And as soon as the door closed behind her, he spoke up. “So, we’ve got Tholians in the system with us.” Straight to the point which seemingly bounced right off Gantzmann’s stoic nature, but landed square on with Velan whom he could watch as he heard, understood, then went back and fully processed what was said. The Efrosian’s expression went from calm to shocked and confused in a second, but it was long enough.

“Tholians?” Ra-testh’mi Velan asked. “Actual honest-to-goodness Tholians? Here?” He sat up straighter, then looked to Gantzmann as she strode across the room and took the other seat. “This is all a prank isn’t it?”

“No, unfortunately,” she answered. “T’Val meet me in the transporter and shared her sensor readings. Three Tholian Web-spinners from the scans. They might have missed Harpy Flight, but they wouldn’t have missed Atlantis when we entered the system. Especially since we are running loud to let the Breen long-range sensors see us moving along the border.”

“That was my thinking, as well as Lieutenant Kurtwell’s,” Mac said with a nod to Gantzmann when he mentioned one of her staffers. “We’re maintaining readiness on the shield generators for now, but even if they move on us we should have plenty of time to beam everyone up from the surface, raise shields and move away from the planet so we’ve got some fighting space.”

“Still though,” Velan spoke again, “what are Tholians doing here? Isn’t their space on the other side of the Union?”

“They’re Tholians,” Gantzmann answered before Mac could. “They do Tholian things because they can. I think it’s safe to assume they have seen us, but they haven’t responded, at least such that we’ve seen. Which might mean they don’t want to interact with us and are just waiting us out. Or that they know something and are waiting for the right moment.”

“There’s a thought,” Mac quipped. “So, while we’ve got that wonderful little threat dangling over our heads, what have we got planet side?”

“Lieutenant Camargo is leading the analysis of the Aitu’s data we’ve recovered so far as well as working on ways we might speed recovery up.” Gantzmann looked to Velan with a slight smile. “If you’re not careful, she might make a science officer out of Merktin.”

“I’m not worried. Merktin loves the engines,” the engineer said. “As for Maxwell, we’ve been talking. We’ve got a six by three by four and a half metre box down there that weighs the better part of a hundred and ninety thousand tons.” He paused long enough to let that sink in. “Neutronium shell that initial scans place at about six thousand neutrons deep. Leaves enough mass for use of neutronium inside whatever this thing is.”

“How’s it not just exploding outwards?” Mac asked.

“Honestly no idea at this point. It’s like each neutron is bound to its neighbours somehow, but I can’t think of anything that could do that outside of extreme gravity.” The engineer shrugged to emphasise his point. “Points to whoever made it though. Sturdy as heck. Would make a fantastic reactor containment wall for a variety of high-energy experiments.”

“If we wanted to try and salvage this thing, what are we looking at?” Mac asked, knowing this was the big question for the day.

“That deep into a gravity well, that mass, available resources…” Velan started listing off things out loud as he stroked his beard. “Atlantis directly overhead, as low as we can get her should do the trick. There’s a story of Pike’s Enterprise salvaging a Sombre-class after a crashlanding and we’ve got way, way more power than they did. But Aitu is beyond bothering to salvage.”

“It’s a graveyard now,” Mac answered the unasked question ‘do we bother?’ before it was asked. “We’ll pay our respects, leave a marker, grab identifying markers and such before we leave, but we let the dead rest where they are.”

“But we salvage the cargo they were transporting?” Gantzmann asked.

“Starfleet records, at least what we have onboard, merely list the cargo as sensitive, which reads to me as operational speak for ‘we don’t want to discuss this in the open’. So yes, we’ll recover it and find a way to link up with another ship heading back to the DS47 for them to truck it back, then from there it can finally make its way to the SCE.” Mac looked to Velan who nodded in agreement with who the likely recipient was to be.

“Yeah, they’re the ones likely wanting this thing, though I could think of,” Velan started before he was interrupted by the whistle of an incoming comms request, answered by Mac with a push of a button after the engineer stopped speaking.

“MacIntryre,” the Commander answered.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Michaels’ voice came over the comms. “But we’ve just detected a ship on long-range sensors on a direct course here. It’s Breen, single contact, large. Making warp seven with an arrival time of three days.”

“Very good. Keep an eye on it for now.” Mac then closed the channel and looked at who were effectively his executive and second officers. “Crashed ship, mystery box, skulking Tholians and now Breen.”

“If you can’t handle a joke,” Gantzmann started.

“Then you shouldn’t have joined the fleet,” Velan finished.

“You know, when I sit on that side of the table and say shit like that it’s fine, but over here,” Mac patted the arms of the chair whose height he’d had to adjust more than a few times now, “it’s just depressing.”

“Crown, heavy, wears it,” Velan said, shortening the phrase to a mere four essential words.

“Find then you, what about shared burdens?” Mac snapped back.

“Oh, well, as SO, should I call a senior staff briefing in say an hour then Mac?” Velan asked, checking with Gantzmann who was nodding in the affirmative already. “I best go call a meeting then.”

“Yes please,” Mac answered. “And actually, let’s make it in the Captain’s Mess and make it a working dinner yah?”

“So, this is it?” Mac asked as he stepped into the main cargo bay of the USS Aitu. No longer a quiet mausoleum but a hive of activity as engineers and scientists worked around the artefact that Maxwell had dubbed the Paperweight.

Which Mac had to give points to – anything put under this artefact wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It weighed as much as a small starship and he knew the slight tugging sensation he was feeling was purely psychosomatic, or so the physics would indicate at least. This thing, just from knowing its actual mass was imbued with a purely psychological mass.

Science division personnel were pouring over the device with every sensor they had at their disposal, from the handheld to high-powered portable units that did require some field assembly. Engineers helped where they could but were mostly focused on clearing debris and working to secure elements of the hull for removing a chunk of the starship’s flank to allow access for shuttles or even Atlantis herself to tractor the Paperweight out.

“This is it,” Gabrielle said as she walked over upon seeing him enter. “Surprised you got to come planetside. Did you wait for Gantzmann to go to sleep or something?” she joked.

“Nah, just told her that since the Breen are still a day out and the Tholians haven’t done anything, I was going to come down while things were calm to see this thing before we yanked it out.” He stepped closer to the artefact and just stared at it for a moment.

The surface of it was a bland, near-featureless plane with an almost mirror-like sheen to it. The wall of neutrons didn’t absorb much in the way of photons hitting it, nor did they have traps to bounce said photos off in weird directions, or electrons that would take the hit and then reemit it at a different frequency. What struck him was more that it looked wet.

“…and Doctor Pisani reports she’s finished her sweep of the wreckage for the crew,” Gabrielle said, stopping as she stepped up beside him. “We’ve found it best not to look directly at it for long.” She herself was half turned to face him, not the Paperweight. “Sir?”

“Sorry, it’s just…wet?” he asked, looking away from the artefact.

“Purely a property of its crystalline structure and being well, manufactured neutronium,” the young woman said as she offered a padd to him with a more detailed breakdown of their findings. “As I was saying, Engineering thinks we’ll have the hull peeled back for extraction this time tomorrow and Doctor Pisani has found the,” she stopped when he raised a hand.

“I got that last bit.” He smiled at her through his visor and looked up. “I know we want to do this right, preserve as much of the wreck as we can, but if the Breen or Tholians make a run on Atlantis, we’re likely going to end up phasing the hull away to get at this,” he waved the padd absently towards the Paperweight.

“Makes sense,” she agreed with him. “Doubt we’d even scratch the surface of this thing honestly without concerted effort so we’re likely all good in that regard.”

“Define concerted effort?” he asked without even thinking about it.

“Let Guns fire a salvo of quantum torpedoes at it?” Gabrielle stopped, staring into the middle distance for a moment. “The vacuum detonations tear at the fundamentals of nature, so there is a chance it just might overcome whatever strong nuclear bond is holding this all together.”

“What about a tri-cobalt device?”

“If you want to obliterate a good portion of the planet, sure.” Gabrielle looked at him seriously suddenly. “And decides, you can’t. We don’t have any aboard ship remember?”

“Skipper said we didn’t need to blow up small moons,” he said. “And I agree. Was just wondering anyway.” He stepped back, then a few steps to his left to look around the corner of the Paperweight, then back to Gabrielle. “Any idea on what it does?”

“It’s a particle generator,” she said. “I think,” she qualified. “And one more advanced than anything we have. And older too. And scarier.”

“Scarier?” he asked, then followed as she led him away from the ominous wet-looking mass to a portable terminal with its large semi-transparent screen. With only a few strokes she had brought up an orthographic of the device and he could see the fuzzy innards of the machine, the scans not precise but educated guesses, refinement eluding them for now.

“This is the raw feed,” she announced before another key command, “and this is the computer estimation.” This image was much sharper but was after all a guess by the Atlantis’ computers. “With some of the odd returns we’ve gotten and internal radiation readings, Maxwell and I are thinking this was an anti-proton beam generator. And not a small one either.”

“What, a few microns, maybe up to a millimetre in size?” he asked.

“More like a metre and a half.” She brought up the scan of one end of the device where the neutron shell was, to the humanoid eye, perfect, but was in reality segmented to iris open. “We’re talking massive destructive capabilities on demand here.”

“Why does all of this sound so bloody familiar?” Mac asked, of himself, Gabrielle and the universe at large.

“That’s been my thinking as well for the last few hours,” she confirmed.

“Right, keep on it. I’m going to go check in on Doctor Pisani.”

“Wondering when you’d find a way to sneak down here,” Blake stated roughly fifteen minutes later when he announced himself to her and her medical team. Four of them in total were at work documenting all of the dead they’d found and he’d followed their trail through the wreckage to the ship’s battered bridge.

There was no way anyone had survived planetfall, or the elements even moments after, what with the massive chunk of the bridge simply missing. Methane snow had buried consoles and bodies alike and this was the first time in a century some of those bodies had been in sight of the stars.

“I made a reasoned argument with Gantzmann. She’s a better tactical commander than I am and I have some experience in project work and recovery operations,” he explained.

“You pulled rank,” Blake countered as she stood up from the body that she’d been crouched beside, snapping her tricorder shut with practised ease.

“Damn right I did.”

She laughed at him and gave a small punch to his upper arm as she walked past. “We’ve only accounted for thirty-seven of the crew. Aitu had way more. Can only assume buried under the ship, crushed with it when it hit the planet, or lost in space to multiple hull breaches.”

“Hell of a way to go.” He followed her as she walked what was left of the bridge’s outer periphery, stopping by the non-defunct turbolift shaft, which was decidedly not the way he came. And it didn’t take any prompting at all for his eyes to settle on the ship’s dedication plaque. “Oh geez.”

“Closest thing a ship has to dogtags sailor,” Blake stated. “Do we?”

“Take it you mean?” He didn’t need an answer. Hers would be the same as his. “It’s part of the old girl, feels wrong to take it, but at the same time, it’s all we’d be taking back of her to Starfleet. Bringing closure to a mystery.”

He stood there, looking at it a moment more in the artificial light of suit lamps, then at Blake, who was looking at the plaque herself and not him. No support there.

A command decision needed to be made. And fate had left him to make it.

A step forward, hands gently lifted the plague, then pulled it away from the wall and its mounting pins. “USS Aitu is an Obena-class in Seventh Fleet,” he said while staring at the plaque in his hands. “We’ll make sure this gets to her namesake.”

“Might take a while though,” Blake said.

“Then we’ll just have to keep it safe.”

“Store it with the quartermaster once back aboard ship?” she asked.

“No no, Captain’s Mess. On display. Should be seen, not hidden.”

“Ladies, gentlemen and all those I have missed,” he found himself saying not but a few hours later in the Captain’s Mess before a collection of the Atlantis’ senior officers. “To the Aitu and her crew.” He raised his glass in a toast, turning to the plaque that now hung on one of the end walls, heard the clinking of a lot of glass and then the response he was hoping for.

“To the Aitu!”

It was late into the ship’s Delta shift and as it was Adelinde Gantzmann was starting to feel it. She and Commander MacIntyre had been pulling double shifts the last two days with the slowly growing collection of threats hanging around the Atlantis. Compound that with not having slept well the last few nights and it was all adding up to an officer who was looking forward to bed. So, when a series of chirps and alarms went off behind her at Tactical, followed by more at Operations, she had to excuse herself for not being immediately on the ball.

“Tholian ships have left orbit over T-162Af and are heading our way,” Ensign Nishi reported from behind her, the young man’s voice carrying just an edge of concern on it to her ear. She recognised that tone, the concern of an officer who might suddenly be forced into being responsible for the ship’s weapons when he was barely a year out of the Academy.

Unfounded concerns if his proficiency numbers were to be believed.

“We’re being hailed as well,” Ensign Taru added from Ops. “By the Tholians,” the woman added quickly.

“Interesting,” Adelinde found herself saying without really thinking. It was a spacer, to buy her time to think. Or more importantly get her brain back into gear while appearing to be thinking, maintaining her mystique of professional calm. She took a moment more, set the padd in hand down on the vacant XO’s seat and rose to her feet. “Ensign Nishi, sound yellow alert. Ensign Taru, put the Tholians on please.”

The image on the viewscreen was exactly what she had expected from reading what they had on hand about Tholian interactions. The colours and image signal were non-standard, delivering a unique palette of information that no doubt made sense to a Tholian, but not so much to humanoids. It took a few moments for the computer to catch on and adjust the image to present the Tholian commander to her much as she’d likely see them if looking at them physically.

A short series of squeals, chirps and clicks proceeded a voice, not provided by Atlantis’ translators. “I am Commander Kaltene of the Tholian Assembly. You are attempting to recover dangerous technology that we have been sent to recover and safeguard.” More noise as whatever translation the Tholians were doing was catching up. “Recover your personnel from the surface of the planet and vacate the system immediately.”

Adelinde waited a moment to make sure no more bravado was coming her way. And to hope against hope that the turbolift door would part and Mac would spill out to let this potential problem wash all over him. A count of three dispelled that hope. “I am Commander Adelinde Gantzmann of the USS Atlantis. We’re in the middle of recovering Starfleet property and we’ll depart once we have it aboard ship. There is nothing for the Assembly here.”

“Starfleet property is dangerous technology,” Kaltene said after more noise over the channel. “Where is Captain Theodoras? We would speak with your commander, not a mere officer.”

“Captain Theodoras is unavailable right now and I am in command of this ship at this time,” Adelinde replied.

There was a pause, the Tholian looked like they were looking off-screen and the channel muted for nearly half a minute. “You are an unknown. You will surrender the component of the Great Destroyer and vacate the system immediately.”

“I don’t think so,” Adelinde said, taking a step forward. “That is Starfleet salvage and we’ll be recovering it. Only then will we vacate the system.”

“You are merely one ship against our three,” the Tholian threatened. “We will destroy your ship if required to seize the device.”

“Atlantis is the most advanced ship of her class to date,” Adelinde said. “And one of the single heaviest hitters in Starfleet, if not the single heaviest hitter. I would advise heavily against testing the mettle of this ship and crew.”

More silence, nearly a minute as the Tholian stared her down. “You have six hours to vacate the system.” And with that, the channel went dead.

“Ma’am,” Taru spoke up. “The ground team needs eight hours more before we’re ready to tractor the Paperweight off the surface. We’ll then need an hour to secure it properly before we can even think of going to warp.”

“And if we attempt to free the Paperweight early to begin recovery now, we can fully expect them to attack us during the lift.” Adelinde only voiced the hypothetical so the ensigns wouldn’t have to. She looked around and there was only one lieutenant junior grade among them at the moment. Delta shift really needed a rebalancing of experience. “Status of the Breen cruiser?”

“Uh,” Taru uttered, spinning back to her console to query the readouts. “Oh, uh, it’s sped up ma’am. It’ll be here in just over six hours.”

“And now we know why the Tholians gave us a six-hour timeline.” She sighed, offered a slight smile to the ensign, and then returned to the centre seat. “Maintain yellow alert, Mr Nishi. Keep an eye on the Tholians and if they close to double our weapons range, sound red alert immediately. Understood?”

“Aye ma’am,” Nishi replied.

Only a few minutes later and she was in the ready room with Mac. His arrival on the bridge had been followed by both of them wordlessly diverting to the private command space to discuss what had just happened, though Mac had taken advantage of the replicator to make both of them a cup of coffee.

“Don’t fault you one bit,” he said upon her concluding her summary. “Pretty much what I’d have told them as well. Heck, even the captain would have I bet.” He sipped at his cup, staring out the window to the planet below. “Tholians think they can lift the Paperweight and warp out of here before the Breen show up? What are they going to do, tow it at warp between them?”

“Not a bad idea,” she replied. “Towing it at warp that is. Means we wouldn’t have to secure it before flight.”

“We’d barely make warp seven,” he said. “Spoke about it with Velan yesterday. We need top speed I think.”

“The Tholians towing the Paperweight wouldn’t break warp seven either, so the Breen could and would chase them down. They must have a plan of their own.” She mulled it over for a moment. “Grab it and then hide like they were before we spotted them?”

“Bad idea. The Breen will scour the system and the minute they make a break for it that cruiser will run them down. No, the Tholians have some other idea. Just wish I knew what it was.” Then he drained his cup of coffee and set it down. “Let’s call the Breen, see what they want. If we know what they want, maybe we can play both the Tholians and Breen off against each other.”

“And us in the middle,” she commented as they exited back to the bridge.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Mac teased as he walked to the centre of the bridge. “Ensign Taru, hail the Breen cruiser.” The young officer took only a moment to action the order, the chimes of the bridge letting all know the channel was open. “Unidentified Breen cruiser, this is Commander MacIntyre of the USS Atlantis. Might we inquire as to your course and destination?” he asked, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

There was silence, no response at all. Taking a seat in the XO seat, Adelinde pulled up the comms system. “There’s an open line,” she said just above a whisper for Mac.

“Unidentified Breen cruiser, I repeat, this is Commander MacIntyre of the Federation starship Atlantis. Please state course and destination as it appears you are on an intercept with us.” Mac went from friendly to formal, ensuring the pronunciation of each word was precise.

Just before he was about to repeat himself once more, a purely synthetic voice responded. “Federation starship Atlantis, you are trespassing on a Breen cultural site. Abandon all those on the surface and leave immediately or you will be fired upon. They and all artefacts are property of the Breen Confederacy now.” And then the channel was closed.

“Friendly,” Mac quipped as he turned to face Adelinde. “The Tholians just want the Paperweight, the Breen want us to abandon our people and leave.”

“Or die,” she added. “It was implied, let’s be honest.”

“You know, when the captain gets back, she’s going to be so annoyed we got her ship all scratched up,” Mac said with a smile. “Anyone got any good ideas?” he asked, making sure to look at all the ensigns on the bridge. If they were here, it was for a reason after all and they needed to learn even ensigns could speak up and provide advice when asked.

“I have an idea, sir,” Taru spoke up, which got everyone’s attention. For a moment the young woman looked like she might back down, but then continued with her idea. “We could destroy the Paperweight. The Tholians said they were here to safeguard it, in other words, keep it away from folks. The Breen likely don’t know what we’ve got, they’re just responding to us and now the Tholians. So, we deny the Breen anything, satisfy the Tholians’ concerns and go home empty-handed.”

“Has a certain simplicity to it, Commander,” Adelinde said with a nod to the ensign. “Then we high-tail it out of here. We may wish to check with the Tholians that this is acceptable to them first though. Wouldn’t want to have to fight them before we can leave.”

“Why do I feel like I’m making an enemy today?” Mac asked of the bridge in general. “If no one objects, I’m going to have some breakfast before I talk with the Tholians. Which might result in them attacking us to stop us from firing on the Paperweight, so…” he dragged on as he looked straight at Adelinde.

“I’ll begin the evacuation of the recovery teams,” Adelinde said. “Get everyone back aboard who isn’t vital so if we manage to provoke the Tholians we’ll only have a few teams to beam out before they can bring weapons to range.”

“And some numbers on what we’ll need to crack the Paperweight as well. I don’t want to just vaporise what’s left of the Aitu and leave it sitting in a crater for someone to pick up and run off with.” Mac nodded, the plan settled, then headed for the turbolift once more. “You have the conn Guns, I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“What the actual hell?” Blake blurted out as she stormed into the Captain’s Mess, empty aside Mac trying to shovel some breakfast into himself while quickly reviewing a padd. She’d had time to strip out of her EV suit, but little more, hair matted to her head, a sheen of sweat on her skin from the self-contained environment. “Seriously, what’s going on?” she continued as she stomped across the empty cabin, straight up the table Mac had chosen to have his breakfast at.

“Morning to you too,” he got out after politely clearing his mouth, even setting the padd down to give his not-girlfriend and the ship’s second-ranking medical officer the attention she actually deserved in a situation like this. “I take it this is about the recall back to the ship?”

“We’re still cataloguing down there,” she said, jabbing a finger towards the windows and the arc of the planet below just visible. “And I’m still not certain we’ve found everyone.”

“I know,” he offered in the best conciliatory manner he could, then indicated the seat opposite him, even pushing the plate with a piece of toast on it towards the chair. “But Atlantis has suddenly found itself between a rock and a hard place and I didn’t want to risk trying to beam everyone up from the surface during a firefight.”

“What?” Blake asked, what little anger she had carried washing away pretty quickly. She considered the toast, then took the offer to sit, even the toast, before reaching over and picking up Mac’s glass of orange juice, drinking half the glass in quick order before turning on the toast.

“Tholians sitting about three light-seconds off our aft demanding we surrender the Paperweight to them in six hours and a Breen heavy cruiser, maybe a battleship of some kind for all we know, that’ll be here in just over six hours and which is demanding we flee the system now and leave everyone on the surface.” He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate around a bit, then loaded up a fork, and fed himself.

“So, get us all off the planet while the Breen can’t tell so you’re free to engage in cowboy diplomacy with little worries when they arrive?” Blake challenged around the piece of toast that she was chewing on.

“Uh,” Mac said, not giving a solid answer, though changing his mind on that when Blake’s gaze fell on him. “More like getting everyone off the surface because I have a bad idea that’ll upset everyone and I can’t anyone on the ground if it comes to it.”

Blake stopped, set her toast down and just looked at him. “Blow up the Aitu,” she stated flatly.

“As I said, bad idea.”

“Desecration of a gravesite,” she said. “You can’t be seriously considering the idea.”

“The Breen would do worse. At least I trust the Tholians to just take the Paperweight and run. But the Breen will turn that site upside down twice over trying to find anything and end up with a bunch of dead bodies that I seriously don’t want them to have. I’ve heard horror stories from the Dominion War and I don’t want to,” Mac stopped when Blake raised her hands in concession to his point.

“I get it, I get it. They’re mysterious bad guys with a grudge and we can’t let them have a thing.” Her tone however conveyed her anger at his idea. “Professionally,” she paused for a brief moment, “I have to protest this course of action. We can still recover bodies instead of leaving them on site.”

“In under five hours?” Mac asked.

“No, I’d need a few days to be truly happy.”

“If I can solve this without blowing anything up, we’ll stay here and commit to a full recovery.” But Mac knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not with two different groups demanding they quit the field, one with a reason, the other just because they could demand it.

“Which means you’re already committed to the idea,” Blake accused him, then slowly stood. She reclaimed her toast and even reached over for Mac’s juice, but he caught her wrist gently.

“Blake.”

“I’m pissed at Commander MacIntyre, don’t make me mad at Charles too,” she said, twisting her wrist from his grip and taking the juice, for just a sip, before sitting it down. “Just…don’t give me any more work today if you can avoid it.”

“I’ll do my best.” He held her gaze, offering her a wan smile. “No promises though.”

“Guess that’s the best I can ask for from a red shirt.”

After she left, he returned to his breakfast, reactivating the padd and picking up his reading. Two mouthfuls and he was on his feet, padd in hand, straight for the replicator to get more juice. He’d gotten so far as to order the drink before anyone in the corridor outside would have heard a shouted expletive and had to take evasive as Mac barrelled out and straight for the nearest turbolift.

The orange juice was still in the replicator.

“I’ve got it,” he said by way of announcing himself to the bridge as he went straight for the mission space at the back. Adelinde was quick to join him, and so too were Gabrielle Camargo, Samantha Michaels and Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr, whose heavy footsteps could be felt through the deck plating as they descended the few steps.

“Got it?” Adelinde asked, handing over the keys to Mac, who gave them a quick shake and then pocketed them.

“What did the Tholians call the Paperweight?” he asked, pointing at Camargo.

“Uh,” Gabrielle blanked for a moment, clearly not ready for a pop quiz. “Component of the Great Destroyer I think?” she asked, looking to Adelinde, who nodded, being the only one of the entire gathering of officers that had been on the bridge at the time.

“Excellent, you’re all caught up,” Mac said with a smile, then turned to the large viewscreen in the back. “Computer, bring up the last flight path for the USS Aitu.” Dutifully the electronic minion at the heart of every starship complied and the screen filled with a star chart, the holographic panel doing its best to give a three-dimensional feeling as it rendered star charts with a view looking down on the galactic plane.

It looked almost like one could reach into the display, at least until one got right up close when the hazard hashing would appear to prevent such embarrassments.

“System L-374, heading for Rigel.” Mac reached out for L-374, then spread his fingers, the display zooming in on the system. An infobox bloomed into life, detailing the complete and utter lack of anything interesting in the system. Two planets, one with a surface temperature comparable to Mercury, the other in the habitable zone, if not for the poisonous and acidic atmosphere, a combination of excessive sulphur and ammonia. And a handy little tag advising that the system was listed as a navigational hazard.

“What if I told you that this system once had four planets in it?” Mac asked, turning on everyone.

“Sir,” Samantha was the first to speak up, looking a little impatient at his impromptu showmanship. “Could we skip the guessing game?”

“Wait just a second,” Gabrielle spoke up, even going so far as to step closer to the viewscreen. She then zoomed the map out a touch and selected another star system, this one without any planets, then another, then another. Then she drew a straight line between all of them ending at Rigel. “I’ve read about this,” she said, stepping back. “You think the Paperweight is a piece of the planet killer?”

“The planet killer? Ancient cone-shaped planet-eating monstrosity? Wasn’t that destroyed by USS Constellation?” Rrr asked.

“Disabled, not destroyed,” Mac corrected Rrr with a smile, earning a head nod from the Gaen. “And Enterprise helped, but the loss of Constellation is what sealed the deal. The SCE then arrived on site and spent years and years salvaging everything they could, including any internals. Still pouring over the loot I’d wager.”

“So, the Paperweight is surplus?” Adelinde asked. “We could surrender it to the Tholians?”

“We could, but I’m not entirely keen on that idea,” Mac replied. “But at least now we know what it is we’re looking at in the context of history.”

“So where do we go from here?” Rrr asked. “We either surrender it to the Tholians, who still need to lift the artefact, destroy the artefact, or simply leave and let the Tholians and Breen fight it out.” They shrugged; a thinking gesture Mac had surmised a while ago. “I am inclined not to let the Breen have anything from the wreckage, if just out of spite towards the Breen.”

“I’m with Rrr on this one sir,” Samantha spoke up. “The Breen are directly antagonistic towards the Federation. The Tholians are at least…Tholian?”

“Mysterious, not directly combative, prone to fits of xenophobia and cooperation in equal measures throughout history?” Adelinde asked.

“Yeah,” Samantha answered the clarification.

“Whatever happens, more Breen will be on their way. That makes me far less inclined to leave any bodies on the surface. Who knows what the Breen could concoct with access to those remains.” Mac rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. “Rrr, get me a channel to the Tholian commander. I think it’s time we struck a deal.”

It only took two minutes before the face of Commander Kaltene filled the viewscreen once more. Knowing what was coming, the computer adjusted the colours properly from the start. “I am Commander Charles MacIntyre, first officer of the USS Atlantis and her commanding officer at this time.”

“We are aware of who you are Commander,” the synthesized voice replied. “Where is Captain Theodoras?”

“She’s not on board,” he answered, more precise in detail than Adelinde’s earlier statement of being unavailable. “I trust that won’t be an issue?”

“It is what it is,” Kaltene answered. “What do you want Commander?”

“I have a proposal to make. We know you’re after the artefact held within the hold of the USS Aitu. The component of the Great Destroyer I believe is how you described it?” He waited, a slight nod of the Tholian’s head enough to continue. “We know the Great Destroyer is what we call the planet killer, which was taken out by Starfleet over a hundred years ago.”

“You accomplished what we could not,” Kaltene supplied. “We can not allow you to have this component despite your achievements of the past. It is dangerous and should be safeguarded, if not destroyed.”

“There’s also the bodies of the crew of the Aitu that, with the Breen now interested in this site, I’m wanting to remove.”

“Humanoid bodies do not interest us,” Kaltene answered. “You are free to remove them as you wish. And attempt to remove the component will be stopped.”

Mac smiled, that answer giving him some hope his idea had a chance of success. “How about a proposal then Commander? You need time to remove the artefact and more time to get away from here safely and beyond Breen border sensors so you can return home with your prize intact. I need time to ensure we recover all the bodies we can of the Aitu’s crew and then ensure there is nothing left for follow-up Breen investigations to find. I suggest we work together to convince our Breen colleagues, when they arrive, to leave us to our work.”

“You would let us take the component?” Kaltene asked, the translator catching something in her tone and giving the translation that questioning intonation. “So long as we watch over you while you recover your dead?”

“It’s that or I fire a full spread of quantum torpedoes at the artefact and keep firing until I crack it open and blow it up so no one gets anything they want.” Playing his ultimatum had been part of his thinking from the start. Offer an equitable solution, then one even he wasn’t entirely sold on but willing to do, in hopes the former would be chosen.

“Either offer would work for the Assembly,” Kaltene said after a moment. “But my superiors would prefer I return with the component.” They paused a moment, turning to face something off-screen and the total lack of noise was all Mac needed to know the channel was muted on their end. “In the interest of interstellar relations, we will assist Starfleet in the recovery of your dead in exchange for the component.”

“That’s appreciated, Commander. Now then, how do you propose we deal with the Breen when they arrive?”

The impression that the mighty starship Atlantis was attempting to give off was a lone starship, all by herself, in a dark and scary corner of the galaxy. It wouldn’t fool anyone at all, the Sovereign-class line of ships being Starfleet’s premier combatants when called to perform that duty. But by the time the Breen arrived in orbit of the miserable little ice-ball Atlantis had dedicated herself to, there were no Tholian ships in orbit and no other surprises hanging in orbit either.

Just one lonesome little ship in a rough neighbourhood.

That had been the sole reason for the Breen to drop out of warp as far away as they had, their sensors searching the cosmos for anything that could explain where the Tholians had gone, or whatever else crafty Starfleet officers had thought up.

“That’s right, keep looking,” Mac muttered as he sat forward in the command chair, hands gripping the arms lightly. “Take your time boys, it’s not rude to call.”

The bridge was a little darker than normal, but not obnoxiously so. Tikva had insisted on changing some of the red alert defaults, including the base lighting levels, and Mac had to agree they worked. Status panels dutifully pulsed red, unused monitors displaying ‘Condition Red’ on them in a centuries-old graphic that had only been given face-lifts over the decades. Atlantis at red alert was a beast to be reckoned with.

“Pretty sure the captain keeps her inner monologue, well, inner,” quipped Samantha from the secondary ops console.

“Lieutenant,” was all the reply she got when Adelinde spoke up, bringing an early end to any banter that might arise.

Mac couldn’t help but smile. The banter was a good sign, meant people weren’t entirely stressing out about a bad situation, but at the same time there was a time and place for it and Adelinde was a good judge of it. If he ever got his own command he’d likely have to knife-fight Tikva to try and pry Adelinde as his XO. He knew why she’d resist, but dammit did he want a capable right hand.

Or hope for some sort of parallel reality doppelganger, transporter clone, unknown twin or something equally bizarre that seemed to pass for a Tuesday in Starfleet.

“Report on the Breen,” Mac finally said, having let silence settle over the bridge for a handful of seconds.

“Breen battleship, Whiskey-class by Command’s designations,” Adelinde said from behind him. “She’s hanging outside her own suspected weapons range. Sensors can confirm her weapons array is active.”

“And they’re banging away on their active scanners,” Rrr added from Ops to Mac’s fore. “They keep scanning us and the wreckage, but nothing else as far as I can tell. They aren’t being subtle about it either.”

“They’re confused. They know there are Tholians in the system but they can’t see them. And they know Starfleet is usually averse to conflict, without a good plan, so us still being here is proof enough we’re up to something.” Mac’s hands slapped the chair’s arms before he pushed himself to his feet. The plan, such as it was with Commander Kaltene, was working so far. “T’Val, you ready to make Atlantis dance?”

“It’s a starship, sir, not a ballerina,” the Vulcan helmswoman replied. “Standing by for evasive manoeuvres.”

“First sign of them shooting, don’t wait for me, just get us in nice and close to give Guns the best angle you can.” Mac then took a few steps, tugged at his uniform tunic, rolled his shoulders back and straightened his spine. First impressions after all. “Rrr, hail the Breen ship.”

The viewscreen snapped to life, the tactical display that had been occupying it gone, replaced with an intensely cropped image of a Breen environmental suit helmet. They wore them even aboard their own ships, what did that tell you about them? “Commander Charles MacIntyre, USS Atlantis. Appears you’re looking for something. Could we offer our assistance?”

Then Breen could have been pulling faces and sticking its tongue out, assuming it had a tongue, at Mac under that helmet. Eventually, it spoke some sort of computerised voice that was dutifully translated by the ship’s computer with a vaguely male intonation. “You were ordered to abandon the system. As you have failed to comply your ship is forfeited to the Breen Confederacy. Prepare to be boarded.”

“I’m going to have to respectfully decline your offer,” Mac said with a smile.

“You are one ship, tactically inferior to our own. Surrender now and execution will be replaced with forced labour camps.”

“This ship is a brand spanking new cruiser so I suspect your tactical analysis is out of date, so here’s my counteroffer – turn around, go home and we’ll be on our way in a few hours. You can tell your bosses you scared us off and I can tell my bosses I scared you off, we both get to look good in the eyes of our command chains.”

A staring contest with a helmet, a closed one especially, was no fun. You couldn’t read the other’s face; you couldn’t stare someone down who could be looking at something else. It was difficult, but Mac gave it his best. And then the channel cut off, the viewscreen snapping to a magnified view of the Breen battleship a few light-seconds away.

“Targeting scans from the Breen,” Adelinde announced as Mac went right back to the command chair. “Torpedos, multiple,” she continued.

The forward view rapidly swerved as T’Val threw Atlantis into a relative dive, then a series of turns, rolls and spins of her own design as she lunged towards the Breen ship, closing the distance for the ship’s phasers to get within reach.

“Rrr,” Mac shouted to the Gaen, who was already tapping away on his console.

“Message away,” they replied.

As both ships closed lances of particle beams lashed out, wiping away incoming torpedoes or licking at opposing shields, the spheres of protective shielding energies flaring into the visible spectrum of blue and green as phaser and disruptor fire lit up the space between the two ships.

While the Breen ship had possessed a formidable forward array of weapons, her flanks and aft were not as well armed, whereas Atlantis was more evenly spread with weapon emplacements. Taking advantage to rake the Breen’s aft shields with repeated phaser fire and a volley of photon torpedoes as she raced past, Atlantis did her best to stay away from the turning Breen vessel’s forward aspect, taking to broadsiding the larger ship across her after aspect. Atlantis could orbit the battleship a little faster than it could turn on its axis.

And then diving in from above came a flight of six starships, three Tholian web-spinners and Atlantis’ own Valkyre-class fighters. They’d been hiding in the planet’s northern magnetic field; the whole magnetosphere having been excited a mere hour ago by Atlantis purposefully dumping charged particles into it to give the hiding ships a better chance. The Tholians pummelled the Breen ship with more phaser fire, a handful of torpedoes thrown in for measure as they dove past the Breen, rear weapons lashing out as they broke away. The fighters had been hanging back, waiting and when they had their chance, they launched the full-sized torpedoes they had been underslung with like torpedo bombers of old. The torpedoes weren’t moving as fast as if they had been launching from Atlantis’ own launchers, but they carried the fighter’s speed and were at such close range they was no time to react to the launches.

“Shields down to fifty per cent,” Rrr announced as the bridge was rocked once more, the Breen ship having not spared a moment’s attention towards the other attackers, focusing its ire on the single most threatening combatant. More fire chased at Atlantis, smashing against the shields, a new aspect brought to bear between each volley as T’Val kept rolling the ship along its long axis as it hurled fire back at the battleship.

This singular focus was to the Breen’s detriment as the torpedo strike from above slammed home in the aftermath of the Tholian dive attack. Two quantum torpedoes splashed against the shields, spending their fury on collapsing the dorsal shield aspect, the third found its mark though, burying itself in the ship’s hull before detonating, ripping a wound deep into the Breen battleship hull.

But not before it had managed to bring those forward disruptor banks and torpedo launchers to bare on Atlantis one last time. Weapons racked the starboard side of the ship, shields flared under the intense assault, holding back the torpedoes that found their mark through defensive fire. But a few small gaps had appeared and disruptors gouged at the hull of the mighty ship, ripping open whole compartments, spilling atmosphere from the ship, the bright green plume of a plasma fire evident along the ship’s flank momentarily.

“Breaches on decks ten, eleven and twelve,” Rrr called out. “Forcefields in place, bulkheads are closed. No casualties.”

“Breen ship is losing power,” Adelinde called out, bringing the Breen ship up on the main viewscreen. Lights were flickering all across the vessel as she countered in her spin, with no RCS puffs to counter it. The dorsal wound from the torpedo bloomed with internal light, clear signs of fires burning, obviously with their own oxidants to keep doing so. “They’re out of the fight.”

“Hail them,” Mac ordered.

“No response,” Rrr replied.

“Keep trying.” Mac turned on Samantha. “Harpy flight?”

“All in one piece,” she said. “Your people flew beautifully T’Val.”

“They flew satisfactorily,” the Vulcan corrected. “But I will pass along your assessment.”

“Oh wow.” Rrr’s exclamation caught everyone’s attention as they turned to the viewscreen once more. The Breen ship was essentially dead in the water, a lucky strike having crippled the ship, and the Tholians had opted to take advantage of the situation. All three ships had formed up and after a bit of choreographed flying separated from each other, each with a three of energy back to their starting point – the formation of a web. “Never thought I’d see this in real life.”

“Get me Kaltene,” Mac ordered, getting to his feet. “Commander, is a web truly necessary?” he asked as the Tholian came up.

“Do you wish to destroy the Breen ship instead?” she asked.

“No, but they’ll be hours, if not days making basic repairs. We can get what we want and leave.”

“The web will…limit…their choices for conflict.” The translator had put the pauses in for Kaltene and Mac mentally noted to go back and check the logs as to why. A quirky of Tholian language or difficulty in translating? “It will prevent their interference in our respective operations, hamper their sensors when we leave and dissipate in a few days, allowing them to return home. We have opted not to take the Breen ship as a trophy back to the Assembly.”

Mac stared at Kaltene for a few moments, then sighed. He couldn’t argue with an insurance plan after all. “All reasonable precautions. How long will you need to weave this web?”

She said something, the computer taking longer than normal to translate, enough to be noticeable. “Twenty minutes,” came the reply eventually. “We would appreciate your monitoring the Breen and disabling any weapon system that looks like it might be powering up.”

“Understood.” And with that Kaltene cut the comms, the viewscreen returning to the three Tholian ships at work. “You heard the lady,” he said.

It was an hour later that Mac was gathered with the senior staff, Atlantis parked in such a way as to have the completed Tholian web in clear view through the conference room windows. As such no one was in their seat, all opting to join him in staring at the marvel before them. Sure, every cadet had heard about such a thing, but seeing one was considered right up there on the list of things you will never see in your career. And now Atlantis had a crew full of people who would never, ever be trusted when recanting stories of previous commands.

“Right, let’s get this started,” he said, not moving for a seat of his own. “Gabs, how’s it looking?”

“Well, we’ve got people back on the ground now. Tholian assistance is also a thing apparently. They’d been scanning Aitu for days before we arrived and they’ve given us their records, so we’ve got a few more items of interest we’re collecting. We’ll have the complete memory core dump in a few more hours and then we’ll lift the unit out and bring it aboard ship.” The science officer sounded positively giddy about that. “I’ve got a team who are dying to deep-dive the data. We’ll also be wanting a holosuite for a few days non-stop to help with examining the data.”

“Done,” Mac said easily enough. He was keen on seeing the work himself after all. “Guns?”

“Shields back to full strength after recharging the emitters. We’re down three quantum torpedoes and twelve photon torpedoes. Not a concern at this time.” Adelinde was one of two people in the room not plastered to the window, the other being Terax.

“Excellent. Doctor Terax?” Mac continued.

“A dozen minor injuries, nothing severe,” the Edosian doctor reported. “We’re also building a make-shift deep freeze storage facility in cargo bay 2 since you authorized Doctor Pisani to bring aboard all the Aitu crew she could recover.” The man huffed once, twice. “When will we be meeting up with another ship to transfer the bodies so they can be sent home?”

“As soon as I can arrange it, Doctor, I promise.” Mac looked over his shoulder to offer the doctor a reassuring smile and was met with the same glare that Terax always had. “Velan, how’s she looking?”

“Nothing severe thankfully. The few blasts that got through were attenuated by the shields a fair bit. And the ablative armour did a fantastic job blunting the blow as well. Ripped open a few compartments, but didn’t punch deep. Some machinery space, a blown-out sensor pallet, crew quarters exposed to space.” Velan started to rattle off the list but then stopped himself. “We’ll have the hull sealed up in a few hours, but we’ll need a couple of days to make it look fancy.”

“Luckily the captain isn’t due back few a week, so we’ll finish up here and then bolt away from the Breen border. Find some nice little world we can park up at and sneak in a few days of R&R while engineering makes good the damage.” Mac reached over and patted Velan on the back. “And please, match the paint colour, will you?”

“Conspiracy to hide damage from the captain?” the engineer asked with a laugh. “She’ll look just like she did before some brutes decided to see if my girl here could fight,” Velan said, reaching out to pat one of the beams between the widows. “She’s not just pretty, she’s tough.”

“That she is. Right, enough of this gawking. We’ve got work to do folks. Let’s get the Tholians what we promised them, get our people off that planet and then get out of here.” A chorus of ‘aye sir’ circled the room and people started to filter out, but one had slipped into the room, waiting patiently until everyone else had left.

“Sir,” Fightmaster said after the door was sealed shut and a count to three. “There’s a small matter I think you should be made aware of.”

“Fightmaster, as the executive officer, it’s my duty to know about everything aboard ship. After you it would seem.” Mac waved the junior officer to the window and pointed at the Tholian web, glowing brilliantly in the space aft of Atlantis. “Keep an official record of this with you because trust me, no one is going to believe your word about this.”

“I keep official records about everything sir,” the yeoman responded.

“Of course you do.” Mac sighed. “What’s the matter, Fightmaster?”

“I was reviewing the specifics of the damage report with Lieutenant Michaels, in order to make temporary accommodations while repairs were being enacted. Mostly junior officers that we’re housing in temporary quarters but one officer, in particular, came to light sir and I thought you might want to personally recommend a solution?”

At that, Fightmaster produced a padd, the screen a schematic of quarters on deck ten that had been exposed to vacuum. None serious just buckled hull plating that compromised their atmospheric integrity. They weren’t on the top of Engineering’s repair bill, listed as a couple of days for proper repairs. But one set of quarters had been highlighted by Fightmaster.

Pisani, Blake.

So the yeoman’s intelligence net had finally netted him that piece of information.

“I’ll take care of this yeoman. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“Certainly sir,” Fightmaster replied. “Doctor Pisani has returned to the surface with her team though.”

“Naturally.” He sighed, with a smile though. “Your dismissed Lieutenant.”

He waited till Fightmaster was out of the room, then turned, sitting on the window sill.

“Computer, begin log.” He waited for the affirmative chirps. “Commanders log, stardate…”

Shuttlebay 2, housed in Atlantis’ stardrive section, was nominally the larger of the two bays, but always felt smaller to Mac. The width of the hull confined the bay, and the number of craft present always meant the bay was full most of the time, leaving little to no spare room. Especially with Harpy Flight usually sitting nose to tail down the centre-line for rapid launch if required. But today things were a little different.

Harpy Flight were out on a patrol, which meant flying circles around the still-webbed Breen battlecruiser, mocking it in its impotence. Several shuttles had also been dispatched planetside, to expedite the recovery of bodies and artefacts from the USS Aitu, with one carrying an explosive charge designed to ensure nothing would remain for hostile entities wishing a spiteful bit of harm.

If anyone was going to devastate the site, it would be them, they’d do it in one clean swoop and they’d leave nothing behind. It was the best they could do to preserve the honour of the Aitu.

That left the bay feeling larger than normal and most importantly emptier than normal, which made it an ideal spot for their soon-to-be visitor. No groundcrew were present, no guards either, just three officers, in dress uniforms, standing in the bay’s midpoint, staring out the open bay doors waiting for the Tholian shuttle that was due any minute.

“I feel ridiculous,” Mac said, breaking the silence.

“You look ridiculous,” Velan teased, a huge grin taking over his face as his friend turned on him with mock indignation. “We all look ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourselves gentlemen,” Adelinde said from Mac’s left. “The trick is tailoring and exercise,” she continued, giving her dress tunic one last tug downwards to eliminate a single stray crease in its infancy.

“Cheating,” Velan said. “Besides, the tailor on DS47 couldn’t fit me in before we had to leave. Become a department chief and Command issues you a few extra centimetres.” He patted his belly in emphasis, though for an Efrosian of his age Velan was in excellent shape. Just not Jefferies-tube rat fit anymore.

“And I’ve always worn the same size dress uniform,” Mac replied.

“I can tell,” Adelinde added, her tone conveying her less-than-impressed state of being. To an outside observer they all would have looked just fine, but the keen-eyed would have spotted the differences, though minor, that set them apart.

“I think Mac we might just have to admit that oh nevermind,” Velan had started with some particular train of thought but was interrupted by the sight of a small Tholian vessel approaching the shuttle bay, its design reminiscent of the larger web-spinners, just writ small.

The craft had appeared as if rising from the depths, before it turned around, slowly backing its way into the bay under its own power. A glance upwards and any of them could see the flight deck controllers shrugging at them through the windows, a sign they’d been told that tractor assistance wasn’t required. Tholians, Mac had concluded over the last day and a bit were very prone to self-reliance.

They’d declined any assistance in retrieving the Paperweight, aside from asking the Atlantis crew to clear away any equipment they’d left near the device. Even with Atlantis being vastly superior at the task of lifting it into space than their three ships combined, they’d insisted on handling the final hull clearing work and lift work. They’d declined any supply or repair assistance as well, but that could be easily chalked up to ‘operational security’ regarding their technology. Asking for anything would have been giving away even the tiniest piece of information.

But in the reverse however they had been more than willing to assist the Atlantis crew planetside in recovering any bodies or interesting artefacts. With the history between the Assembly and the Federation, and horror stories in the common zeitgeist, it had proved to be quite an interesting experience over the last day. Mac had opted to take his limited downtime in the main lounge just so he could catch the stories being told and he was already looking forward to, and dreading, writing this report about this whole situation.

Least of all because of his decision to hand over a highly sensitive neutronium-wrapped anti-proton beam generator to what was usually best described as an ambivalent enigma of an interstellar power.

What no one had warned any of the assembled party about was the radiant heat coming off the Tholian shuttle. Even at the far end of the bay they could feel the infrared radiation coming off the craft as it passed through the atmospheric shield. Before a protest could be raised, or a question asked, the craft settled on two of its fins and a single deployed landing leg, resting just inside the atmospheric shield and far from the officers. A loud hiss and a plume of white gas, rapidly expanding and dissipating, preceded the opening of a rear hatch and the arrival of a figure wearing an exo-suit right out of a holo-novel with insane robotic war machines.

The Tholian EV suit had little soft surfaces that Mac could see, the designers opting for a hard-shell, likely for pressure reasons. Its silver-white appearance, with orange and blue highlights, only worked to highlight the suit’s rugged and robust design, enhanced more as the entity, carrying a large container in its two arms, moved across the deck in a manner approaching scuttling.

“You’re up,” Velan said, patting Mac’s shoulder briefly. “You got this Mac.”

“Thanks.” The answer came quickly and was genuine. Mac truly felt he was ready for this. It was a simple request to meet face-to-face with a foreign captain. Captains and commanders did this all the time right? Right.

“Commander Kaltene, on behalf of the officers and crew of the USS Atlantis, I welcome you aboard our vessel.” He had rehearsed the line more than a few times, working up the best way to project, to load his words with confidence.

If Kaltene had any critiques, she kept them to herself. She set the slim elongated case down between them, then manipulated a device on the outside of her suit briefly, the front panel going from opaque to transparent, the whole front of the suit a giant visor. “Commander MacIntyre, on behalf of the Tholian Assembly, I accept your invitation to visit your vessel in the manner in which it was given – as a means to diplomatic reproachment.”

“I hadn’t meant it as such, merely as a courtesy, but I will not deny it could be seen as such, not will I be averse to such a possibility,” he stated.

Kaltene’s response wasn’t immediate, but hand gestures and body language gave away either thinking or speaking with someone else. “It is beyond the scope of my mission or duties to speak on behalf of the Assembly. I will relay your commitment to diplomatic reproachment to my leaders however, so that they may consider it.” She stepped back from the box at her fore-feet, indicating it with her hands. “I am however indebted to you for acquiescing to my demands/request.” The universal translator threw out both words in quick succession, an indication of a word with multiple translations. “This is not payment enough for that, but a mere token of my thanks.”

With a couple of head nods to prepare himself, Mac stepped forward, knelt and undid the latches on the case, testing them first for heat and surprised to find everything cool to the touch. Three latches on one side opened and he lifted the lid a little bit, then fully.

Three bolts of Tholian silk, one of a deep orange, almost the same colour as Kaltene’s carapace, and two that looked undyed, were stacked inside the case. Without even thinking he reached out to run his fingers along one of the bolts, just to confirm by touch that it was silk. “I, well, um,” he stumbled over his words before lowering the case lid and standing up. “I thank you for this generous gift. I have nothing to offer in return.”

“The component of the Great Destroyer, uncontested by you, was gift enough.” Kaltene’s response was quick this time. “I must decline the tour you offered earlier. We have a rendezvous to make.”

“I understand. We’ll still be here another few hours ourselves, so we’re more than happy to jam the Breen sensors to give your ships a clean escape. How long will the web last for?”

“Seven hours, sixteen minutes,” Kaltene answered after a moment’s hesitation. “I was led to believe that Starfleet were unreasonable, dangerously curious and unpunctual. I am pleased to see some of my assumptions were unfounded, at least regarding you Commander MacIntyre. This encounter will require a rewrite of the Assembly’s profile on you.”

And then without so much as a goodbye, Kaltene turned and returned to her shuttle, the hatch closing behind her and the craft easing out of the shuttlebay before zooming off to its mothership.

“A rewrite of the Assembly’s profile on you,” Adelinde repeated as she stepped up beside Mac, accompanied by Velan. “I think that’s the closest you’re going to get to a compliment.” She then leant down to inspect the contents of the case. “Impressive gift.”

“I’ll say,” Velan added. “Genuine, non-replicated Tholian silk. That stuff is worth a lot of favours and reputation. Or latnium on the capital markets.”

“And it all goes to the quartermaster’s office for now.” Mac declared. “Official gift-giving and all that.”

“Oh stuff the regs,” Velan said. “I won’t tell. Besides, you’ll look good in silk.”

“Regulations are regulations,” Adelinde added, getting a smirk from Mac. “Besides, he doesn’t have the legs for it. Doctor Pisani on the other hand…”

“Oh yes,” Velan was quick off the mark. “I’m sure she’d find a use for some of this.”

“I’m sure she would. But until the captain returns, it goes to the quartermaster. Now get to lifting you too.”

“Don’t we have staff for this?” Velan asked as he and Adelinde took and end each in the still empty shuttlebay. “I swear, never an enlisted man around when you want one.”

A few hours later, a change of uniform, some paperwork completed, and reports received, and Mac stepped out onto the bridge of the Atlantis from the ready room just as the shift change was getting underway. He caught the exchange of the keys, Rrr taking command of the watch, and declined when the Gaen offered them to him. “We’re all stowed away,” he reported to the Ops chief, handing over a padd. “All the Aitu deceased that we and the Tholians had ever detected are aboard. All shuttles, fighters and crew are aboard as well.”

“And the demolition charge on the surface?” Rrr asked.

“Let’s just say we don’t want to be in orbit when it goes off,” Mac said with a smile. “Get us underway to the rendezvous with the captain and when we’re a light-minute away from this place Ensign Ryuu will have the codes to detonate the device.”

“Right you are sir,” Rrr acknowledged. “Be glad to put the Breen to our backs and get the captain back aboard. Bet she’s had an interesting few weeks.”

That done, Mac could finally call it quits for the day. His plan was simple – head to his quarters, have some dinner and crawl into bed. The protest from his stomach was loud enough he was happy the turbolift was empty. But as he stepped into his darkened quarters he was greeted by a noise in protest from his bedroom at the external light spilling in. A quick investigation and a smile formed on his face before he backed out and retreated to the Captain’s Mess for now.

It would seem, not having had a chance to speak with Blake yet, she’d already decided where she was going to crash while her quarters were being repaired.

“Adrestia, this is Atlantis, nice to see you again,” Rrr said, out of nowhere and breaking the quiet of the bridge.

Atlantis had been at rest for a couple of days now, the events of the Tholians, Breen and the Aitu well behind them. They’d pulled back enough from the border that there was no way the Breen could make any claims without overplaying their hand and returned to what they were originally meant to be doing while the captain was away – boring old survey work.

And boring survey work meant that when the ship was parked in orbit of a world that depending on how you tilted your head was either L-class or M-class, there wasn’t much to do on the bridge but make sure the ship didn’t suddenly veer into the planet, or some nasty suddenly jumped on you. Oh yes, the science labs were busy, the transporter rooms and the shuttle bays were busy, and conversely, Operations was busy coordinating everything to support the Science department, but the rest of the bridge was…mostly redundant.

Which is why Mac had banished Rrr and their lackeys to the mission ops at the back of the bridge, joined them in the corner to do his own paperwork as the ship’s commander, and left the bridge proper in the tender hands of Commander Gantzmann who was at this time torturing, or educating, again depending on how you tilted your head, a gaggle of junior officers. It was all part of a beautiful plan to familiarise them with the bridge and more importantly with duties not their own.

He’d only remained on the bridge because he’d been finding the quiet of the ready room oppressive for the last few hours, needing some background noise to drown out the silence. And it turned out the hum-drum of the bridge was just what he needed. But Rrr had a talent for making themselves heard when they wanted to and this was one of those situations. He had looked up, twisting the chair around just as the response came in, Tikva’s face a small window on the large display wall, directly in front of Rrr who had been prowling the space recently.

“Nice to see my ship in one piece,” she said with a smile. “Though a little birdie tells me if I look really careful like on the approach I’ll see where you’ve painted things over.”

“I doubt that ma’am,” Rrr said confidently. “I ensured Commander Velan had the correct colour samples to work with. Bright green with blue stripes, yes?”

“Oh, could you imagine?” Tikva responded. “Atlantis herself would throw us off.” She chuckled lightly and looked over Rrr’s shoulder as Mac made his way over to join the Gaen officer. “Commander, how’s my ship?”

“Yard dogs would have trouble spotting anything wrong with her,” he answered. “We’re just awaiting your arrival and for the survey teams to finish here and then we’re good for just about anything.”

“Good, I’ve just had a report from the Fleet Captain about an oddity and they’re pulling Fourth Fleet ships for it right now. Hopefully, by the time we dock, we’ll get an update from her on if Atlantis is getting yanked for this or not.” He had to admit, Tikva didn’t sound too enthused about that possibility.

“Adrestia just dropped out of warp and we’re starting our engine shutdown and purge routines right now,” she continued. “We’ll be with you in thirty minutes. Adrestia out.”

“Now that sounded ominous,” Rrr concluded as the channel cleared. “I’ll keep an eye out for comms from the flagship.”

“Please,” Mac said. “And reach out to Camargo, just give her the heads up her little field trip might get called off if we have to turn this ship around and go sprinting all the back to DS47, or even further.”

With a brief stop on the bridge itself to give Gantzmann the news that the captain has on final approach, and hand over the keys of command, that holiest of Atlantis relics he was personally proud not to have walked off with yet, Mac had made his way to collect Velan, for the duty of welcoming the captain home.

“You know I’m technically off duty,” Velan griped as they stood in the corridor outside the airlock that the captain’s yacht would dock to. Windows let them look out and watch as the craft neared, her warp engines cold, the pylons already folded upwards for docking.

“As the second officer, with the captain away, you’re always on some sort of duty,” Mac responded. “Besides, you only just got off duty, this will only take a couple of minutes, and then you can go back to chatting up Fre’nel in the lounge.”

“Speaking of, we should do dinner sometime.” Velan had stepped up to the window and cast a look outside at the approaching yacht. “Honestly, we should do a senior staff dinner soon. And we need another crew event as well. Something fun before we jump over that line on the map that says ‘here be dragons’.”

The two men chatted, throwing ideas between them for a few more minutes before the reassuring ‘thunk thunk’ of locking latches reverberated through the deck, locking the Adrestia firm against the Atlantis’ underside. The hard lock confirmed, the airlock sealed as well, the tell-tale switched from red to green and the door finally opened, admitting Tikva Theodoras back aboard her own ship.

And despite his earlier protestations about being here, Velan cleared his throat and happily announced, “Atlantis returning.” The ship’s whistle sounded briefly at that statement and echoed it through the ship. “Good to have you back ma’am,” he continued after the ship-wide had cut out.

“Really cranking out the ceremonies for my return?” Tikva asked as she stepped up to her officers and shooed them aside to let the crew of the Adrestia file past them, save for one, whom they could see still aboard, a padd in hand and checking something. “Oh, don’t worry about Burke. I gave him the task of completely shutting Adrestia down and waiting for a deck crew to arrive for post-flight maintenance.”

“Oh, shoot, was I meant to organise that?” Velan asked, shock on his face, which he couldn’t hold very long. “Chief O’Reilly is already on his way with a team. We’ve got most of the shuttles going back and forth at the moment, so his people are working a little hard at the moment.”

“I saw,” Tikva added, then led her officers to the nearest turbolift. “Bridge,” she commanded. “No need to fret,” she said to Mac. “If we’re forced to turn around, I’m not going to mad scramble out of here.”

“Turn around?” Velan asked.

“Hold that thought,” she said as the lift carried them to their destination. Not a word was said as all three, the senior most officers aboard, crossed from turbolift to ready room, the door closing behind them. “Fleet Captain Sudari-Kravchik alerted me to the possibility we might get recalled for something.” Stepping around her desk, a moment to inspect her chair, she sat down and tapped at her computer, looking at something briefly. “And…” she drew it out, “we’re in the clear. I’ll forward you two the notes, but some news out of the Delta Quadrant recently has a lot of folks spooked. Most of the task force is getting called for this since they were still putzing around DS47. It’s going to leave Nobel and Atlantis to carry the flag out here for a bit, so we’re not going to be allowed to dash past Ultima Thule just yet.”

“Still some pretty impressive flag carrying,” Mac added as he and Velan sat down. “Nobel isn’t a spring-chicken mind you, but she’s got fighting chops. I don’t reckon we could take on the Confederacy, just the two of us, but we can handle anything else that pops up.”

“And add to that someone recently demonstrating to the Breen Confederacy what a brand-new Sovereign-class can do,” Tikva said with a smile at Mac, “we’ve got a reputation doing a fair bit of work for us now too. I’m confident we can hold the line until everyone gets back. Once they do, we’re pushing the engines hard and going to chart some new frontiers.”

“I’m sure I can convince the engines to play nice when we need them,” Velan said.

“Excellent. Now, how about you two give me a quick fifteen-minute catch-up, and then we’ll do a full debrief tomorrow?”

“Hmm….you’re late,” said a soft voice in the darkness.

“I know,” Mac answered. He was already in the process of removing his tunic when he collided with the edge of the bed in the dark. The lights were off, the windows darkened against the glare of the planet below and even terminals and control surfaces turned off, turning the space into a pitch-black void.

Sitting himself down, he patted Blake’s feet through the duvet briefly, then went about unsealing his boots, tucking them against the end of the bed as he always did. Then the tunic was given a gentle lob, done through muscle memory to throw it over the back of the nearby chair. It only took a few more moments to finish disrobing before he too crawled into bed, Blake soon curling up against him.

“Just couldn’t help but debrief the captain straight away?” she asked sleepily.

“Pretty much.” His answer was emotionless as he found himself staring at the ceiling, not that he could make it out.

“What’s on your mind?”

“This could have been my command,” he said. “There was a previous Atlantis and I got passed over for command. Command sent some hot-shot commander in to take over when the previous CO retired. If I hadn’t been passed over, then there’s a chance this could have been my ship.” He didn’t sound angry or sullen about that, just stating facts.

“Just as likely could have been anyone else’s,” Blake reassured him. “Universe plays out the way it does for a reason.” She sounded a bit more awake than she had a moment ago. “You’d have made different calls, done things differently, and that ship might still be around.”

“And I’d still likely be a lieutenant commander,” Mac stated. “Tikva gave me the kick in the pants I needed to break out of a rut I’d fallen into on the old Atlantis.” He sighed, then pulled Blake in closer. “I liked being in command.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Blake asked.

“Going to get my own command,” he stated. This time there was emotion in his voice. Command. He was telling the universe at large what he was going to do.

“In the morning,” Blake added as she kissed him on the cheek. “In the meantime, how about you settle for getting the girl?”

“Missed this,” Tikva said, leaning back against Adelinde, her hand with the padd falling to the side, draping downwards to the floor before she let go of the device, letting it clatter to the floor beside the half dozen others that she and Lin had been working through.

The ready room, like most of the Sovereign-class, featured a day bunk, which made a serviceable couch most of the time as well, but for now, was closer to its original purpose. Both she and Lin were off duty, well Lin more so than she was, and had just been enjoying some quiet time in each other’s company. Lin had sat down, then she’d joined her from her desk, then leaned against Lin and soon enough she was cuddled up with her lover while they both worked through the paperwork of the day. She’d found herself leaning back against Lin, forcing the larger woman to reach around her from time to time for more padds, but eventually the task of moving padds from one pile to the other ended.

“You were only gone two weeks,” Lin said quietly.

“Two very long, very dull weeks,” she countered. “I didn’t sleep well once.”

“Did you speak with the doctor aboard the Nobel?” Lin asked.

“No.”

“Then who’s fault is that?”

She reached down and pinched Lin’s thigh lightly. “You’re hiding something.” She tilted her head back to look up at Lin. “You didn’t sleep well either did you?”

“Not particularly,” Lin answered. “I was hoping perhaps we could get dinner together and then your place?”

Yes.

Yes.

Hell yes.

The ayes have it.

“Sounds good, but first, serious question time.” She sat up, scooted away a touch and turned to face Lin properly. Even went so far as to check her tunic was sitting properly at the top corner seal. “Mac, how was he?”

“Solid,” Lin answered, and Tikva could feel her working hard to not betray anything with an errant thought, or emotion in Tikva’s case. “Stuck to his decisions, listened to the crew. As good as any other commander I’ve served with.”

“Captain material?”

“Certainly,” Lin said with no hesitation. “He’s changed a lot since you took over on the last Atlantis. Command would be making a mistake not to offer him a command one day.”

“But?” she asked. She could feel the halted elaboration from Lin, needed to ask, to unravel that thread.

“I think he’s already looking for an XO. Velan.”

She nodded at Lin’s assessment. The two men had been good friends before she took over the crew, they knew each other pretty well. “Not surprising. But if he thinks he can poach my chief engineer, he’s got another thing coming.” She then smiled and leaned towards Lin, hands on the woman’s thighs before pushing herself up to kiss her on the lips, but stopping just shy. “Least he’s not thinking of asking you.” And then she kissed her lover.

It was soft and sweet and brief before she broke the kiss and got to her feet, offering a hand to help Lin up, almost swooning when Lin did, right up close to her, her nose just under Lin’s chin. “Dinner?”

“Let’s.” And with that, they left.