There was no argument anymore amongst those privileged enough to call the Atlantis their posting – the ship’s primary social gathering point was Port Royal. Not ‘the Port Royal’, just Port Royal. And no amount of argument from the captain about ruining her Mediterranean naming scheme would change it. At least the pirate theme had never taken off outside of the chalkboard placard occasionally posted outside the two entrances with its declarations of whatever social event was scheduled next, or limited drinks were on offer.

As the door swished open to the packed space, music blaring over the sound system and singing from three people on the temporary stage, Tikva realised she wasn’t going to get in easily. There was no talent contest or requirement for people to take the stage, just an open mic night that had started up a while back and had become increasingly popular. Rank however hath its privileges and one was not above using them as she smiled, then announced – “Make a hole!”

And with that the seas parted and one could walk freely from the stoic, professional corridors outside and through a crowd now parting on its own to the booth that she knew contained Charles MacIntyre and Blake Pisani, both on one side and Adelinde Gantzmann on the other. And more importantly a blue-green cocktail with a frilly umbrella still sitting there waiting for her, even if some of it had somehow mysteriously disappeared.

“It’s lovely,” Lin whispered in her ear before a cold tinged kiss on her cheek after she slipped into the booth.

“Who did I miss?” she asked, having to raise her voice a touch for Mac and Blake to hear her over the rock song that was getting a mass accompaniment by the crowd.

“Kelly and Rosa,” Blake answered. “And T’Val.”

“T’Val? By herself?”

“I forgot the name but it made me cry,” Blake answered. “This is all recorded for later as well. You’ll love it.”

“What did the Commodore want?” Mac cut in, wanting to discuss why she’d been called away after all. At least it hadn’t been some dire emergency, that would have gotten both of them after all.

“DS47 engineers have finished the major works and cleared us for departure in the morning. And Nobel has finally dealt with the privateer who was blowing up the subspace repeaters throughout the Expanse. Was being given support by the Tzenkethi.” She’d barely sipped her cocktail as the current song came to an end and attention turned back to the stage.

After all, important announcements were to be made.

“Another awesome performance from the Franklins folks! Seriously, who put three awesome singers with the last name Franklin on the same shift?” It was tonight’s master of ceremonies, Lieutenant Samantha Michaels, who pointed at an individual in the crowd and summoned forth a spotlight on her target. For their part, Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr had the good grace to look stunned for a moment, then hold a hand to their chest in a ‘who me?’ manner, then nodded sagely as an admission of guilt.

“I don’t know about you folks, but I can’t wait to have them back on stage! Our next act is one we haven’t seen before but I’ve heard a few things around. Give it up folks for our very own W’a’le’ki and Stirling Fightmaster!” The response was pretty excited at the announcement of W’a’le’ki’s name but had muted a mere moment later at Fightmaster’s.

“He can sing?” Tikva and Blake both blurted out at almost the same time.

“We’re about to find out if he can,” Lin clarified before taking hold of Tikva’s wrist and directing the drink she held towards her, stealing another sip through the straw. “Seriously good.”

“Mine,” she snapped back the drink, then took a large sip to demonstrate her possession.

“Honestly children,” Blake said. “If you don’t behave we’ll have to send you to your room. Now be quiet, I want to see if this man of mystery of ours can actually sing.”

There was a brief moment of relative quiet as both W’a’le’ki and Stirling took the stage, grabbed a mic each, she whispered something in his ear which made the normally stoic yeoman blush slightly and then the music started. And by start it was barely a single note before Stirling broke into his part of the duet.

“Now,” he dragged out the first word, a register deeper than normal, “I’ve…had the time of my life. No, I never felt like this before. Yes I swear, it’s the truth. And I owe it all to you.”

“’Cause I’ve had the time of my life. And I owe it all to you,” W’a’le’ki came in strong as the music picked up and the crowd got into it.

“No way,” Tikva declared as Stirling and W’a’le’ki launched into the dance-rock duet. “Obscure classical songs is my schtick!”

Sometime later, a slightly drunk Tikva and Lin stepped out of the turbolift only a few decks higher than they had been, silent discussion had about which quarters they were going to head for, then settled on Tivka’s own thanks to the computer having routed them to that side of deck five. Rank cometh first after all. “So that happened,” she announced to her Amazonian lover and the empty corridor.

“What happened?” Lin asked.

“Stirling and W’a’le’ki!” she replied as if it had been obvious what she was talking about from the beginning. “Time of My Life? Honestly, you can’t sing that in front of the crew and not expect them to get the bloody message!”

“That W’a’le’ki asked Stirling out on a date just before they started singing?” Lin asked. “I read lips; you know that.”

“You’re kidding right?” she challenged as the door to her quarters admitted them, closing behind them in quick order. “You aren’t kidding. Oh, that’s so funny!”

“Less funny, more cute,” Lin corrected before turning her around, gently cupping her face and kissing her passionately, bringing it to a drawn-out conclusion before resting their foreheads together. “Shower or –“

“Captain Theodoras,” came the announcement from her commbadge, Ensign Taru’s voice muffled somewhat by the device pressed between the two women. “There’s a priority call for you from Admiral Beckett. It’s live ma’am.”

“From Bravo to here, live?” Lin asked. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Or something.” She pushed away from Lin, sighing as she did so. “Cupboard, anti-intoxicants please.” And with that watched Lin head towards the bedroom. She then marched towards the desk her quarters were furnished with, checked her tunic wasn’t sporting any stains, took two deep breaths and then sat down, tapping at her computer to bring up the secure subspace comm lines, a passcode and then came face to face with a man she’d not so much as said a single word to in her entire career up until now.

“Vice Admiral Beckett, a pleasure sir,” she said, feeling a certain clarity as an element of adrenaline fought the alcohol in her system. “How can the Atlantis be of assistance?”

“I have a priority task for you captain, and your ship.” The man was direct, eyes hinting at intelligence behind them, and more behind that. “I need you at Handl Dryf as soon as possible. All speed restrictions are rescinded for this. Further information will be relayed to you upon your vessel entering Ferengi territory.”

She blinked once, then twice, then thought carefully, making sure she was thinking. “Handl Dryf is on the far side of the Alliance from us right now sir, if my memory serves me right. We’d have to cross the Badlands, skirt around the Coalition and break through the Ionite Nebula.” Not that the last was a major concern. The Ionite was after all a large nebula, diffuse and spread across lightyears to the point it was just a pretty feature in the sky for nearby worlds, but almost next to nothing for a starship.

“I am giving you permission captain to run the B-T Corridor. You’re also cleared to maintain speed across the Ferengi Alliance as well. Appropriate permissions have been attained,” he countered. No further explanation, just that simple permission. “I hope that helps to convey the weight of this situation?”

“Not entirely sir, but I suspect the further information will illuminate our purpose when we receive it.” She accepted the small white pill that Lin handed her with a glass of water and quickly apologised to the admiral as she took the pill, claiming it was for a headache, which wasn’t going to be too far from the truth soon enough. “I can have the Atlantis underway within the hour. We should be clear of the B-T Corridor within twelve hours.” Again, she was doing astrogation in her head, hoping she wasn’t that far off.

“Very well captain. Contact my office when you’re in the Alliance and I’ll have the appropriate packets sent to you. You can brief your staff afterwards. Beckett out.”

Silence enveloped the quarters as the screen went black, then blue as the Starfleet emblem popped up and started to rotate on the screen.

“So…” Lin said, dragging out the word, “Guess we’re interrupted again?”

She took a deep breath in, counted to two, exhaled, and repeated before she slammed her palms onto the tabletop, then forced her way to her feet. “Mac wasn’t drinking, was he?”

“No, he’s sober all right. He’s on duty remember?”

“Theodoras to MacIntyre,” she ordered of the ship’s electronic minion after tapping at her commbadge.

“Yes cap?” he asked, voice emanating from ‘somewhere’ after a mere moment. “What’s up?”

“General recall of all staff right now. They’ve got fifteen minutes to be back on the boat or they’re getting left behind. Call station ops and tell them we’ve got orders to push off yesterday and get their people off my ship and clear us for immediate departure. Anyone still onboard is coming with us.”

“Where’s the fire?” he asked and over the open comm line she could hear voices in the background starting to make the calls and orders necessary to carry out her orders.

“Handl Dryf in the Ferengi Alliance. Tell Engineering I want max speed on the engines as soon as we’re past the outer marker. We’re running the B-T Corridor and not slowing down until we reach the Ferengi border.”

“Uh, can I have you confirm that last part for me captain?”

“We’ve got orders to be at Handl Dryf right now. Command has cleared us to run the Breen-Tzenkethi Corridor like we stole something.” She looked to Lin, looking for support and got it with that smile she had fallen for. “I’m going to get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“We got a soundtrack for this stunt?” Mac asked, clearly joking.

“Danger Zone, look it up. Theodoras out.” She then reached out and took Lin’s hand. “Problem solved, yes?”

“You’ll be wanting some proper sleep then.”

“I’m too worked up to just go to bed now. Anti-intoxicant and adrenaline are both going to keep me going for a while yet. So, your choice, holodeck for some sparring, or bed for some –“

She was rudely interrupted, emitting a rather undignified squeal as Lin stood up, picked her up, thrown over a shoulder and carried her bodily into the bedroom. “Put me down!”

“Yes ma’am,” came the response as she was dropped onto the bed. “Now, where do I start?”

“Highly irregular.”

T’Val’s response to Mac’s orders was exactly what he expected from the ship’s chief helmswoman when he had emerged on the bridge at his summons, but she didn’t push back or protest. He’d couched his statement well enough to deal with that at least. “Get the latest details that station ops has as to the state of the B-T Corridor and then lay in a course for it. We’re running it at max speed on orders from someone with a big enough hat.”

“And T’Val,” he continued after her declaration, “I mean it when I say running it at full speed. If you want some rest before we get there go ahead and get a relief officer up here. I want the best at the controls when we hit the corridor and anyone else can fly us in a straight line.”

“I shall have Lieutenant Shven up here once we’re at warp,” she confirmed.

With that done, he turned to Rrr who simply nodded, already at work making sure all wayward souls were aboard and all extras were ushered off the ship before departure. They’d all heard the captain after all. But he wanted to add to it. “Hail Chief Gloppo in station security and ask them if it’s possible to get press gangs to round up our wayward souls. And Ch’tkk’va,” he turned to the Xindi-Insectoid at the back of the bridge, “kindly escort any 47ers off the ship.”

“I already have a team assisting the few remaining engineers to evacuate the ship. They were all working with Lieutenant Maxwell in Engineering so should be off the ship within ten minutes.”

“Excellent. Rrr, get me station ops please.” There was a moment as the Gaen operations officer tapped away, then the whistle indicating an open channel. “Atlantis to 47 Ops, requesting permission for immediate departure.”

“Atlantis, you aren’t scheduled for departure until tomorrow,” came the professional and bland voice from the other side.

“Hence the immediate departure request, 47. We’ve got orders to be somewhere yesterday.”

There was a pause, then the voice came back. “Roger that Atlantis. We’re going to need about thirty minutes to finalise departure preparations on our side. Is that soon enough?”

He was tempted to just tell them to blow all the umbilicals and push off straight away, but they needed a bit of time to get their people back aboard anyway. Thirty minutes was still pretty fast for dockhands who thought they didn’t need to get a ship ready to leave until tomorrow. “Sooner would be better 47, but we’ll take it.”

“Understood Atlantis. We’ll try and get you away as fast as possible. 47 out.”

“Right then,” he said to the bridge at large, “any bets on who has lit this particular fire and why?”

As for any answers to Mac’s open question, none were present for the foreseeable future. If things had gotten to a point where some admiral was pushing Atlantis through the B-T Corridor at speed, then he understood why Tikva wanted a night’s sleep before hitting the problem fresh. The hours between departing Deep Space 47 and arriving at the Thomar Expanse end of the Breen-Tzenkethi Corridor had felt like a week and he knew as soon as he could he’d want to sleep as well.

It wasn’t that he was being taxed in his capabilities, but the stress of knowing that in a few short hours, anything could happen that could spiral wildly out of control and it was he and the captain who would wear it, not an admiral who’d likely already covered his backside six-ways to Sunday. Stress that knowing if things went wrong they’d have to work like demons just to get to the court-martial, let alone survive.

Normally a journey of a few days at a reasonable speed, by pushing the limits of their engines to a point where even Velan had raised his displeasure, they’d made the journey in a matter of hours. They’d already started a timer on the bridge to forced engine shutoff and burned through a sixth of that time already. And they’d be doubling their time at speed while crossing the gap, running the gauntlet between the Breen and Tzenkethi borders in order to break through to the Ferengi Alliance.

“How’s it looking out there Rrr?” he asked, pacing the bridge. Something he knew he’d been doing for an hour now.

“All quiet on the starboard front,” Rrr said, meaning the Tzenkethi border. “But there’s a fair few ugly-looking Breen ships on long-range sensors.”

“Disposition?”

“All well inside their border, but a few of them are moving towards the border with a bit of haste. If something is about to go down in the Expanse, DS47 is going to look a lot like a tempting target without us around.”

“I’m sure the Fleet Captain and the Commodore have their own plans. And they’ve been making friends with the Cardassians who hold no love for the Breen. They’ll be fine. Especially once Nobel gets on station.” He smiled, then forced himself to stop pacing. “Where’s T’Val?” he asked, noticing the Shven still at the helm.

“She’s on her way up right now,” the young Andorian answered. “Running early too.”

Sure enough only a minute later and T’Val was taking over the controls of the ship. “Six hours, forty-five minutes to clear the Breen-Tzenkethi Corridor, Commander,” she answered when he asked for an update. “Assuming no interference in our flight path.”

“Let’s keep it that way then. Rrr, eyes on long-range sensors. Ch’tkk’va, let’s roll the ship to yellow alert. T’Val, take us in and don’t spare the horses.” He turned and sat himself down in the captain’s chair. “Might as well set a record while we’re at it. What’s the speed record for the B-T Corridor?”

“There isn’t one,” Ch’tkk’va said from behind him. “No one has been mentally incapacitated enough to do it before.”

“Well that’s Atlantis for you,” he answered. “Let’s do this, and try not to blow up the engines while we’re at it. And what was that song the captain?”

“Danger Zone,” Rrr answered. “Computer, play the song Danger Zone, Earth musical library.”

“What’s up?” Mac asked, stepping out of the ready room and onto the bridge.

“It has become a two-ship race,” replied Lieutenant T’Val as she manipulated Atlantis through another faster-than-light turn along the Corridor. It wasn’t a sharp turn, for that would have either ripped the ship apart or required them to drop out of warp momentarily, but just as she started he swore he could feel it. Which was patently false he knew thanks to the inertial dampeners

“Two-horse race,” he corrected the expression as he stepped up to the helm and ops consoles.

“If you insist,” she replied, brushing off the correction with typical Vulcan stoicism. “We are being shadowed by a Breen heavy cruiser five point two light years to our port.” A tap of keys switched the viewscreen to a tactical assessment.

The Breen border occupied the left of the screen, its ugly dark green colour bright at the border and fading away as it bled to the left. The Tzenkethi border was a light purple that did the same, bleeding to black on the right of the screen. And in between was a black patch of space referred to as the B-T Corridor.

It offered so many exciting possibilities for quick commerce between the Ferengi Alliance, the Thomar Expanse and the Cardassian Union beyond. But instead, commerce had to either go over or under the spheres of influence as the Breen and Tzenkethi’s informal neutral buffer zone liked to occasionally explode into ‘spirited discussions regarding territorial claims and possession’. With plenty of exchanges about ‘excellent forced employment opportunities’ to boot.

Even to a casual observer, the display looked like one of those periods of ‘intense deliberation’ wasn’t far off. Tzenkethi ships within their territory were moving to confirmed and suspected rallying points – populous worlds, important resource operations and what Starfleet Intelligence was certain was a Tzenkethi subspace telescope that could possibly read the serial numbers off of DS47’s hull plates given enough time.

But nothing on their side of the border was moving much faster than warp six. Nothing was shadowing or running parallel to Atlantis.

The Breen side of the equation however was different. Ships were massing, but not nearly in large enough forces to take on the Tzenkethi directly. It felt like a smattering of raiding forces getting ready. To breach the Tzenkethi border in so many places that defence of all would be impossible. Yes, the Tzenkethi could protect what was truly important, but everything else was vulnerable. Where defence forces could get, they’d overwhelm the raiders, but everyone else would be in and out before anyone could stop them.

But a single dot, one bright red little blip, the colour chosen no doubt to get his attention, was just inside the Breen border and mirroring Atlantis’ flight path. It was keeping the same speed and mirroring course changes as the mighty ship barreled between Scylla and Charybdis. And according to the tracking trail, she’d careened into detection from deep inside the Confederacy before taking her place. To the left and behind, but a constant companion for the last few minutes.

“We’ve designated them as Bogey Zulu.” Rrr’s tone carried none of their normal jovial nature, all seriousness in light of their current situation. “No determination on class, but she’s fast. Someone in Command is going to want to know about this eventually.”

“Let’s hope she’s just some weird little one-off special interceptor.” At least that was his hope. He didn’t relish the idea of Breen raiders being able to keep pace with Atlantis or other ships in the Expanse like Dragon or Sojourner.

“Breen interceptor meant to run us off or slow us down for the bigger ships to chase down?”

“Or at least keep us on sensors so they can figure out just what we’re up to.” He patted Rrr’s console a couple of times. “Shout out if they do anything different. And T’Val,” he stopped as she looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, “keep doing an exceptional job.”

“Yes sir,” she responded, conveying the feeling that her verbal response was purely perfunctory.

“Ch’tkk’va, any of those Tzenkethi ships out there a known flagship?” He left Rrr and T’Val with managing the ship here and now, marching up the starboard ramp and around the arch to the ship’s tactical station where the chief of security was parked in Gantzmann’s absence.

“A few of them are broadcasting ids that match historical records, but their emissions no longer match. Some are larger, others smaller.” The Xindi-Insectoid brought up a few records on their screen for Mac to review. “I would wager the Tzenkethi have similar traditions to the Federation and preserve ship names across generations.”

“What’s the expected range of Tzenkethi sensors?” He hummed to himself as Ch’tkk’va brought up an overlay on the main viewscreen, a series of circles blooming into life around the Tzenkethi formations and a slice piercing deep into Breen space from their suspected telescope. And then another few circles bloomed up around a few Federation sensor platforms in the Expanse and Atlantis herself.

“So we’re seeing more of the Breen than the Tzenkethi are?”

“Yes and no. As we continue down the corridor we will lose sight of Breen formations and gain sight of others. But our positioning between the two powers right now is granting us an insight that the Tzenkethi likely aren’t getting. Both sides have positioned just far enough behind their own borders to avoid direct detection from their major fleet positions.”

“Can you fudge the source of the data slightly? Make anything from the sensor platforms look like it’s coming directly from us? And maybe downgrade the resolution slightly?”

Ch’tkk’va stopped and looked directly at him, which was only a marginally disconcerting thing these days. A giant bug with compound eyes still caused the more primitive parts of the human brain to respond in rather basic ways. Ways which the more reasoning parts still had trouble reigning in. “I should advise you Commander that sharing sensor data with the Tzenkethi could be considered an act of treason. They are a hostile power to the Federation and they could glean information regarding our capabilities from what we send them.”

“I’ll wear it, don’t worry. The Tzenkethi aren’t the ones chasing after us, or who recently have some history with this ship. Frankly, I think the Tzenkethi have been downright civil towards us in the last few decades, comparatively that is, and I’d hope giving them the best heads up we can might go some way to normalising relations.”

Ch’tkk’va’s mandibles clicked a few times, an expression he likened to a sigh, before they turned back to the tactical console. “I can run our data through a filter. As if an original Sovereign-class starship was gathering the data?”

“Perfect. Over twenty years old, should be within what they think we can do anyway. If any of the notable Breen formations disappear from the data, add them back in. Once you’ve got it sorted, transmit it towards every major Tzenkethi fleet formation. Sign it ‘With our compliments, USS Atlantis’”

Ch’tkk’va clicked away again, briefly. “Of course, Commander. You know, they’ll think the data is a trap of course.”

“I know I would. But then I’d fire up that telescope and check out a few of the more interesting targets. Once they see a few data points line up someone will argue for checking the rest. Hopefully before the Breen -”

“Commander,” Rrr spoke up loudly merely to get Mac’s attention.

Eyes shifted to the viewscreen and he saw what had changed. A second red blip ahead of them and moving on an intercept course. And the first had a projected course line that was slowly curving to meet at the same point, even if it would take fifteen minutes for it to do so after the first.

“Bogey Yankee,” Rrr detailed. “Interception in two hours fifteen minutes.”

“And about thirty minutes short of the Ferengi Alliance.” He slammed a fist into the arch in frustration. “Rrr, you’ve got the conn. I’m going to go see if Velan is holding back on us.”

“Mac, good, hold this,” Velan said when he spotted MacIntrye wandering through his engine room a bit like a lost puppy. Or just someone without a direct purpose and trying to get through to him. The item in question was an advanced, and heavy, piece of diagnostic equipment he was pulling out of a storage cabinet and had been prepared to set down, but a fresh pair of hands was better.

That done, he reached in and pulled out the case he was actually after, size and weight much the same as the one he’d just handed over. “Right, you can put that back,” he suggested, then turned to face engineering. “Jess! Got that waveguide tester for you.”

“Anything we should be worrying about?” Mac asked as he set the large tester back in its cabinet and closed the door.

“Not currently,” he said to the slightly older man as a bubbly, bouncy and downright cheerful-looking engineer practically bounced up to him, eyes going wide as she looked at the size of the test equipment he was offering her, then steeled herself before taking it off of him.

“Oof!” the young woman exclaimed as she came to terms with the weight, not even noticing Mac, then turned and downright plodded away while shouting for someone, anyone, to bring her a grav platform.

“We have cadets aboard ship?” Mac asked.

“Nah, just the ensigns keep getting younger,” he said with a smile, tapping Mac’s chest with the back of his hand before leading him further in and towards the thrumming heart of Atlantis. “We were never that young.”

“Or downright bubbly.”

“Or small,” he said with a snort. “Don’t tell the cap, but she’s actually shorter than Tikva. By a lot.”

“Oh god,” he said, turning back to see the young woman finally getting some help from her colleagues. “She is, isn’t she? Cripes, is everyone helping her right now?”

“Practically. Ensign Sumner is apparently quite popular with some of the crew. Anyway, enough of that,” he said in an attempt to move the conversation to a more serious tone. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t suppose you; the builders and the designers of this fine ship are lying and Atlantis has a bit more in reserve?” The question was asked quietly, Mac stepping a touch closer so he could lower his voice even further. “We’ve got a Breen ship on intercept, give it two hours. Thirty minutes short of the Ferengi border and with another chasing behind us as well. I’m not expecting a running battle with them, but if they’ve updated those energy dampers of theirs, we could be in a world of hurt.”

“Dropping out of warp at this speed, uncontrolled? We’d be spread across a few light months easily.”

“That’s kind of terrifying to think about,” Mac said.

“Which is why we slow down to at least warp nine before just stopping. It’s the stress of running at such high speeds.” He stroked his chin in thought for a moment. “We need to keep the range open just enough that they can’t get those damnable weapons on us or disrupt our warp field. So, a few hundred thousand kilometres relative, yes?”

“I’d prefer millions, but I’ll take four hundred thousand at a minimum.”

“We wait till the Breen is within say three light-seconds, then I open the injectors past max operating limits, suppress all the alarms and hope we don’t blow up?” He smiled at Mac and saw the commander’s concerned expression. “We’ll hardly blow up. But I’m only going to give you two seconds like that, then we’re back to this,” he said with a wave towards the warp core on the other side of a piece of curved glass, thrumming away in a steady humm versus a ubiquitous gentle thrum.

“Two seconds at break-neck speeds?”

“As long as they can’t follow us, that should keep the distance open. And most warp sustainers on torpedoes can’t do the speed we’re doing anyway, so we’re safe that way too.”

“There’s a problem with that plan,” a third voice said as they looked up from their console.

Atlantis’ engineering department had more in common with the Ross-class ships and hence the older Galaxy-class than with the first-generation Sovereign-class ships. Gone was the cavernous engineering space around the warp core, replaced with storerooms, offices and much easier access to the reaction chamber a few meters away. And as such the multitude of control consoles that kept the tumultuous fury of matter and anti-matter annihilation were much closer to the core as well.

“Plasma pressure in the nacelles will spike,” said Lieutenant Merktin, the senior most Tellarite in Engineering. “We’ll risk melting coils if we don’t do something straight away.”

“Easy, open the nacelle vents and let the plasma flow. Oh…that’ll hurt the warp field some and the Breen will catch up.” His hands found his waist as he looked up at the ceiling, thinking.

“Wouldn’t it slow the Breen down as well?” Mac asked.

“Only if they fly straight into it, which is likely due to the speeds we’re all doing. But…Merktin, plasma discharge is really only a big issue because it gets caught in the trail of the deflector fields, then lurks around and throws off the warp field. But we know the frequency of the plasma we’ll be putting out.”

“So we recalibrate the navigation deflector to let the plasma pass without issue. And assuming we don’t hit some interstellar plasma in the same energetic state we should be fine.” The Tellarite turned back to her console and started entering some numbers. “I’ll need to run a few models to make sure we get the frequency numbers right.”

“I’ll join you,” he said, moving around Mac. “Give us an hour, we’ll have you a solution, Mac.”

“Uh, right you are. Sounds better than fighting it out with the Breen anyway.”

“And without your Tholian girlfriend either,” he chipped in as Mac started to retreat from Engineering.

“Yah yah, laugh it up. I’ve got silk bedsheets now you know!” Mac threw back as he turned the corner.

“Wait, he has Tholian silk bedsheets?” Merktin asked. “Now I can see what Doctor Pisani likes about him.”

“This has got to be one of the silliest plans I’ve ever heard,” Tikva said as she finished listening to Velan and Merktin’s plan. The morning briefing, evening for some at the table, was being held in the Captain’s Mess, devoid of all others save for herself, the two engineers and Mac to her right.

“I love it,” she reassured them, waving a fork-speared sausage at both of them.

“High praise,” responded Merktin, grumbling around a fork full of salad.

“I could call it half-baked insanity only a first-year engineering cadet would consider as sensible if you want?” she posited. “But my Tellarite insult game is miserable. I have people I respect to dish out the insults for me.”

I could do it! Let me at it boss!

No!

No!

No!

Ah…no fun, the lot of you.

That got a smile out of Merktin, who had the grace to clear her mouth before speaking. “It’s about forcing the other side to rigorously defend their position and ideas.”

“Man, I’d love to see a Tellarite academic defence,” Velan said. “A lot more clever wit and insults than a Klingon one I’d bet.”

“When they say you have to defend your thesis, the Klingons mean it,” Merktin chipped in. “You, a trusty weapon and the review board coming at you from all angles.”

“Surely not,” Mac muttered. “Dammit, now I have to know. Thanks for that Merktin.”

“Just helping broaden your horizons. And add to your pub quiz knowledge. We need a pub quiz by the way.”

“Oh no, no no no,” Tikva said, shaking her head, hanging it in shame. “No pub quizzes. Or at least not ones I’ll be participating in.” Then she looked up with a smile. “This crazy plan of yours got a name?”

“Plasma outgassing causing energetic turbulence and systemic annular disruption of warp fields.” Velan waited for a second, enjoying the look of confusion on his commander’s faces, the exchanged look between her and Mac, then illuminated them to the mystery. 

“Pocketsand.”

“It’s a tortured backronym,” Mac confessed as the turbolift started to wind down on the short journey to the bridge.

“It’s not even that. But I’ll let them get away with it. I can see the report now. ‘As the pursuer closed on us we threw pocket sand at them and continued on our way, knowing they couldn’t make up the distance.’” Both of them had a wee chuckle at that, carrying over as they stepped out onto the bridge.

The senior officers of each department had all arrived on the bridge for this encounter, save Velan who was returning to Engineering, some were at the end of their days, and others like her just starting. As she approached her seat Lin rose, passing her the keys to the ship silently before making her way around the arch to Tactical, taking station next to Ch’tkk’va.

“Time?” she asked.

“Five minutes until intercept by Bogey Yankee” Rrr’s deep tone was perfect for conveying the depth and weight of what was about to happen. 

The tactical display showed the circumstance before them. Bogey Yankee cutting nearly perpendicular to their current course and Bogey Zulu coming in at a slight tangent, having cut the corner on Atlantis’ course as she ran the B-T Corridor. Speed however was on the larger ship’s side and if Yankee didn’t slow them there was no way that Zulu could catch them at all.

“Well then, let’s get ourselves ready, shall we?” she asked, looking to Mac who nodded in agreement, not that there was any chance of an argument. “Computer, all hands.”

The boatswain whistle sounded in all compartments throughout the ship, designed to grab everyone’s attention either through just being obtrusive or by training. “All hands, this is the captain. Red alert, man your battlestations.”

As the comm line closed out, the bridge went silent, eyes either on the consoles and readouts, or on the tactical display on the main viewer, zooming in slowly as Yankee closed on Atlantis. Minutes crept by, the timer ticking down.

“All right T’Val, adjust course fifteen degrees to starboard. Let them fall in behind us.”

Come closer little fly. We won’t hurt you.

Much.

Ideally not at all. But I think we can sleep pretty well if these bastards literally fly apart from this stunt.

“Aye ma’am,” the Vulcan helmswoman said as she turned Atlantis and slowed the ship just slightly, enough to let Yankee continue approaching at the crawl they wanted. “We’re on course now and the Breen ship is directly astern.”

She smiled, then tapped at the button on her chair’s built-in console that connected her directly to Engineering. “Commander Velan, stand by.”

“Engineering is ready ma’am,” came the upbeat Efrosian’s voice.

“Rrr, give me an open line to the Breen ship.”

Her ops officer tapped a few keys on their console as she stood, bringing herself to her full and terrible imposing height, or lack thereof. “Breen vessel, cease your pursuit immediately or we will be forced to take action to deter you. Respond.”

A few seconds passed and nothing. The track still showed them closing on the course now aimed into the Tzenkethi Coalition. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she spoke and signalled to Rrr to close the line. “Right Velan, do your magic.”

“And for my next trick,” came Velan’s voice over the bridge speakers, “I present…pocket sand!”

There was no immediate indication that anything was happening at all. No ominous whines, no clunks or thuds that reverberated through the ship. Just a few extra chirps at various consoles around the bridge, a few of them rather angry sounding. And then the tactical plot updated as Yankee’s speed value immediately plummeted from multiple thousands of times the speed of light to zero. And then the trace completely disappeared as sensors lost track of the ship.

“Report,” she ordered, settling back into her seat.

“Lost track of Yankee,” Rrr said.

“Confirmed, no sign of them,” Lin added from behind her.

“I’ve got what looks like a debris field on my scopes,” Camargo added, bringing her results up on the viewscreen in a popup window. “Spread out across the better part of ten million kilometres. Looks like they broke up as their warp field collapsed.”

Tikva couldn’t help herself as she snorted in amusement and smug satisfaction. They’d just destroyed a Breen ship without firing a shot. Bogey Zulu was so far away they’d have no idea what happened as the plasma would barely have registered on even Atlantis’ sensors, let alone Breen ones. Or so she hoped.

“Bigger ship likely would have been fine. Honestly, we’d have been fine despite Velan’s trying to scare me earlier today,” Mac said. “Fragile little pocket rocket they sent after us.”

“Yeah,” she said in response. “T’Val, bring us back on course, get us out of the Corridor now. Stand down red alert. Heck, stand down yellow alert.”

As the lights returned to normal, Mac got to his feet, suppressing a yawn. “Right, excitement done. Permission to get some shut-eye?”

“Granted. And that means the rest of you folks.” They knew who they were, already starting the process of finalising handing over to relief officers who’d been on the bridge the whole time. T’Val briefing Petrov, Rrr exchanging a quick joke with Michaels as she settled into the seat at Ops, Camargo catching the last piece of information from her offsider who quickly made their way to the turbolift with the others, held for them by Mac.

“Gabs, scan the debris cloud with everything we have for as long as you can. Would love to know what was after us, or at least more than it was fast and fell apart when we sneezed at it.” The young woman in blue simply nodded and turned back to her console. “Michaels, hail Starbase Bravo, Admiral Beckett’s office and inform them we’ll be crossing into Ferengi space in twenty-five minutes and if they’d like to send along his prepared briefing packet it would be appreciated.”

“Aye ma’am,” Michaels said and then almost immediately Tikva could taste the lemony taste she associated with confusion from the young ops officer. “Uh ma’am, there’s a message from Admiral Beckett already.”

“What?”

What? Not possible. Without priority channels, it would take a few hours to send a message that far that fast.

He’s somewhere on the ship!

Shut up you.

“I just sent the message and then a reply from his office immediately appeared.” Michaels tapped at her console, then turned away from it to face her. “My message never sent and the Admiral’s response was never received. It just appeared ma’am.”

Gods damn stupid spies.

Bet he planted the data in his call to us with a trigger. Clever.

I don’t like people playing with my ship’s computers.

“Put it through to my ready room. I’ll unlock it and read it there.”

Trust only the Fourth Fleet.

It was the opening and closing statement to Admiral Beckett’s briefing packet that she’d read twice over after locking herself in her ready room. Then had to turn on the news feeds to hear what had been outlined before her as either lies or intentional misdirection. If she’d been back on station in the Thomar Expanse news of Breen aggression would have been alarming, but only that. The admiral was painting a far more morose and depressing picture.

“Computer, access the Ferengi news feeds. Something with a market analysis.”

A chirp, a moment as the computer processed her request, and then a news channel popped up on her computer terminal. What would have been shocking a few decades ago was presented to her – a clothed Ferengi woman talking about the market. Of course, the clothing was barely there, further confirmation that the age-old adage that ‘sex sells’ still thrived within the Alliance. Compared to where they had been a quarter century ago, it was progress.

Of a sort.

“- continue to rise in the markets as Federation refugees from colonies within the Deneb sector continue to flee deeper into the Federation and across into the Alliance as they seek transport elsewhere. Remember traders, rules 9 and 34! There’s plenty to be made on emergency supplies and disaster relief equipment. Whichever analyst told Gelin Manufacturing to bet big two weeks ago is due a hefty bonus this year. If his boss doesn’t take all the credit that is!” The young woman laughed, but the Ferengi sense of humour fell flat with Tikva.

“But in all seriousness folks, whoever these attackers are, once they finish with the paltry defenders of Deneb, they might turn to the Alliance next. And that means you need protection, for you and your business! So why not get the best! Galen Armaments and Mercenary Supplies is your home of –“

“Off,” she said to the computer, cutting the ad-read off before it got too far. They hadn’t said anything about the attackers but had given her plenty to think about. Fleeing refugees, those lucky enough to get out of the way of the Jem’Hadar if Admiral Beckett had been right, corporate greed making good on those in desperate situations and preparations within the Alliance to begin fortifying in the face of an expected attack.

And yet FNN was insisting it was a minor skirmish on the border. Deneb Broadcasting Corporation was citing ‘limited engagement with Breen raiders’ and nothing more. Whole worlds hadn’t even been mentioned.

This stinks to high heaven.

And then some.

And then Beckett wants us playing diplomat to find reinforcements because Command has apparently disappeared up its own backside.

Or to get him some ships and allies for some powerplay of his own.

What if Beckett is the compromised one and we’re being pulled along?

Geez, thanks for that Paranoid-Tikva, real helpful.

She rubbed her eyes, hours of reading and rereading wearing at her. She needed a break, to walk the ship and let her brain process everything.

She needed to brief her staff.

With a sigh she unlocked the door and summoned Fightmaster, her yeoman appearing in her office with the haste of a well-timed torpedo but with the style and calm of a Vulcan diplomat order a glass of water.

“Stirling, I need a few things from you.”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said, hands clasped behind his back.

“Organise a staff briefing in the Captain’s Mess for five hours from now. Should give those sleeping time enough to wake up and see they have a meeting. Might as well feed everyone for what’s about to come down.”

He nodded, clearly setting things on a mental list. She could just about hear the machinery of his brain whirring away.

“Then I want you to find out everything you can about Vice Admiral Alexander Beckett, Captain Hor’keth, son of Tela’bur of the House of Lorkoth, and Commanders Grel and Scali of the Romulan Republic and Free State respectively.” Before he could respond she held a hand up, to give a slight cause before setting the worse condition on that scavenger hunt that she could. “And without reaching out to anyone else in Starfleet.”

“Ma’am?”

“A test of your information-gathering capabilities Mr Fightmaster. Four random individuals, no obvious connections, no using Starfleet resources. I want whatever you have on my desk in four hours.”

“Aye ma’am,” he responded, then departed once she dismissed him.

That was mean.

Beckett might be right though. We can’t let anyone know what he’s asked us to do.

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe we need to tell someone.

Let’s find out who these people we’re about to meet are. And brief the staff and see what they think.

But first an impromptu inspection of multiple departments and workspaces?

Starting with…astrometrics!

“According to Starfleet Command there is no situation,” Captain Tikva Theodoras said, elaborating her explosive opening statement. Her senior staff briefing had started with first ensuring everyone had settled down in the Captain’s Mess with a meal before them, then launching straight into the heart of the matter with the declaration that the Dominion had attacked and occupied numerous worlds in the Deneb Sector. Then she gave them the official party line.

Forks full of food had stopped in transit, drinks were halfway to mouths, Gavin Hu had just about spat out his coffee but saved everyone from that spectacle, though was now doing his best not to die, coughing quietly and taking an offered glass of water from Doctor Terax. With silence, she resumed the briefing.

“According to Vice Admiral Beckett and Fourth Fleet Intelligence however we’re facing an unprecedented resumption of hostilities from Dominion forces.” While others seated around the table had started in on the meals, a combination of breakfast, lunch and dinner scents wafting around them, she’d opted to nurse a cup of coffee, ignoring the waffles before her she’d taken purely as a matter of appearances.

“There have been no reports of Dominion forces forcing their way through the wormhole,” Adelinde said. Ever since the split between Tactical and Security aboard the ship, she’d focused on the larger-scale image of what Atlantis might find itself against. She’d be filling a strategic operations role in a squadron or a fleet, but on a single ship, it just wasn’t a role that was needed. But it had let Adelinde focus on larger threats and Ck’tkk’va on ensuring the ship’s security personnel could handle threats that didn’t need or require the ship’s weapons arrays.

“That,” Gavin said around another cough, “would have been all over the news. And we were just at DS47, we’d have been one of the first ships to hear about such a thing.”  

“Initial assessments of scans undertaken by the Caliburn have concluded that the Dominion ships involved in this incursion are almost twenty-five years out of time and space.” Tikva looked over the rim of her coffee cup, making sure to catch the attention of two specific people around the table –Terax and T’Val. “Doctor, Lieutenant, you both served during the Dominion War, yes?”

While T’Val merely nodded her head, Terax leaned forward and looked down the table at Tikva. The Edosian doctor had left Counsellor Hu to care for himself and all three hands had found the table’s edge. “No one served in that war captain. Starfleet was subjected to it by the machinations of long-dead Cardassian leadership and Changeling manipulations. We suffered the horrors of Vorta plots and Jem’Hadar atrocities.”

“I…apologise Doctor.”

“Don’t apologise for something you were just a child through,” Terax stated, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “None of you. Just tell me how we’re going to make sure this doesn’t turn into the meat grinder like the last war was.”

“Are you implying Captain,” T’Val cut in, having unlike the others never stopped eating her morning meal, “that this is the missing Dominion fleet that was reportedly dealt with by the Bajoran wormhole aliens during Operation Return?”

“It’s Admiral Beckett’s working theory,” the captain said.

“Fourth Fleet Command also thinks that we haven’t seen the totality of the Lost Fleet just yet,” MacIntyre stepped into the conversation. “And while Starfleet Command, and the media, are downplaying this threat, at least some in the quadrant consider it to be real enough. The entire Cardassian Third Order apparently has made their way to the Deneb Sector ahead of us.”

“How long have they known?” Rrr asked. “They’d have had to take the zenith or nadir routes to Deneb as there is no way you could move the Third Order through the B-T without, oh, starting a war.”

“Hey, it’s still early Rrr, we just might have with our stunt,” Velan said with a smirk. “Besides, Cardassians will be Cardassians. The Obsidian Order probably have someone on the admiral’s staff.”

“There’s a scary thought,” Rrr responded. “Probably on the same shift as the Tal Shiar agent.”

“Likely the Cardassians just read through the lines,” Tikva clarified. “And it took a while for Admiral Beckett to verify the threat and then send out orders. No need to attribute to spies what is likely Central Command wanting to put a win in their column and getting the jump on something our own command wanted to verify before kicking up the hornet’s nest.”

“So we’re headed for Farpoint then?” Terax asked, having settled back down in his seat and angrily attacking his dinner, though not eating any of it. Fork and knife clashed, clattering with the plate as food was diced. “Doctor Pisani is likely a good candidate to lend to any emergency medical –“

“We’re not joining the fleet immediately.” That stopped everyone for the second time this meeting as eyes turned on the captain, who was busy draining her coffee, taking time to set the cup down before resuming. “We’re headed for Handl Dryf to undertake a diplomatic effort on behalf of Fourth Fleet Command.”

“A Ferengi trading post?” Adelinde asked, earning a nod of affirmation from Tikva and MacIntyre.

“That doesn’t seem very logical,” T’Val stated.

“We should be joining with the greater hive-fleet,” Ch’tkk’va said, the universal translator again catching on Xindi-Insectoid terminology. “The Ferengi are poor soldier-drones. They would make inadequate allies against the Dominion.”

Ch’tkk’va was the only other person in the room aside from T’Val to speak who didn’t have some sort of emotion to their speech. Terax was angry, different from his usual grumpiness. Rrr and Velan had both settled for hiding nerves with light humour. Tikva, MacIntyre and Adelinde were doing well to mask unease with professional detachment. But Ch’tkk’va’s voice hadn’t just been a cold logical separation of speech and emotion like T’Val’s had been, but one of generations. With no chance of direct trauma in the young Xindi-Insectoid, generational trauma was also a couple of generations old compared to others who might have been children during the war at least.

“Representatives of the Klingon Empire and the Romulan successor states will be meeting us at Handl Dryf. We’ve been tasked with opening negotiations to get them involved in the conflict in support of Fourth Fleet directly.” MacIntyre made sure to lock eyes all around but failed with one person in particular – Gabrielle Camargo. “Commander, are you okay?”

“Sorry sir,” the young woman said. “Papa spoke a lot about the war and…are we sure this isn’t just some elaborate prank?” She looked up at MacIntyre, then to Tikva, her eyes void of emotion, somewhat lacking in focus before sharpening as her brain reengaged. “Seriously, twenty-five-year-old Dominion ships attacking the Federation from deep space? It’s ridiculous.”

“I wish it was,” Tikva said. “But I’ve seen a fair bit of evidence in the last few hours to convince me it’s real.”

“Santa Maria,” Gabrielle muttered. “But why now?”

“A damn good question,” Terax growled. “And one I propose someone demands an answer out of the wormhole aliens for.”

“I’ll forward your suggestion along Doctor,” the captain said. “But we don’t know the specifics for that just yet Gabs.” She paused for a moment. “I remember watching the news about the bombing of San Francisco as it happened. Meteor showers for a month afterwards as debris burnt up each night. We’re not going to let such a thing happen again.”

“Already has for the Deneb Sector,” Terax interrupted.

But the captain chose to ignore the interruption. “But Admiral Beckett has some concerns about potential Changeling interference with any diplomatic outreach, which is why we’re being directed to Handl Dryf. We’re supposed to be in the Thomar Expanse, we’re not going to show up directly within the Deneb theatre of operations and unlike any of the fleet senior staff showing up, I’m not an admiral.”

“Yet,” Velan contributed. “Just saying ma’am, single boxed pip on your collar wouldn’t look too out of place.”

“And,” Tikva continued with a slight smile, “we’re going to be negotiating with our old alliance partners at a busy port where ships from all over frequent on all manner of business.”

“We’re just going to be another ship making a stop at Handl Dryf,” Mac jumped in. “At the same time Rrr I want a stoppage on outgoing communications. Let’s not have anyone give away our position.”

“Long-range communications are in need of some system downtime for routine maintenance and overhaul,” the operations chief added. “Should be able to find some busy work for my people and a handful of engineers as well.”

“And we’ll be busy with checks on the warp drive, so that should tie up a decent portion of the crew Boss,” Velan stated. “Actually, if these are out-of-time Dominion ships, then they’re from before the Romulans joined the war at all.” Velan sounded optimistic at that. “Likely the Breen are lying through their…I assume they have teeth. Klingons showing up would just be a normal day as far as these Dominion folks are concerned. But the Romulans…now that would be a surprise.”

 “Here’s hoping,” Tikva said. “Now, Stirling was kind enough to put together some profiles on who we’re going to be meeting and I’d like some input from the lot of you on how best to approach negotiations with them. First off we have…”

Just under two hours later the Captain’s Mess, the senior officer’s retreat from the rest of the crew, had been vacated by all but Tikva Theodoras and Charles MacIntyre. The table was a scene of devastation, strewn with plates, cups and near-empty carafes. It was from one of these that Mac was pouring the last of the coffee for himself and Tikva.

“So, saved the worst question for just between us,” he started, making sure the captain’s cup was filled before his own. After all, it was safer to risk running out of coffee with his cup than hers. “Can we trust Admiral Beckett?”

“We’ve got Command telling us nothing is wrong, don’t worry folks. Frontier Day is just around the corner after all. Then we’ve got Admiral Ramar’s chief spy telling us the sky is falling.” She added some milk to her coffee, then two rather generous teaspoons of sugar before stirring while talking. “Then we’re being sent off to make alliances with major galactic powers behind Command and the Federation Council’s backs with explicit reasoning being I’m just a captain and no one will be looking at me too hard right now.”

“So, it’s a trap?”

“Just what trap is the question though.” She finished stirring the cup and set the spoon aside. “A clever trap to spring on the Dominion as we bring the unified might of the Federation Alliance of yore down on their heads? Changelings somewhere in the Federation orchestrating the bonfire to pitch Admiral Ramar and Beckett upon with me as their puppet? Or is Admiral Beckett orchestrating something and I’m the triggerman for what? Or is Atlantis being played a fool and someone is setting us all up to fail and ruin our careers?”

“I’ve read Beckett’s profile, just like you have. He’s no Admiral Layton.” Mac stood, taking his cup with him as he started a slow pace along the length of the table. “Honestly, gut feeling, I think we can trust the Admiral. His profile reads like a man possessed at times but it always seems to be in support of Federation ideals.”

“Ideals can be misguided. And we’re assuming we’ve been talking with the actual Admiral Beckett as well,” Tikva said. “Fuck, this situation sucks. A stand-up fight would be one thing, but why is Command brushing this all under the table?”

“Changelings,” Mac answered. “Think about it. An invasion and suddenly support just ups and vanishes. And not just any invasion, but a Dominion invasion.”

“No visitors to the ship once we’re at Handl Dryf. And all away teams have to undergo blood screening upon returning to the ship.” Tikva sipped at her coffee, eyes turning to look out the forward window and the streaking stars outside. “Buddy system at all times for those going across.”

“You’re not just taking security teams with you when you go over. I’m insisting you take a hazard team with you.” Mac stopped pacing and stared down his captain, only resuming his pacing when she nodded in understanding.

“I’ll take Silver team whenever I go over. We’ll keep Gold and Bronze on hot standby.”

“Terax seemed unusually emotive. What was his war record specifically?”

She sighed in recollection, took another sip and then sighed again, this time enjoyment, before recanting what she knew. “Junior doctor on the Sun Tzu at the start of the war. Had three ships blown out from under him, and served as a field doctor in some of the worst hell holes, including the ground fighting at First Chintoka.”

“Shit. I mean, I’ve read about it, even watched some documentaries, but geez…makes sense now why he’s rather keen to introduce the Dominion to the pointy end of the stick.”

“And then some,” Tikva said. “We should be arriving at Handl –“

She cut herself off as the streaking stars gave way to normal static pinpricks of light. In the far distance in front of Atlantis was the unmistakable cluster of lights for a busy port. The station of Handl Dryf sat in the middle of a cloud of ships, most of them just blinking lights in the distance buzzing away in the dark. Unmistakeable amongst a cluster of nearby ships however was the looming bulk of a D’Deridex-class warbird, its gleaming green hull matched only by a Valdore-class ship.

But of perhaps a more immediate concern, especially navigationally, was a single silver ship directly in their path. Its trilateral symmetry, harsh edges and pointed fore made the ship immediately identifiable as it stared down the Atlantis – a Tholian webspinner.

“You know, I don’t know what I was expecting to find when we got here, but Tholians weren’t on my list,” Tikva said. “But hey, don’t join the fleet –“

“Unless you can take a joke,” they both finished in unison.

“One Tholian webspinner,” Lin confirmed as Tikva and Mac both stepped onto the bridge, having come directly from the Captain’s Mess. “And it matches Commander Kaltene’s ship precisely.”

“Kaltene?” Tikva asked. “The one that helped against the Breen while I was off the ship?”

“That would be the one,” Mac replied as they joined Lin in the middle of the bridge. The viewscreen was consumed by the Tholian vessel, nose-on to Atlantis as it just hung in space. “Wanted to speak with you Cap, but had to deal with Lin and I instead.”

“Have they hailed us yet?” Tikva asked just before a series of chirps from the ops console drew the attention of all three officers. “Really?”

“Looks like it, ma’am,” Samantha Michaels answered as she tapped away at her console, then looked over her shoulder with a smile. “We are indeed being hailed by the Tholians.”

“I’m not kidding,” Tikva started as she glanced around the bridge ceiling, “I want an engineering team up here with a few from Ops and Security to check the bridge for bugs.” She turned to Sam, her expression serious. “Understood?”

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Sam said, looking a bit confused as she turned back to her console. “Should I answer the Tholians, ma’am?”

“Yes, on screen.”

Only a moment later and the viewscreen changed, snapping to a tight image of Kaltene’s head, vaguely luminescent orange crystal with brighter points and lines of light flowing within, reminiscent of eyes and perhaps nerves or blood vessels. “Captain Tikva Theodoras, we finally meet.” The translation into Federation Standard was coming from the Tholians, overlaying the whistles, chirps and pops of their native language.

“Indeed Commander Kaltene.” Tikva took a half-step forward from her subordinates. “Commander MacIntyre has only positive things to say about you. Wish I had the opportunity to meet with you prior to today.” She nodded her head slightly in respect to which the Tholian responded in kind. “Your positioning to greet Atlantis upon arriving here indicates you wish to speak with me.”

“Yes Captain,” Kaltene said after a moment. “There has been an anomaly of considerable scale recently. One which has gained the attention of the Assembly.”

“The Lost Fleet’s return.”

Kaltene nodded her head. “Yes.” Then she leaned forward to whatever pickup she was in front of for this call. “The Assembly wants a report on the anomaly. And they wish to see it resolved or understand that it will not repeat. We currently lack sufficient vessels in the region to investigate in the face of Dominion forces.”

Is there a question in there?

No, but a statement. And an implication.

Okay smarty pants, what is she saying then?

She’s positioning us to ask her to help us to help her to –

Okay, I get it. Stop dancing then.

“Starfleet is looking into the matter. I’m sure I can speak to my superiors about having our findings passed along to the Assembly if that is acceptable.” She raised a hand to stop a protest before it formed. “If, however, the Assembly prefers first-hand accounts, could I suggest a temporary alliance? To help resolve the issue of Dominion resistance to a proper investigation of this particular anomaly.”

The pause stretched out for a handful of seconds, the lights within the crystal head that one couldn’t help but equate to eyes narrowing to little dots for a moment before returning to normal. “You wish for Tholian vessels to join your Federation Alliance against the Dominion. This is acceptable on the condition that we are provided with all information regarding the anomaly that allowed for this Lost Fleet to return at this time.” Those points of light narrowed once more, becoming intense pinpricks of light. “Failure to comply with your obligations will not be tolerated by the Assembly.”

“Then we have a deal,” Tikva said with a smile. “I take it you have more than just your ship in the region Commander?”

“My other ships will be ready at the appointed time.” And then just like that the communications channel was closed, the Tholian Assembly’s seal appearing on the viewscreen for a few seconds before transitioning back to space ahead, the webspinner already turning and moving away from Atlantis before jumping to warp.

“Well, that happened,” Mac said as he stepped up beside Tikva. “I know orders said to get the old band back together, but don’t think anyone will be upset with a few new faces.”

“Just hope that Admiral Beckett will have my back. Don’t exactly feel like making more deals than I can afford to really.” She shrugged. “Perhaps that’s why he’s sent a mere captain to sort out this mess – plausible deniability afterwards and the option to renege on what I offer.”

“Unlikely,” Lin said. “It would set a bad precedent to renege on deals made after all. Though perhaps moderation is best.” While Mac’s tone had been somewhat laid back, Lin’s was the model of a proper officer. “Though Commander Kaltene did just say she’d be ready at the appointed time without confirming with us how she would know, or how we could relay such information to her.”

“Tholians,” Tikva said with a shrug. “Honestly, I think the only part of the Federation they like is the Department of Temporal Investigations. Can’t live with them, can’t change the time on a clock without one popping out of the woodwork.”

“Indeed,” Lin said with a shake of her head. “Lieutenant T’Val, please bring us closer to Handl Dryf. Michaels, contact station control and ask them where they want us.” She turned to Tikva only after issuing the orders. “Unless the captain would like to take the conn?”

“No no, works for me. I’m going to go get ready for seeing the station administrator.” She gave Lin a wink and then turned to Mac, shooing him along and back towards the turbolift. “Come on, off with you. I want everyone well rested as much as possible.”

“Aye ma’am,” Mac chuckled as he led the way to the turbolift. “So, taking any young blood over to the station?” he asked as they entered the turbolift.

Oooh! I’ve got some ideas.

Me too.

Anyone got any serious ideas though?

Well actually…

Standing before Oraba Dryf on his rather ornate and expensive floor was a gaggle of meddlesome, troublesome, irksome and entirely too annoying anti-capitalist Starfleet officers. He knew what the Federation espoused. He knew what agenda it wanted to promulgate across the stars.

And he was entirely willing to exploit their naivety in the face of a superior cultural backing.

They might not have the lobes for business, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t become business.

Rule 7 – Keep your ears open.

The shortest of the three before him was apparently the ship’s captain – a female. Another sign of their cultural degeneracy. But he was always open to entertaining such things – after all, such a public attitude was responsible for turning the family’s space station from a break-even operation and into a thriving port of call over the last twenty years. Well, his space station now that he’d bought out his brother’s shares.

After ruining his brother’s other business ventures and convincing him to sell to give him the capital he needed to try again.

“Shore leave?” he asked after the female, the shorter of the two before him, had finished speaking. “You want permission for some of your crew to take shore leave?”

“Just those that have earned it while we make repairs,” the female continued. “And a few officers will need to come over for procurement of supplies as well. We strained our engines recently and my chief engineer is insisting we undertake some priority repairs. His cost-benefit analysis was rather convincing as to spending a small amount of time and materials now versus considerably more of both in the future.”

“Cost-benefit analysis?” he repeated, squinting at her. That was the single most infuriating thing about humans in his opinion – their ability to make complete and utter sense one moment, fleeting as it always was, before slipping back into their egalitarian equitable dystopia the next. “Your engineer won’t find better parts than what the markets here on Handl Dryf have to offer. Far superior to anything your unskilled, unpaid workers will have produced I assure you.”

She smiled at him, nodding a few times. “I shall let him know. With such a recommendation he is sure to make some purchases.” She then waved the other female who was with her forward. This one was similarly garbed – far too much for a female – but her height, frame and darker skin tone made her appearance more exotic. And if his memory served him right was only an ensign. Or sub-lieutenant. Whatever the single pip represented. The way she acted she was only a sales representative at best.

The young woman stepped forward and placed a small box on his desk before returning to stand behind her captain and beside the young human male who he wasn’t sure had breathed once since coming to rest where he stood. He waited, then waved one of his servants to pull the box across his large desk and closer to him so he could open it.

“I trust Administrator Dryf that shore leave is a more than adequate explanation for our visit?” the captain asked with a smirk on her face.

Inside the case before him was a clear crystal hollow cylinder. Worthless on its own, no matter what the crystal was, but the contents held within it were a different matter altogether. Nothing had the same lustre, the same sheen, the same unadulterated beauty as the liquid metal that sloshed within that crystal tube.

Latnium.

Bricks and bricks worth of latnium.

“Welcome to Handl Dryf,” he said, rising out of his chair and smiling, teeth on full display as would be befitting for a wealthy client. Whoever these Federation types were they at least had value and he could accept that. “Never let it be said that Oraba Dryf isn’t a welcoming host, for the right price that is!”

“Permission to speak ma’am?” Ensign Kelly Tabaaha asked as she followed in the wake of Captain Theodoras and Lieutenant Fightmaster. She didn’t know why she’d been selected to accompany the captain for her excursion to the Ferengi station, just had been ordered to Transporter Room 1, given a package by the lieutenant and then told to ‘come along, it’ll be fun.’

“For the duration of this trip, consider it granted Ensign,” the captain said and she could just about hear the captain’s grin.

All three of them had gathered in the transporter room, donning excursion jackets before beaming across. The leather jackets with the red trimming did work some wonders in breaking up the familiar Starfleet uniform, but it was still a uniform after all. Her jacket however was squeakier and cleaner than both the captain’s and lieutenant’s, which she thought was odd, knowing Fightmaster’s reputation. There’s had some sort of mystical wear to them that made them look damn good without being freshly replicated.

“Um, well ma’am, just what did I give that Ferengi?” she finally asked.

“How much was it, Stirling?” the captain asked out loud without turning to face her yeoman.

“Equivalent of ten bricks of latnium.” Fightmaster looked at her and there was a faint smile on his face. “Just without the worthless gold. Would have been unfair to ask you to carry that, Ensign.”

“Is that a lot?” she asked. Her knowledge of the Ferengi and economics outside of the Federation’s internal model was understandably lacking. It had no impact on her life, so why should she know it?

“Depends on who you ask,” the captain answered. “Now, Ensign, walk with me.” Waving her forward, Kelly joined the captain, noticing Fightmaster moving so he was behind both of them. “I invited you along because I’m woefully behind on my getting to know the crew goals. So, tell me about yourself?”

“Well ma’am, I was born on Earth in the Deinetah and –“

“Humans with that much latnium Administrator are –“

“Shut up Kreg. If I want your opinion, I’ll pay you for it.” Oraba sat back in his chair, turning the crystal cylinder back and forth, watching the precious substance within slosh around. He had substantially more latnium to his name. All safe and secure in multiple banks, or invested in businesses across the Ferengi Alliance. Even some hidden inside an asteroid only he knew about. What he had before him was what he expected to find in his couch cushions if he never checked.

But instead of heavy and worthless gold bricks to encase it, these humans had opted for a simple crystal cylinder. A scan showed it to be a simple carbon crystal of exacting purity, no doubt assembled by nano-machines or a replicator specifically for this task – told hold latnium.

It had a simple, lightweight, sturdy and mostly scratch-resistant beauty to it.

As far as bribes went to stop asking questions it wasn’t too bad. Not too bad at all.

“Ensure the Federation types have their privacy. They’ve paid for it and then some,” he said waving the little cylinder at his lackey. “And I mean it. If I hear of anyone attempting to pry into their business –“

“You’ll have Orgu throw them out the nearest airlock, yes Administrator. We’re all aware.” Kreg bowed at the waist, cupping his hands in supplication as he backed away. “I’ll have it done right away sir.”

“And get my cousin Trem in here right now. I think I’ve got an idea on how to change the hard currency market.” His eyes went from watching Kreg scurry out and back to the trinket in his hands. “Yes…this is far, far easier to carry in your pocket.”

Stepping into the prep room, Lieutenant Gavin Mitchell had, as ordered, donned civilian garb, much like the rest of Silver Team. The only exception to this was Silver 3 – Stirling Fightmaster, who had instead merely added an excursion jacket to his look.

“I know for a fact Lieutenant that you have barely worn that,” he said as he gave Stirling a look over worthy of uniform inspection, “but somehow it doesn’t look brand new. What’s your secret?”

“Followed the care instructions,” Stirling answered. “There’s an entire section on weathering and care.”

“Nah,” Rosa Mackeson interjected. “I saw he wears it around his quarters each night.”

“Should we check with W’a’le’ki?” asked Amber Leckie.

“Later,” Mitchel said, cutting off any further intra-team hazing, though he noted that Fightmaster’s complexion had only reddened slightly. “The boss has given us a job, so we’re going to do it right.”

All of them had opted for some form of dark pants, comfortable footwear, jackets and tops of various colours. He’d mostly continued the dark theme, Brek had gone neutral colours and the ladies had opted for various colours, Rosa at least opting for ones that went with her green skin. And not a single one of them was wearing a Starfleet commbadge or armed even with a Starfleet issue phaser. Standard issue that is.

They had gathered a collection of recovered weapons into Atlantis’ armoury over the last few months, even made a few, so a Hazard Team could blend in if required without being too conspicuous. Those had been issued to all, again save for Fightmaster, and he was looking at a few individuals whom normally he’d not concern himself with if he was on a busy space station.

Which was the whole point.

“Right, we’re all going to visit Sickbay in a moment and get inner ear earbuds that are tied to our comms. I only want people to hear one side of any conversation and let Fightmaster here know what we’re up to while he stays on the captain.”

The yeoman nodded as he was mentioned.

“Excellent. Now, no names while talking. Numbers only. The ship is Home. The captain is Spear. Understood?” He watched as the whole team nodded in the affirmative.

“Complication,” Fightmaster then said. “The captain has invited an ensign to accompany us.”

“Hmm…Pip,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Good?”

“Home, Spear, Pip, numbers for us,” Rosa said.

“Nothing like being reduced to a number,” Amber joked.

“I count five,” he finally said, starting the little ritual his team had formed during their training sessions on the holodeck.

“Five come back,” they all replied.

The entire concept of Handl Dryf’s primary retail space was the never-ending street mall. The majority of the station resembled the concept of a Stanford torus – a large rotating ring-shaped station, providing artificial gravity of roughly 0.9g to the inside of the outer ring sections via centrifugal force. Spokes radiated inwards to a central hub and from there two larger spokes shot out, perpendicular to the plane of the torus and shot off for kilometres into the void. The inner ring surface was compromised of clear metals and crystals, to provide protection from the interstellar medium and allow for an unobstructed view of the rest of the ring if one was just to look up.

Of course, the need to spin the station for artificial gravity was no longer required, but the novelty was still there and in some cases a drawing point for the station’s limited tourism. The design, while it had been practical in the distant past where artificial gravity was a commodity, lent itself to something entirely different in the modern era. It meant that the primary retail and commercial spaces on the station could line a single street and that street ran the station.

If one started walking in a straight line they would inevitably find themselves back where they started. The never-ending street mall would take hours to walk in a dedicated fashion. Longer if one meandered. By the time someone got back to where they started it was hoped they’d have forgotten half of what they’d seen and visit the same shops once more.

With retail and storefronts on the street, residential was jammed in behind them in terraces up the torus’ sides. And with the size of the torus allowing for some impressive terracing, it also meant the place was impressively packed and busy. Travelling merchants, small corporate offices, tourists passing through, the service staff who kept the whole place running and then topped off with a rather large transient refugee population.

And in amongst all of that were three very obvious Starfleet officers whom Silver team had been charged with protecting.

“I’ve lost sight of Spear,” Rosa’s voice came over the earbud. “And found yet another establishment of ill repute. Honestly, this place needs to be taken over by an Orion matriarch.”

“Spear just stepped into a store,” Gavin said, quietly so as to appear as if he was just whispering to himself, but enough for the pickup on the jacket collar to convey his words to the team. If one of the team had lost sight, he was going to help them out. “Blue sign between food cart and busker.”

“One mo,” Rosa responded, then a moment later, “See it.”

Gavin was only one terrace up; on the side of the station a helpful guide had informed him was called Green. The other side of the main street was the Purple side of the station. It let him watch storefronts on the Purple side while Brek was mirroring him, watching the stores that were below him. Both Amber and Rosa were down in the street, keeping their distance from the away team, but close enough to respond quickly if need be.

“Spear said to keep an eye out for somewhere she could have a meeting, right?” Amber piped up over the line. “Just found a place. Oh hell, it’s a saloon.”

“Where?” came Fightmaster in a rare interruption of the rest of the team’s chatter.

“Main street, Green, about five more stores down from you.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Ah excellent, you’re all here,” Captain Theodoras said as she stepped into the transporter room, fashionably late in some circles, exactly on time aboard a ship as per a captain’s prerogative. Everyone else was just early.

“As requested, ma’am,” Mitchell answered. “Brek and I will maintain overwatching on level one, Mackeson and Leckie will be on the street level with you.”

“Sounds good Lieutenant. Need to see the station administrator first so Ensign Tabaaha, Lieutenant Fightmaster and I will be beaming into his reception. Chief Dai will then put the rest of your team down nearby so you can tail us as we leave.”

“Aye, ma’am. Are you expecting a tail leaving the Administrator’s office?” Mitchell asked as the uniformed officers took to the transporter padd, the Ensign carrying a case in her hands and looking very unsure of herself.

“No. Handl Dryf is renowned for its privacy. But other interested parties might still try.” The captain turned as she stepped onto one of the sub-pads. “Oh, and keep an eye out as well for somewhere one could have a meeting in private with guests. The more eyes the quicker we can find something and then return to the ship.”

“Two, check it out,” Mitchell said. “Find out if they do a private room or not.”

“On it,” came Rosa’s response. An Orion with a thick Australian accent wasn’t the most unique thing aboard Atlantis, but it was up there. The entire team had learned that she was a master of fake accents however and he just hoped she’d adopt something a bit more expected when speaking with the establishment staff.

“I have something One,” Brek finally said over comms, having kept quiet for the most part. “Green side, an alley just ahead of you. Looks like they’re tailing Five. Two Nausicaans.”

“Aw, I’m flattered,” Amber piped up.

“Can it,” Mitchell snapped. “I’m on it.”

Moving through the crowd around him with haste while not looking like it was an art. “Excuse me, pardon me. Sorry.” All spilled from his lips as he moved through the crowd, taking care not to bump into people as best as he could. Arriving at the railing he looked down at the alleyway, noting the height. Not a short drop, not a long one either, just mightily inconvenient. Eyes glanced around for any way down.

Soon enough he was over the railing, holding onto it, then dropping to hold onto the ledge itself. After a second of swinging and he let go, aiming for a stack of crates. Feet made contact with the top crate, but too much momentum kept him going. Half falling, half running down the side of the stack, barely taller than a man, he managed to bring himself to a stop just behind the two Nausicaans.

Not the stealthiest approach ever, as both of them turned to face him. No point in attempting to be stealthy now. “Hello,” he said with a smile.

“What do you want, human?” the larger of the two growled.

“Nothing, just distracting you so the girl can get away.” He could see Amber disappearing into the crowd, losing sight of her himself just as the Nausicaans turned around to confirm, then back to him. “Whoops.”

“One human is as good as any other,” the shorter one said. “Boss wasn’t fussed.”

“Just didn’t want a scene is all,” the first one confirmed as both turned on Mitchell, grinning their very sharp and pointy-looking smiles. Truly faces only a mother could love. And then they both started stalking towards him.

“Now now chaps, let’s talk about this,” he said calmly, brushing his jacket aside as he stepped backwards, hand going for his phaser but not raising it.

“Oh, he’s armed,” the shorter one said with glee.

“Yes sister,” the larger said. “You can have fun.”

The first thought to go through his mind was ‘Sister?’ before he threw himself to the side and out of the way of the charging Nausicaan, hearing her collide with whatever had been behind him. With no time to look back at her, he drew and fired on the other, the blue beam of the modified civilian weapon grazing her leg and sending her to her knees, a scream of shock turning into an angry growl.

It hadn’t stunned his attacker, just numbed their leg. Why he wasn’t sure about, but it would have to wait.

A noise behind him caused him to spin, the shorter one back on her feet, a murderous look on her face. “I’m going to enjoy killing –“ Her threat was cut off by an orange beam that went right over his shoulder and into her face.

Turning he saw Amber repeating her effort into the other Nausicaan, who had been turning to face the newcomer as well. “Sorry boss,” she said. “Got here as fast as I could.”

“Plenty fast enough for me,” he assured her. “Nice shooting.”

“All good?” Rosa asked over comms.

“All good. How’s the saloon?” He indicated to Amber and they started to drag the Nausicaans out of sight, laying them down behind the stack of crates he’s used as very awkward stairs.

“Perfect. They have private meeting rooms and serve cuisine from across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants,” Rosa answered. “Even booked a room already Three.”

“I’ll let Spear know,” Fightmaster chimed in. “Spear says bring your dance partners. See if we can’t get any answers out of them when they wake.”

With a sigh, Mitchell looked to the two fallen figures, then back to Amber. “Wish we’d known that before we dragged them over here.” She just smiled at him. “Mitchel to Atlantis,” he said after tapping his commbadge to hail the ship. “Leckie and myself to return to the ship, plus two Nausicaans at our location directly to the brig.”

Humanoid, or humanoid adjacent life, on numerous worlds, had evolved predominantly as diurnal creatures. Their eyes were suited for the light, as so much of the world was active at the time. And as such they developed an aversion to the dark. Other animals hunted in the dark, stalking those that couldn’t see as well as they could. So tribes banded together, created light at night to keep safe and then taught generations after generations that scary things were in the dark.

Of course, the dark differed from species to species, evolution playing out with slight changes on many different worlds depending on their circumstances. Some could see into the infrared, others ultraviolet, all depending on what their species’ birth star produced. Nausicaans as it were were of the former, their eyes well suited for dim light.

But not nearly as well as the Xindi-Insectoids, adept at seeing further into the infrared than Nausicaans.

For Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va the brig aboard Atlantis was perhaps dim, but they could still see just fine.

For the Nausicaans it was pitch black save for the faint blue glow of the forcefield emitter and a dim light designed to be visible to all known species to help indicate where the recessed toilet within the cell was hiding. The designers after all wanted any long-term visitors to be able to find the refuse collection station with barely any effort.

Under orders, Ch’tkk’va hadn’t consulted the Federation or Starfleet networks as to who was residing within the cell right now, having to confirm their identities with Ferengi authorities. A conversation that would need to be relayed to the Captain later, but for now had sufficed to inform them of just who was unconscious on the floor, dumped there rather unceremoniously by Silver Team.

A series of clicks rung out in the empty brig, nothing translatable, just them clacking mandibles against each other. The humanoid equivalent to making clicking noises with one’s tongue. It had the desired effect as one of the Nausicaans started to stir and realised the situation they were in. The taller of the two then jostled the smaller awake, looking out in Ch’tkk’va’s direction, trying to find the source of the indeterminate clicking despite the lack of light.

It was, in a cruel way, entertaining. To watch these two individuals, whose reputations were known to them, scared and concerned for their safety. They had been willing to kidnap someone off the streets of Handl Dryf and yet when it had been done to them acted scared, huddling together in the dark, moving closer to the field emitter and its poor miserable light. It cast its blue light over their yellow-green mottled skin and did nothing to help them see in the dark.

“Whose out there?” the larger one, Klerda the Ferengi Security Enforcement Agency files attested, said as she looked out, eyes sliding over Ch’tkk’va without noticing them.

More clicks, this time the equivalent of a laugh, followed. They moved slightly, dragging the Nausiccan’s attention as they tried in vain to see the source of their tormentor.

“You don’t frighten us,” Klerda continued.

“Yeah,” Temlur, the shorter sister, the more violently inclined one too, said as she got to her feet. A hand used Klerda’s shoulder for purchase as she stood, the other experimentally tested the forcefield, pulling it back after a moment. “Ugh, barely a shock.”

“Federation forcefield,” Klerda said. “But can’t be. Federation like their lights.” She took her sister’s offered hand and got to her own feet. “Show yourself, coward.”

That was the queue for the other person hiding in the dark to start speaking.

“And why would we do that?” Counsellor Gavin Hu asked. He’d taken a seat against the far wall of the cell and had confirmed for Ch’tkk’va nearly five minutes ago that the room was adequately dark, thank you very much. But he had agreed to assist in the interrogation of the Nausicaans, to help judge if what they had to say was accurate or not. Not a telepath, but Ch’tkk’va preferred to rely on trained skills versus natural talent. Trained skills meant one had to work at it, be prepared to read nuance and make educated conclusions.

With that question, Ch’tkk’va stepped up the clicks and chirps, again moving slightly.

“To show us you’re not afraid. Hiding in the dark, what are you, hideous?” Klerda again, the mouthpiece for the two Nausicaan kidnappers.

“You were going to kidnap a young human woman. Then settled on a man in an alleyway. Why?” Hu asked.

“None of your business,” Temlur spat out.

“You said one human was as good as any other. Why?”

“Not gonna tell yah,” Klerda answered, a hand resting on her sister’s shoulder.

“Tell us what we want to know,” Gavin stated and Ch’tkk’va played their part, clicking away again, a chorus of sounds that was hoped would spark primitive fear responses.

It had drawn some response as both women retreated a half-step from the forcefield. Then Klerda summoned up some inner strength and stepped forward once more. “Why should we?”

“Tell us what we want to know and we guarantee your safety.” Hu had continued to use plural pronouns, all to add to the mystery.

The queue given, this was the time for Ch’tkk’va to ramp up the pressure a bit more. A few serious clicks, then they stepped forward, quickly, right up against the forcefield from the other side. Suddenly appearing from the darkness, dark chitin lit only by a faint blue light – it all had the desired effect.

Both Nausicaans let out a scream, retreated, fell backwards and then continued scrambling backwards.

“Tell us what we want to know and we guarantee your safety,” Hu repeated.

“That was an interesting experience,” Hu chided as they both sat themselves down in Ch’tkk’va’s office an hour later. “But considering what we know of those two…” He trailed off, not giving voice to those thoughts.

“It was one reason why I requested your assistance, Counsellor. I knew you would stop if we went too far.” Hu nodded in assent at that. “Unfortunate that they couldn’t provide us much more information than they did,” Ch’tkk’va said. “I will need to consult with station security as to who Grelmek truly is.”

“Some crime lord most likely. And this being a Ferengi station, if they haven’t brought them in already, it’ll be because they’re all paid up.” Hu shook his head and smirked at the chief of security. “I find it interesting that their boss only dealt with them via voice-only communications or dead drops. Almost like they don’t want to be seen.”

“And that they weren’t after Ensign Leckie for any specific reason, they just concluded she was a single lone human female they could overpower. That they were after any Federation citizen they could get is a bit concerning.” Ch’tkk’va clicked their mandibles in thought once more. “What did you make of their responses Counsellor? Can we trust the information they provided to us?”

Gavin Hu sighed. Raising a leg to cross one over the other, the folded his hand one over the other on the higher knee, taking the moment to collect his thoughts. “They were quick to answer, with no hesitation at all with our initial rapid-fire questions after your jump-scare. And both of them don’t strike me as the type to prepare lies well in advance. Klerda was smart enough to clam up after a bit, but her sister was, how shall I put this, stupidly honest?”

“What do you mean Counsellor?”

“All muscle, no brains. Sad really. But leaves her ill-equipped to lie on the spot. She spat out answers because she had them and before Klerda could stop her. Then once the jig was up, Klerda at least came in, attempting to smooth things out. Preparation no doubt for whichever magistrate we hand them over to.” Hu shrugged his shoulders. “I’m admittedly not an expert on Nausicaan psychology. It wasn’t exactly required reading.”

“Your insight is appreciated,” Ch’tkk’va replied. “Though Grelmek’s insistence on standoff communications could prove useful.”

“What are you thinking?” Hu asked.

“Masquerade our captive’s voices, communicate with their hive-leader and attempt to learn more.” They reached out to the computer on their desk, bringing up a feed of the now well-lit brig, both Nausicaans still in Holding 1 and from the look of it having quite the row. “They are providing enough audio samples for the computer to render suitable renditions.”

“Interesting plan. Should run it past Commander MacIntyre first.” Hu leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in thought. “The trick will be in laying a trap while not getting caught in one. That said, baiting Grelmek is perhaps your best bet for luring them out into view.”

“Bait?” Ch’tkk’va asked, head cocked to the side.

“Klerda and Temlur were hired to procure someone, anyone, for this Grelmek. Let’s provide them with someone. Have a team standing by, pounce when Grelmek, or likely another series of goons, shows up to collect their package.”

“Interesting plan,” Ch’tkk’va replied. “Very interesting.”

“Why me?” Amber Leckie whined as two large Nausicaans pushed her through the service corridors that pervaded the support areas of Handl Dryf.

Of course, the two Nausicaans weren’t the real Klerda and Temlur, just two other members of Silver Team wearing holographic disguises. Brek and Rosa had been the best fits for the disguises, though neither was perfect for Temlur. “You are the most believable,” came the snarling, growling Nausicaan voice of Klerda from Brek as he marched her along on her left.

“Sorry babe,” Rosa said, though any relief was buried and munched upon the even worse growl of the Nausicaan Temlur. “But he’s got you there.”

“I meant it in that of the entire team, she would, from appearances only, be the most vulnerable,” Brek tried to correct. “You are still a highly capable and respected asset to the team.”

“Flirt,” Amber teased, watching the holographic disguise raise an eyebrow to match the expression beneath it.

“I was not flirting,” Brek reassured her, tone as flat and neutral as ever for the Vulcan. “We are nearing our destination.”

“One and Three better be ready,” Amber muttered before she started to struggle, enough to make Brek and Rosa have to lift her bodily by the arms so she couldn’t get purchase on the deck.

Not only did the corridors disappear until steam and other particulates in the air made things disappear, but they curved ever so slightly upwards along the circumference of the station as the distance grew too, giving the place a definitive otherworldly vibe. The service walkways varied from large paths meant for vehicles, be they automated or manned, to the warren of smaller ones that run under the shops, accommodations and sparse green spaces. They left one of the larger non-vehicle paths for a smaller path, a junction of such corridors not far from them and inside stood a single figure.

Whoever the figure was, they were wearing a dark brown cloak, the hood up and covering their head, casting their face into shadow and obscuring their figure. The look was helped by the single light of the junction, flicking with a lazy fan spin, mounted directly above them.

As Brek and Rosa marched Amber then, her wrist nominally bound behind her back, then roughly set her on her feet, then both pushed down on her shoulders so she went to the floor with an exhalation of pain as her knees met the hard floor. “As we agreed,” Rosa-as-Temlur growled.

“Indeed so,” the figure said. “Make her talk.” The voice was indistinct, treading the line between masculine and feminine.

“You heard the boss,” Brek-as-Klerda said, adding as much emotion to his voice as he could but perhaps a bit more reliant on the voice synthesiser than Rosa was. He followed it up with a hand in Amber’s hair and pulled her head back, giving the performance that they had both practised more than a few times before leaving the ship. He’d been concerned about hurting a fellow teammate and she’d been concerned about her hair, which he’d remarked was foolish at the time.

“Bite me you B-rated drama queen,” Amber growled in faux-pain, looking up to try and get eyes on just who Grelmek actually was. She then gasped and fell backwards, Brek’s hand falling out of her hair as she scrambled back a bit. “What the fuck?!” she exclaimed.

“Grab her,” the figure said, its voice changing slowly as it spoke the two words. “I still need her,” it commanded, the voice softening as the figure shrunk some in stature, the cloak now pooling slightly on the floor before the figure pushed back the hood, its features an exact duplicate of Amber’s own.

“Payment first,” Rosa-Temlur demanded.

“What?” the Faux-Amber asked, attention shifting from the young purple-haired woman still scrambling back, to the Nausicaan imposter.

“We want payment before we do anything more.” This was all standard stalling, agreed-upon code phrases for Mitchell and Fightmaster to hurry the hell up. “You want us to do another job,” Rosa pointed at Amber, “we get paid first.”

“Solids,” Faux-Amber sighed, then produced a small bag from under the cloak, the entity looking for all it was worth like it was dressed just like Amber was. The bag was tossed at Rosa in a carefree manner. “Your payment,” it said, clearly sounding exasperated at the whole ordeal. “Now get her.”

While the Changeling’s attention had returned to Amber, head cocked to the side in consideration, its features shifting slightly as it continued to watch its prey, all attention suddenly shifted as it heard the clattering echo of a bag full of hard credits hitting the floor. Eyes fell on the pouch, then up to the Nausicaan-Rosa, who had drawn a phaser and was pointing it directly at the Changeling.

“Starfleet Security, you’re under –“ Rosa was cut off as an amorphic tendril smashed into her, knocking her off her feet and slamming her against the wall.

Brek for his part didn’t try and announce himself, merely fired his weapon point-blank into the Changeling, three rapid shots into its centre mass. The Changeling rocked with each shot, then turned on him, Amber’s visage rendered in pure unadulterated rage before it grabbed Brek by both wrists, twisted hard so that even the Vulcan hissed in pain before dropping his weapon, then flung him across the room at Rosa as she was coming to her senses. Both holographic disguises gave up the ghost as the fields interfered with each other, rendering the Orion and Vulcan plain to see.

“That’s my face,” Amber hissed, having freed herself of the handcuffs and produced the small phaser that had been tucked into her belt. The Changeling had spun on her, barely getting a chance to notice the phaser before Amber fired, the first shot wiping her face off the creature, the second blowing apart its head in a shower of golden-brown goo.

That didn’t stop the Changeling as it gave up any pretence, its form now just a roughly human-sized blob of goo and as it towered over Amber. Tendrils, multiple tendrils now, snaked out for her, the creature blocking out the light as it slid over the floor. “I was going to keep you alive, but not now,” it hissed from somewhere.

“We were thinking the same thing,” came the comeback from down the corridor opposite where the team had entered.

The Changeling had barely turned towards the spoken statement when the sound of two phaser rifles firing off came reporting down the corridor. Shots slammed into its mass, a few penetrated and went right over Amber’s head, down the long corridor to who knows where.

A hiss mixed with a cry bellowed forth from the creature before it grew towards the nearest air duct, tendrils slipping between the grates, then its whole singular mass slurping up behind it in retreat.

Phaser fire from Mitchell, Fightmaster and Amber pummelled its retreating form, even smashing into the bulkhead around the air duct to convince the being what awaited it should it return. There was carbon scoring on the wall, and debris of Changeling littered the room, all slurping towards dark spaces slowly.

“Clear,” Mitchell announced.

“Clear,” Fightmaster echoed as the two men entered the junction properly, both still watching the air duct the Changeling had used.

“Fuck, where is it?” Amber exclaimed as she fumbled in her pockets, ignoring Fightmaster as he offered her a hand to stand. Mitchell was doing the same for Brek and Rosa. “Crap, come on, I know I…got it!” she announced, producing a hardened clear plastic tube with a dark red stopper. She looked to Fightmaster with a triumphant smile then scrambled on hands and knees to the nearest retreating blob of Changeling, running the vial through the mass and quickly stoppering it before the captured mass could escape.

“You carry a test tube?” Stirling asked, now helping her to her feet. The questioning look on his face was echoed by Rosa and Mitchell, Brek just sporting another raised eyebrow.

“I’m the medic,” she defended herself. “I might have to get field samples.” They continued to stare at her. “In case you get sick, or poisoned, eat something bright green you shouldn’t have or rendered into a pile of ash.”

“Charming thought,” Mitchell declared. “We all saw that right?” he asked the team.

“Fucking Changeling,” Amber answered, a nod in the affirmative from Rosa and Brek. Amber emphasised her point by waving her little test tube of prisoner for all the see, the golden-brown goo settling to the bottom, motionless.

“Surprising a Founder is here of all places,” Stirling spoke up. “But then again, this is a transit hub. Kidnap and replace a Federation citizen, hop a ship back into the Federation, rinse and repeat.”

“And refugees from worlds in the Deneb Sector have flowed through this station,” Brek added to the ad-hoc analysis. “Logical to attempt such a first-order replacement here. Little security, a large transient population, plenty of opportunity.”

There was a moment of silence amongst the team, interrupted by Mitchell’s declaration “I count five.”

“Five going home,” the team answered.

“But maybe we stop by the bar first?” Rosa then asked as she lifted the bag of currency and gave it a small jingle. None of the team, even Brek, could resist a glance inside when she opened the pouch.

“If kidnapping Amber is worth this much, we should do it more often,” Rosa teased.

“Next time you get to slam your knees into the floor,” Amber responded.

“You get thrown across the room then,” Rosa snapped back with a smile. Then winched before a hand went to the opposite shoulder. “Son of a bitch that hurt.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Mitchel cut in. “Let’s roll. Three, take the rear, I’ve got point. Five, hold that tube tight. We move to the beam out point.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tikva said as the gaggle of officers walked through the main street of Handl Dryf, the crowd parting in the face of the Orion and Nausicaan escorts provided by station security travelling ahead of the Starfleet Security surrounding the core of officers. She had with her Commanders Gantzmann and Terax and considering the circumstances they were marching to, what could only be called a full honour guard of security officers ringed around them.

Upon hearing of a formal challenge between a Klingon and Starfleet officer, it hadn’t taken long for the station administration to get in touch. Administrator Dryf had been keen, demandingly so even, to prevent violence on the street. If there was a fight to be had, it would have to be had in the proper fashion. 

That fashion it turned out was a fighting arena located on the station. For the entertainment of those that liked that sort of thing Dryf had insisted. It wasn’t illegal within the Alliance he had continued, before exclaiming that he didn’t need to explain himself to the Federation. A Ferengi station, in Ferengi space, run by a Ferengi. His money, his rules.

In truth, with the makeup of station security being as it was, an arena for fights made sense. Orion, Nausicaan and even Klingon mercenaries acting as the roughs that kept the peace needed to be allowed to blow off steam in a controlled fashion. As well as being a source for gambling and paid entertainment for the Ferengi who ran the various businesses on the station, or the tourists they were fleecing for all their worth. The latter of course being the most important to the likes of Dryf and his fellow Ferengi. The former, controlled violence lending to peace, was just an added bonus.

“Perhaps,” Adelinde said as she marched through the station. Her height next to Tikva was one thing, but it looked like Ch’tkk’va had selected officers of exceedingly average height for the Starfleet escort just to emphasize Adelinde’s height. She’d dropped the standard uniform for gear more suited for the gym – dark grey leggings, a tight black sleeveless top with ‘ATLAN’ in bold white print across the front and back and sneakers which occasionally squeaked on the decking.

But the most ridiculous part of her get-up was the doru spear she held, tip straight up, and the aspis shield on her other arm, bearing a blue and white colouring with the Academy logo and a graduation year rendered in the same on the front. That had been lifted off of the wall in Tikva’s quarters without complaint before the shorter woman had a chance to even offer it.

And Adelinde swore she wasn’t psychic.

All she was missing was the cuirass, greaves and helmet to complete the look.

“An honour duel, just to simply sell the alliance to his people,” Tikva continued to complain as they walked.

“If it works,” Terax half-growled from behind both women, the Edosian just towering over Lin when standing at his full height, “and brings even a single Klingon house into the fight, then I have no objections.”

“I…get that,” Tikva said after a momentary pause, considering her words when replying to Terax. “But don’t we have enough reasons for them to get involved in the fight anyway? Hor’keth agreed with us on all points. This is just…performance art. Performance art where someone is going to get seriously hurt.”

“It’s Klingon politics,” Lin said. “He wins, he gets to say that Starfleet is weak and clearly needs a proper guiding hand in this fight. That House Lorkoth forces will get to throw themselves at the Dominion and claim honour and glory protecting a weakened ally and before the KDF can rally itself to the cause. I win and he’s honour bound to commit whatever he can to the fight, either because the Federation is strong and is calling the Empire to the mat, or because I personally demand it of him.”

“Ridiculous,” Tikva repeated. “Just,” she trailed off for a moment, then reached out to wrap a hand gently around Lin’s wrist, “don’t kill him.”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about Commander Gantzmann instead?” Terax asked.

“Terrified,” Tikva answered. “But if anyone can pull this off, it’s her.”

The saloon that had been found aboard Handl Dryf was completely and utterly out of place. It belonged somewhere, anywhere else. And to call it a saloon was wrong as well. It leaned into the Old West concept of a saloon for inspiration but that was about it. The sign outside, glowing in red neon and well cared for, declared the place as ‘Roger’s Saloon’ in Federation Standard but then went about repeating it in smaller signs in a variety of other languages.

The place was more a novelty kitschy family restaurant than a saloon, though it did seem that families were more confined to one side of the establishment and everyone else to the other, with a large dual-sided bar splitting the two, the bar’s back wall acting as the divider with a few cut-outs to let staff move from side to side with ease.

“What can I get ‘cha?” the rather bubbly young man asked as he approached Tikva and Mac, standing and waiting at the little sign that read ‘Please wait to be seated’ in no less than thirty distinct languages.

“We have a private room booked,” Tikva stated. “Under the name Walsingham.” She’d had to look that up after Rosa Mackeson had informed her of the name she’d made the bookings under. The young woman had a sense of humour. One she approved of.

“Ah, excellent, your guest has already arrived. Please, this way.”

“Already here. That’s a promising start,” Mac said with a smile. “Here’s hoping that what Fightmaster managed to turn up is accurate.”

“No doubt about it.”

“Oh, I do not doubt that Fightmaster did a thorough job of collating what he could. I’m worried about the quality of data he had to work with,” Mac clarified. “This guy has been in fights with no less than ten different ambassadors.”

“He’s also honoured every deal he’s made, including picking a fight with an elder member of his own house to ensure that what he agreed to was kept to.” Tikva found herself quickly in the middle of the waitstaff leading and Mac following as they progressed through the restaurant towards the back. “After sending the Federation diplomat he was negotiating with to the hospital,” she conceded.

The place was packed, with a variety of species present. Ferengi hunched over a table, platters of food that looked like a mushy take on tapas while whispers of profit and indexes and other financial sundries floated on the air. Humans, Orions, Andorians and a handful of other species sat mixed at a variety of tables, meals in various states, all discussing some matter or another. Two Klingons sat at another table, ladened down with what looked like barbeque ribs, though the size of the ribs hinted at something larger than a pig as the source. All the food on display looked a variety across both quadrants and all of it looked appetizing.

Roger’s Saloon offered a very large and varied menu, catering to almost any guest that could walk through the door at any time. And all with either a family-friendly appeal or a safe business appeal, care taken to sit what could be considered volatile entities away from each other. How the peace was kept and enforced was a secret that would hopefully and ideally stay with the operators.

Finally shown through to the private room, Mac and Tikva both stepped in to find a single Klingon sitting at the table within. Food had been ordered, a variety of small dishes weighing the table down, carafes of drink strategically placed to be within easy reach of all three seats. Scents of meals and delicacies from Earth and Qo’nos mixed in a rich aroma that brought one’s mouth to water.

“Captain Theodoras,” Captain Hor’keth, son of Tela’bur, of the House of Lorkoth, said as he stood, a large and friendly grin on his face, arms wide in greeting. “I took the liberty of ordering a selection from the menu.”

The arena was simply known as The Pit and was evidently well-used. The floor was coated in what looked like a fresh layer of sand, evenly spread across the surface. The walls looked to have taken many a beating over many years of confined combat. The first row of seats started just over three metres from the arena floor, to make sure guests were safe, even with the obvious forcefield separating combatants and guests.

It wasn’t a large fighting space, maybe twenty-five meters across at most, but it was large enough for single combat, or small groups as were scheduled for later today according to the announcer. Hor’keth and his second were already there when Tikva, Lin and Terax walked through the door on their side of the arena.

This was the last chance for combatants to talk or arrangements to be made by seconds before everyone would retreat and let the fight take place. Not that that was likely. Arrangements after all had already been made, this was after all just a performance and not one that Tikva had considered when she agreed to let Hor’keth sort out how he’d sell the arrangement to his people.

Now she understood why he’d been in fights with so many diplomats. And why the Diplomatic Service had flagged him as ‘agreeable if dangerous’ in the files that had been in Atlantis’ computer.

For his part the Klingon captain was standing feet apart, arms crossed, grinning. His second was impassive, bearing his superior’s bat’leth. “I had no doubt you’d show,” Hor’keth said, addressing Lin and Lin only. “I give humans this, when you challenge someone, you tend to follow through.”

Lin stopped a third of the way across the arena, much like Hor’keth had, dividing the width of the space into three equal distances. She tapped the doru hard into the ground, the metal tip pushing sand aside and clanging against the deck plate. “Apologise, take back what you said and we can both go to the nearest drinking hall instead.” She used the same impassive professional tone she used when on duty, keeping emotion from her voice.

“Ha!” barked Hor’keth. “I like you!” He held out a hand, this second handing him his weapon of choice for this fight. “A shield and spear? An interesting combination to use against a bat’leth.”

Before Lin could respond Tikva stepped forward. Hor’keth’s second went for his weapon at the challenge, stepping forward before being stopped by Hor’keth holding his bat’leth flat across the other man’s chest and nodding to let this happen. Tikva approached so she could speak without shouting. “We don’t have to do this, you know. There has to be another way to convince your people.”

Hor’keth chuckled briefly, then stepped forward, towering over Tikva. “You need ships and warriors now. We don’t have time to dance and play subtle politics. This is a time for bold actions. Your par’mach seems to understand that better than you.”

Tikva stood there, staring up at Hor’keth for a handful of seconds. “Did you bring your own doctor?”

“No. I knew you would bring one,” he answered, tossing a look to Terax, who was busy whispering something to Lin. “Though I won’t be needing his services.” He laughed slightly to himself. “I’ll try not to scar her face.”

“Chicks dig scars,” Tikva answered. “I’ll tell her to go easy on you.” And before he could respond she stepped back and then returned to Lin.

“Guessing he didn’t back down?” Lin asked, looking over Tikva and straight at Hor’keth.

“No.” She then stepped right up to Lin, up on her tiptoes, reaching for Lin’s top with both hands. With a tight grip, bunching the top up in her hands, she pulled Lin down into a kiss, earning hoots and whistles from the gathered crowd before breaking it. “Kick his ass.”

“Yes ma’am,” Lin said with a deadly grin.

“The Dominion?” Hor’Keth asked around the skewer he was ripping meatballs off. “In the Deneb Sector?”

“The Breen border raids are just a cover for a much larger attack. A cover being propagated by the media and Starfleet Command for some reason,” Tikva answered. She, like Mac, had loaded her plate with a helping of food from across the dishes that Hor’keth had ordered. None of it had been the more interesting, or still alive, varieties of Klingon cuisine at least. “Best theory, supported by quantum scans, is that the Dominion ships are the Lost Fleet.”

“Ah,” Hor’keth said with understanding. “So they still think the war is ongoing. And any attempt at peace is some sort of desperate Federation lie.” The waved the decimated skewer around, pointing it at the two officers before him. “But if it’s just this Lost Fleet, surely Starfleet could handle the issue on its own, yes? Twenty-five years of advancement, rebuilding, and training. Starfleet has never been stronger than it is today.”

“Politics,” Tikva offered. “And Fourth Fleet command has suspicions about possible Changeling infiltrators delaying a total and comprehensive Starfleet response.” The meeting had turned quickly into a working meal, initial pleasantries had finally given way to the guts of the matter.

“The Founders – they have no honour,” Hor’keth growled. “It will be difficult to convince the High Council if Starfleet Command is denying what a single Fleet Command is saying. And the Empire is suffering its own internal problems as well. We’ve been at peace for too long. The houses, great and minor, are eyeing each other for conquest. Young warriors desire a chance for glory and with no external enemy, no chance at Romulan conquests now, we are left with only two worthy foes – the Federation and ourselves.”

“So let’s give them one,” Mac said. “As you said, it would be hard to convince the High Council to act, but what about just your house or even a segment of it? Come forth, join the fight, and find the irrefutable proof you need that the Dominion are back, the mighty foe that threatened both our nations. It’ll be a little hard for the High Council to deny you when House Lorkoth troops all sing the same song and you throw the heads of a few Jem’Hadar at their feet.”

Hor’keth stared at Mac for a moment, then laughed. A mighty bellow of a laugh. Hearty and full, with cheer as an underlying emotion. “Now I hadn’t thought of that!” He reached for one of the carafes and refilled his drink while discarding his empty skewer on a plate and grabbing another. “My house at the forefront, fighting and killing Jem’Hadar. Oh, the glory to be had! And afterwards so many dispossessed would flock to our banner. That thought, that concern, would make the Great Houses act if this drags on. They’d have to rally if just to protect their reputations.”

“But Lorkoth would still be leading the way,” Tikva added.

“Stop, stop,” Hor’keth said with a laugh, setting the carafe down and waving his now free hand. “You’ve sold me on the fight. I was asked here to discuss supporting the Federation in a conflict. Did you honestly think there was much doubt I’d agree?”

“A little,” Tikva said. “We knew about the Empire’s internal political situation and it was a consideration that it might sway the Empire into not acting.”

“The old targs on the council perhaps, but not me.” He leaned forward. “I have thirty vessels nearby, ready to come to your aid.”

“Thirty?” Mac asked, then looked to Tikva. “The Lost Fleet was supposed to number in the thousands.”

“Don’t doubt my people boy,” Hor’keth growled, then eased when Mac offered a conciliatory look and raised hands in apology.

“Thirty is a good start,” Tikva said. “But if this is the whole Lost Fleet, we’re going to need more if we want to hold, let alone retake the Deneb Sector.”

“Then you’re in luck that I have three KDF regular ships in my number as well. They’re along to…supervise.” The way he said that last word made it very clear he was unhappy with that situation. “I’ll put them out front. They can see what’s really out there, then report to their masters and the Chancellor. And if I’m lucky die with honour.”

“With friends like these,” Mac muttered.

“Who needs friends when you have allies?” Hor’keth demanded with a smile.

“I’ll take it,” Tikva said. “But maybe let us not waste ships we’ll desperately need?”

“If you want my forces to assist, I’ll have to sell it though. Even some within House Lorkoth are ambivalent to the Federation as of late,” the Klingon continued. “Most of the junior officers would follow me to Grethor and back, but some of the captains are a trickier matter.” He drank from his mug, in a very Klingon manner, the dark blue liquid spilling past and down his front, his uniform protected by a now very stained napkin he’d tucked into his collar, formerly white with ‘Roger’s Saloon’ and a cowboy riding a bull screen printed on the fabric.

It was at once very and not very Klingon to behold.

“Leave it with me,” he declared. “I’ll think of something.” He then leaned forward over the table; the skewer of meatballs he’d been wielding for a bit held out in examination between all of them. “Just what is a Swedish? And why do you make balls of its flesh?” he asked. “Because it is delectable.”

“Oh, a fearsome beast,” Mac started straight away. “Let me tell you…”

“How did Captain Hor’keth lure Commander Gantzmann into challenging him?” Terax asked as he and Tikva both stepped out of the arena. The door sealed behind them and a porter who was waiting held out a hand to guide them to the side room, a slit along the wall at head height allowing them to look out at the arena.

During a programme of fights combatants would wait here, each waiting their turn, able to watch those that went before spilling their blood, or someone else’s, upon the sand and metal. The room smelled of sweat and oils with a tang of metal to it.

“Invitation.” The answer was straight to the point. Tikva had stepped up to the viewing port in the wall and her eyes settled on Lin out in the field. Terax knew from her tone not to probe, but after only a few moments, the announcer blaring something, she continued. “Messaged her directly, inviting her to a drinking hall. He was purposefully disparaging my character to his men when she arrived.”

“She’s a Starfleet officer, she knows better.”

“She does,” Tikva replied. “She also knows what type of manipulator Hor’keth is and the last strategic assessment we were sent. And what he said to Mac and I when we first met him.” Her tone was icy cold. “He has better intelligence on my crew than I care to think about.”

Terax huffed at that, stepping up beside his captain and arching his back so he could look through the viewport alongside her. “Don’t suppose Admiral Beckett provided him with dossiers when he sent out the initial invitations, do you? Gave Hor’keth everything he needed to manipulate us into manipulating him to join the fight?”

The announcer finished his piece, a statement was then read out in Standard, Klingon and Ferengi, setting the terms of the fight, the grievance behind it – the minutia of ritual combat. It took nearly a whole two minutes before Tikva spoke once more as Lin and Hor’keth started circling. “Fucking bastard,” she spat. “I’m going to –“

Her communicator chirped, cutting her off. “Mitchel to Theodoras,” Lieutenant Gavin Mitchell’s voice emitted from the device.

“Theodoras here,” she replied.

“Ma’am, we’ve got a,” he paused for a moment, “foundational issue.”

The sound of sand grinding underfoot against a metal floor.

Her own breathing.

That one piece of hair that had just fallen over her vision.

The Klingon warrior five meters from her wielding a bat’leth with the intent to win this fight.

All of these things Adelinde Gantzmann noticed far more than the hooting and hollering, the screams for violence in over a dozen different languages. None of that noise mattered right now.

As much as the fight was going to be physical, to start with it would be mental. She and Hor’keth had started their circling, their judgements and assessments. She was confident he would tire of this first and strike. He would test her, bringing curved sword upon her shield a few times, learn the obvious disadvantages of the length of her spear and the size of her shield against his weapon. Learn the advantage the shield would grant in defence, the spear in striking distance.

She practised with these. She fought someone who preferred shorter weapons, to get in close. She practised against simulations of the sundry melee weapons of a half-dozen worlds for fun. She knew the weapons she’d brought were meant for a particular type of fighting.

She watched Hork’keth for just a moment more, noticing his attention on the shield, a slightly quizzical look. And smiled in response. He never reacted, his attention on the shield.

The upside-down shield.

It was round, with the Starfleet Academy logo indicating a definitive top and a bottom. She’d been holding it at her side, out of view of him. Raising it had shown him the logo, purposefully held incorrectly just to confuse him. To buy her the precious moments she needed for her assessments before he came to the same conclusions.

There would be no probing, no working out what to do against someone clearly more interested in defence or holding him at range. He’d have to figure it all out while being on the defence himself.

She charged forward, just enough to lunge the spear tip forward, to force him into some sort of defence. He opted for a short leap to the side, then brought the bat’leth down in a sweep at the haft of the spear, the clang of metal on metal betraying the lightweight but sturdy all-metal construction. But before he could try anything he was forced to raise the weapon in defence against her directly as she charged in with the shield held at chest height. Bat’leth met aspis and the crowd went wild.

“Ha!” Hor’keth cried. “She has fight in her!” His eyes were wide, his mouth contoured in a rictus, baring his teeth in joy.

She opted to respond with a short jump back, opening the distance, pulling her arm back as far as she could and sweeping the spear sideways low. Either Hor’keth had been slow to react or to notice as she cut through the fabric of his left leg, slicing flesh and drawing pink Klingon blood.

That riled the crowd up.

That riled Hor’keth up.

“Tricorder ready Doc?” Tikva asked, not taking her eyes off the fight. She’d just seen Lin draw blood, then whether a barrage of sweeping attacks from Hor’keth. Both fighters were moving rapidly, both falling into a rhythm with each other.

“Always,” Terax replied. He hadn’t checked though. It would be a few minutes for Mitchell and his team to beam out of the worst parts of the station to a nearby location and then make their way to the Pit. “There,” the Edosian said as pointed into the crowd. “And there.” Another hand pointed out a different individual.

Both groups he was pointing at were a few levels up from the front-row seats, but both stood out once identified. They looked out of place with their very obvious officers and security details mixed in with the common populace of Handl Dryf that could afford to be here.

“Our Romulan contacts,” Tikva said with a sigh. “Great. Fantastic first impression. This just got complicated.”

“Oh?” Terax asked.

“Lin loses and Starfleet looks weak. Probably kiss the Free State goodbye. She wins and I end up having to ride herd on Klingon-Romulan relations to make sure snide remarks don’t restart the whole Velorum crisis, but at least we look strong because we’ve –“

“Brought the Klingons under control?” Terax finished the thought for her.

“Klingons and Romulans –“

Terax cut her off for the second time, this time with mirth and a very rare smile for the doctor. “And Tholians oh my.”

“Now you tell jokes?” Tikva asked as she turned to look at Terax, an eyebrow raised and a very unamused look on her face.

“I have a very black sense of humour.” His defence wasn’t particularly strong in the face of such disappointment but was mercifully saved by the sound of the door to the waiting room creaking open and the entire Hazard Team Silver pouring in, a few sporting the start of some very interesting bruises.

“Report,” Tikva demanded, finally turning her back on the fight taking place in the Arena after a pause and a deep breath.

She’s got this.

She shouldn’t have to be fighting the Klingon.

I should be the one fighting him. Not like we haven’t already lost an arm and a leg before.

We got played, now suck it up and deal with the other problems.

“We encountered a Founder while looking into Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va’s potential sentient smuggling ring.” Mitchell was straight to the point at least. With a brief nod the team’s medic, Amber Leckie, stepped forward and offered her vial of Changeling for inspection.

Terax’s tricorder was barely over the sample before he snapped the instrument closed. “That’s a Changeling all right. And out of time and place. The quantum signature matches the data from Caliburn.”

Tikva merely nodded once in acceptance of that finding. “Where’s the Founder?”

“Escaped,” Amber reported before her commander could, with a scowl that could that fended off the Dominion invasion of the Deneb Sector by itself. “Sorry sir,” she then immediately offered to Mitchell before stepping back, earning a wink from Rosa, a small nod from Brek and Tikva noticed the slight grin from Stirling.

“As Ensign Leckie said ma’am, they escaped into the air vents. Could be anywhere on the station, or off the station by now.”

“Founders can’t resist a chance to infiltrate power structures.” She knew she was operating on good and bad documentaries, histories of various qualities and all the reports she’d been able to dig up and read since they’d received their more details orders only a few days ago. She didn’t know the validity of that statement, but it presented the illusion of certainty.

“Stirling,” she said after a moment, eyes having gone to the floor while she thought. “Brief Silver Team in full. Lieutenant Mitchell, your team are taking point on any security-related issues until further notice. I trust all of you have ways of verifying who you say you are to each other without needing blood tests?”

“Plenty of embarrassing training accidents we don’t put in reports ma’am,” Mitchell reassured her.

She merely nodded then turned away from the hazard team, letting Mitchell take his people back past the door, to let Stirling brief them while she turned her attention back to the fight.

There was pain, numbness, and a slick feeling running down her left leg.

It was matched by the expression on Hor’keth’s face, the pink-purple staining his uniform, and the way he was favouring his left and holding his weapon in a less precise manner.

She’d got him in the shoulder, the arm, the thigh, all on his left. He’d butted her in the face with the grip of his weapon, slashed at her leg below the line of her shield, and slashed at her shield arm after a feint.

Klingons had staying power. She did not. Her grip was loosened on the shield’s strap momentarily, shaking her arm, trying to get feeling back and to test her grip. Both of them were using the short reprieve to test themselves as such. What moved, what didn’t, what hurt, what didn’t, what was numb? What did the opponent look to be favouring?

She shuffled her hand around the spear, working her grip slightly differently. With a flick of her chin, an acknowledgement to Hor’keth, then she struck while he was returning the gesture. The spear leapt from her hand in a short but powerful throw. He flicked his bat’leth in defence, sending the weapon skittering to the ground. But she’d followed it herself. Grip tight on her shield, she ducked just behind it, she charged, rushing him. The collision shook through her as she carried him to the ground with an audible gasp, hearing his weapon go sliding away.

But while he went flat on his back, she’d started this after all and at the last moment added a forward jump. It carried her down on top of him and she mercilessly took advantage, slamming the shield in his face two, three, four times before quickly rolling off of him, discarding her shield and scrambling for her spear not too far off.

When she spun around to face him, getting one foot on the ground and resting on the opposite knee, she swung the tip right at his face. She could see now she’d broken his nose, maybe a cheekbone as well. He was dazed, his face awash in blood. He reached for the spear, but she flicked the weapon around in a disengagement, slow by her standards but fast enough. He swiped once more, she disengaged and he fell back onto his back.

He was breathing, panting, chuckling even as she struggled to her feet and levelled the spearhead at him once more. “Yield,” she demanded.

The crowd had finally gone quiet.

“I,” he got out, coughed, then spat out some blood, before reaching up to his mouth and ignoring the weapon pointed at him as he patiently pulled a tooth out and flicked it into the distance, “am glad you are on my side.”

“Am I?” she demanded, half-stepping forward to present the spear tip once more. “Am I?”

“I surrender to the better fighter,” he got out, with a fair bit of volume. “I am yours to command.”

“I should have brought a doctor,” Hor’keth would concede just a few minutes later in one of the preparations rooms off the arena. He was sat on one of the benches, being seen to by Terax and watched over by his second, who had introduced himself as First Officer Kor’met.

“You shouldn’t have fought this fight,” Terax chided. “But you’ll live.” He hadn’t bothered at any point to tell Hor’keth that anything would hurt or to use an anaesthetic. Just went about treating the man’s injuries in as blunt a manner as possible.

“Are we settled then?” Tikva asked.

Hor’keth chuckled. “I’ll spend the next day or two having to beat a few of the stubborn heads in, but we’re good now Captain. Those officers saw me beaten and concede, saw me commit to follow your Lieutenant Commander Gantzmann. They’ll tell their crews soon enough. I suspect my reputation will have taken a beating in all of this.” He chuckled once more, then winced in pain briefly.

“Politics demands unorthodox concessions.” Kor’met’s voice was softer than any of them had expected of the man. “But the Captain has loyal men who will ensure no unfortunate attempts are made on his life.”

“You’ll want to check those men and women twice over,” Tikva said, producing the vial of Changeling and showing it to the Klingons and the Adelinde as well. “We can’t assume there is just the one on the station.”

With a string of curses, Hor’keth got himself to his feet. “Keep that,” he indicated to the vial. “You’ll need it to convince the Romulans.”

“You saw them?”

“No, but I suspected and you just confirmed.” He turned to Adelinde then, holding out his hand for her, grasping her arm when she returned the gesture. “You fought well and without mercy when required. We have spilt blood with the intent of forming an alliance here today. As far as I am concerned, you are now my blood sister.”

“And you my blood-brother,” Lin responded.

Silence hung over the room and then Hor’keth and Kor’met both departed and as they did so Silver team poured back in.

“The Romulans can wait till tomorrow,” Tikva declared. “Let’s get back to the ship before anything else happens.”

“Uh, before that,” Rosa spoke up, raising a hand like she was addressing a classroom. “Commander Gantzmann, your share.” She stepped forward with a small pouch, clattering with the sound of metal.

“Share?” Lin asked.

“Lieutenant Mackeson gambled some currency we recovered from the Founder we fought and made a bet on the fight when we arrived. The Ferengi adjusters did not favour a human female over a Klingon male.” Brek’s explanation was perfunctory and dry.

“Pretty sure that exploiting misogyny should be a Rule of Acquisition,” Rosa said with a smile.

Barely stepping off of the transporter pad after returning to the Atlantis, everyone stopped as the shipwide whistle sounded.

“Captain to the bridge, captain to the bridge.” It was Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr’s deep gravel tone that rang out across the decks of the ship. Their tone was calm, controlled, like they were merely reading off a script with no sense of urgency.

A little too calm.

“If it isn’t raining it’s pouring.” She turned to face the gaggle that was with her. Adelinde, fresh from the fight. Terax, looking bored. The entirety of Hazard Team Silver giving her exceedingly professional looks right now. “Mitchell, you and your team help Commander Gantzmann to sick bay. And return that spear and shield to her quarters. Lieutenant Fightmaster, with me please.”

She gave no chance for protest, or acknowledgement as she offered Lin a quick wink before marching out the door and towards the nearest turbolift. Hands were shoved into jacket pockets, something she realised she missed from wearing a jacket regularly. There just wasn’t much need for a jacket on a climate-controlled starship with comfortable uniforms designed to keep you at an optimal temperature.

“What’s up Rrr?” she asked as she swept down the ramp from the turbolift to the command area, eyes settling on the viewscreen and the obvious reason for Rrr’s summon upon it.

While Atlantis’ bridge had been built largely to the same standard as the original Sovereign-class starships, some exceptions and advancements had been made. The larger mission operations area in the rear, pushing the conference room back and expanding the bridge module slightly. The return of the tactical arch and ramps to the rear stations harking back to the Galaxy­-class ships. But what Tikva enjoyed the most from her command seat was the larger viewscreen.

It was still the same holographic wall panel but had been made larger, occupying the entire forward bulkhead. The fidelity was amazing – only foreknowledge would stop someone from thinking it was just a mere ledge to step forward and out onto the ship’s saucer section.

But right now, that viewscreen was taken up not by a forward-looking image but by one of the ship’s many other sensors, feeding its findings and the computer dutifully rendering the optical illusion before them.

USS Papakura, Sagan-class explorer. Sitting there amongst a cloud of traffic on the far side of Handl Dryf.

“She arrived just a few minutes ago. Captain Sadiq Sayil has sent his regards and asked when he might be able to speak with you, ma’am. I told him you were indisposed and asked if he’d like to speak with Commander MacIntyre, to which he declined.”

She smiled at her Gaen operations officer. “Would you really have woken Mac if Captain Sayil said yes?”

“I’d have said I’d get back to him, wait ten minutes, then inform him that the Commander was indisposed and that Commander Velan was available.” Rrr smiled, the grin growing before a gentle chuckle. “And I’ve made sure that Ra was somewhere nice and noisy before patching him through.”

“May I recommend any of the fusion reactor rooms? Or the secondary plasma coolant pump assemblies?” Stirling’s answer came out of nowhere and both Tikva and Rrr turned on the yeoman, who was a picture of innocence.

“I’m not sure who’s the worst influence,” Rrr started, “you Captain, or your yeoman?”

“The captain,” several treasonous, mutinous, backstabbing voices all answered in near unison from their stations.

“I mean, they’re not wrong,” Tikva responded, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages but more likely just an hour or so. She even got a few chuckles from her bridge crew, and the wave of positive emotion washed over her, reinvigorating her.

The jovial nature she wanted to inspire, the trust she felt, and the generally positive vibes she got from most of her crew. It was like a shower after being on Handl Dryf and the slimy wash she’d been soaking in while mingling amongst people who liked the way the Ferengi Alliance did things.

“What do we know about Papakura?” she asked.

What, aside from it being super suspicious it being here, so close to a war zone?

Aside from that.

And that it’s not Fourth Fleet and The Bastard said only to trust Fourth Fleet?

Aside from that too.

It’s stupid looking and has too many nacelles?

Are we quad-nacelle-phobic?

No, just dual-nacelle-purist. If it was good enough for the Pheonix it’s good enough for everyone else.

Vulcans used a cyclical mono-nacelle for –

Shut up!

“Sagan-class, commissioned a year ago into 2nd Fleet. And for an explorer hasn’t left Federation space since she left the shipyard.” Rrr didn’t sound impressed at all. Atlantis had clocked a lot of light-years since her commissioning and it was becoming a point of pride amongst the crew just how much the ship did when they could just go exploring. “Captain Sayil has a respectable if boring career. Been a captain for about three decades now and never offered a Commodore’s pip.”

“Shoot me if that ever happens to me,” she said.

“Light or heavy stun?” Rrr joked.

“Surprise me.”

“Thank you, Stirling,” she said as her yeoman set the hot chocolate down in front of her, complete with two chocolate chip cookies to the side.

“Will that be all?” he asked.

“No, sit, I want your opinion after this,” she said as she experimentally sipped at the drink, gave a satisfied little sound to let Fightmaster know he’d done good, and then finally reached out to her computer to contact the Papakura. She’d not stripped the field jacket off just yet, keeping it as a prop to explain her indisposed state from merely a few minutes again when Captain Sayil had last called.

It took only a few moments before the ship’s seal was replaced with the face and ready room of one Captain Sayil. Her immediate first impression was a content and happy family man. He was obviously, to her at least, of some Middle Eastern descent, though where she couldn’t quiet place. Eastern or Southern Mediterranean at least. An easy smile, laugh lines around his eyes, and a well-trimmed tidy beard. He looked like a large individual, but not fat. That sort of reassuring face that if you were in trouble and came to your rescue, just seeing him on comms likely told you that things were going to be okay.

“Captain Sayil,” she started, “a pleasure to meet you. Sorry about not being available when you called earlier, was involved in some business aboard the station.”

“Captain Theodoras,” Sayil replied and his voice was just what she expected – room-filling and warm. “Your Lieutenant Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr said as much. And I’ve been perusing the local news as well. Your Lieutenant Commander Gantzmann was fighting a Klingon over an insult regarding you? I must say, she must be pretty loyal to challenge a Klingon warrior over a mere use of words.”

“Commander Gantzmann is protective of the ship’s reputation.” She smiled and sipped at her cup once more. “Sorry captain, but I’ve had a bit of an interesting day so far and am looking forward to a shower and a quiet afternoon handling reports so I’m going to cut to the chase if you don’t mind. What can Atlantis do for Papakura?”

He smiled, chuckling and nodding his head in understanding. “Was just wanting to touch base with the only other Starfleet ship here, Captain. Ask what brought you here and if there was anything my people could do to assist yours. Not often that ships assigned to the Thomar Expanse find themselves this far across the Ferengi Alliance after all, especially when you consider the Zenith and Nadir routes are not short trips.”

It’s a trap!

Shut up Akbar-Tikva, you’re not helping.

He’s just asking questions my ass.

“No they aren’t,” she answered. She didn’t expand upon that point any further. “We’re laying over briefly to make some engine repairs before proceeding to the Deneb Sector. What we thought was going to be a day or two has evolved since Commander Velan has discovered a few more issues.” That was a straight-up lie, but adhered to what she’d said to Administrator Dryf at least.

“Deneb Sector?” Sayil asked.

“We’re responding to the Breen attacks. As you should be, yes?”

“Oh, mere border skirmishes. Task Force 514 has it all under control.” It was a perfect repeat of Command’s party line. “Papakura is undertaking some shore leave while we’re here. Perhaps we could meet for a meal Captain? I can also ask Chief Lyall if he can drum up some volunteers to come over to Atlantis and assist your Chief Engineer in making good your engine trouble as well.”

“I’ll ask Chief Velan. The issues are in confined spaces and manpower isn’t the issue so much as finding the right people for the job.” She shrugged, a captain conveying the mysteries of the engine room to another captain. “As for a meal Captain, that would be nice. I’ll have my yeoman arrange something and then contact your yeoman.”

“Yeoman? Oh, that would be nice!” he barked with another laugh. “Contact Lieutenant Gorkin, he’ll pass it along to me.”

“Certainly.”

“Well don’t let me keep you, Captain Theodoras. I look forward to meeting you in person soon.” And then the comm line went dead.

She turned her attention to Stirling, who had a slight scowl on his face. “Respectfully ma’am, I don’t like this.”

“Oh?” she asked. She could feel the suspicion radiating from her yeoman.

“This close to the Deneb border, this close to the fighting and he’s repeating Starfleet Command and 2nd Fleet’s statements completely.” Stirling was only as informed as he was because he was her yeoman. His security clearance was similar to most of the senior staff at this point. He knew what was going on.

“Maybe it’ll change as he reads some of the local news.” She sipped once more on her hot chocolate. “Maybe it won’t.”

“Feels like someone is checking up on us ma’am.”

“Most certainly.” She set the cup down with a sigh. “Make arrangements for dinner somewhere with Captain Sayil. Public and open if you can. And then contact Commander Scali of the Free State and ask her when she would like to speak with me regarding Admiral Beckett’s proposal.”

“Aye ma’am,” he answered. “Is there anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She nodded as he rose and after a brief perfunctory exchange departed to handle the tasks he was assigned.

Left alone in her office, she just stared at the door for a moment.

“Trust only Fourth Fleet,” she said to herself. “Fuck that, trust only Atlantis.”

The cup was set down, the jacket discarded as she proceeded to her office door, enough for it open onto the bridge. “Rrr, I need a brain to bounce ideas off. Camargo, you too.” She then turned back for her desk, the door closing as two somewhat confused senior officers stood at their captain’s summons.

And as they entered, she waved them to the seats across her desk. “I’ve got a task for you two,” she said with a smile, verging on wicked. “And I think you’ll like it.”

“Morning,” Mac said as he stepped into Atlantis’ Combat Information Centre. Normally the space was filled with a bevy of specialists from Operations and Gantzmann’s limited Tactical division, filtering data that poured in before presenting it via the ship’s systems to the bridge. During times like these, parked in the relative safety of a ‘safe harbour’ it wasn’t uncommon to see the space with only a few people around, but not just two.

And two senior staff members as well.

“Morning Commander,” Rrr said with a granite-like smile. “I assume the captain has brought you up to speed with her plan?”

Rrr and Camargo were both on the far side of the CIC, looking at him across the two-metre-wide holotank, which was thankfully not showing the local shipping conditions. The first rank of consoles circled the tank just far enough back for someone to walk between the console and the holotank’s railings. The second rank of consoles was interspersed with two plotting tables at Mac’s 3 and 9 o’clock. And while normally the room might have been kept in a state of gloom, right now someone had turned the lights right up.

“That she did,” he said, then held up his hands, a coffee for himself and Camargo as an offering as he walked around the holotank to where the two had set themselves up. “Would have brought you something Rrr but I understand you had something to drink last week.”

“Quiet alright Commander,” the Gaen said, holding up a hand. “You mammals and your constant need for fluids.”

“Never mind the fluid, it’s the caffeine I want,” Camargo said with a smile as she accepted the offered tall cup. “We’ve picked a half dozen interesting dance venues already but we don’t have a recommendation for you just yet because we can’t agree.” That said, she finally indulged herself upon the gently steaming mug, a sigh of relief after a first sip. “Stirling told you, did he?” she asked, raising the cup to indicate the subject of her inquiry.

“Actually I got your coffee preference from this one,” Mac said as he indicated Rrr with his own cup. “Trying to earn brownie points with the entire senior staff by making sure we all know our coffee preferences.”

“Senior staff,” Camargo echoed. “I mean, I know I was, but now…” she trailed off, reaching for her collar to tug at it, as if it had suddenly grown tight.

“That hollow pip weighs a lot,” Rrr said softly. “But it does look natural.”

“Anyway,” Mac said, trying to get the conversation back to business. “Six targets?”

“May we present to you the Deneb Dance Circuit,” Camargo said with a flourish before tapping a single button on the console before her. Lights dimmed slightly and the holotank snapped to life, showing a full three-dimensional representation of the Deneb region and adjacent interstellar states. “First up, the Grafton Ballroom…”

“Gérard, borrow you for a minute?”

“Certainly.” What Gérard Maxwell hadn’t expected to see when he made his way into his superior’s office was the ship’s chief medical officer. Or for both men to be looking as pensive as they were. “Something I can help with?” he asked.

“Just a moment,” Velan answered, tapping commands into his computer and locking the door to the office, then the windows out frosted over to afford the room some privacy. “Doctor, if you would?”

“Again?” Gérard asked, saw Terax’s nod then offered his arm for the blood draw. The crew had already undergone one round of blood tests, and anyone that left the ship was submitted to them as soon as they came back aboard. But asking for one from someone who cleared earlier and hadn’t left was another layer to the story.

Taking his time, Terax examined the vial of blood, scanned it twice, and then subjected it to what could only be described as destructive testing, before a final scan. “He’s human.”

“I’m French,” Gérard corrected.

“Can’t be,” Terax snapped back. “That was a vial of blood, not wine.”

From behind the desk, Velan chuckled. “And that confirms the doctor is who he says he is.”

“Works for me,” Gérard said, then sat when he was waved into the seat by Velan, Terax opting to prop himself up against the frosted window, crossing his outer arms and resting his middle hand on his left shoulder. “How can I help?”

“I need you to lead a small computer project. Lieutenant Michaels will be free to help and you’ll be allowed one other person. Unfortunately, you’ll have to lock yourself into a computer lab until you’re done.” Velan waited a moment, then continued. “I need you to set up a copy of the Atlantis’ core operating system, configure it to intercept all external computer commands and then feed a readout only of what it is executing to the proper workstations across the ship.”

“Sir?”

“The captain is concerned that our prefix codes might be compromised. We’re going to cycle them naturally, but she wants a trap for whoever might use them. Wants whoever might have them to think they’ve succeeded, that they are issuing commands to the ship’s computer, but in reality, they’re just executing commands on a virtual machine.”

“And the readout is so we can decide if we want to play along to drag them into making a mistake.” He was nodding his head in understanding. “Small problem though – intercepting prefix commands and preventing them from getting to the main computer is against regulations.”

“So’s letting the ship get compromised and blown out from under you,” Terax replied. Then he produced a padd and handed it to Gérard. “Written and signed orders from the captain and XO just an hour ago.”

A quick read over it and he added his thumbprint to the collection, acknowledging his receipt of the orders. “I’ll take Ensign Sumner.”

“Sumner? Jess Sumner?” Velan asked. “She’s –“

“A better programmer than we give her credit for. Honestly, I think she might be better off in Operations.” Velan waved at him, a ‘continue’ action. “She’s done three duty shifts in four days on deck 12 without incident.”

“So?” Velan asked.

“She’s not been in sickbay,” Terax answered. “Something is cursed about engineers working on deck 12. You can be quartered there, you can be just passing through, but if you’re working there, there’s an increased chance of injury on deck 12.”

“Stubby? You think she’s fixed Stubby?” Velan smiled, then leaned back with a slight laugh.

“That or she’s just better at dodging a psychotic cleaner.” Gérard shrugged. “Besides, she’s got the system qualifications. Michaels, Sumner and I should be able to get this done in a few hours.”

“Good. Run the virtual machine on the starboard core, then isolate all the command functions to port and engineering cores.” Velan then spent another few minutes outlining specifics, all detailed in the orders anyway, but insistent on briefing his officer on the task at hand, before letting him go to assemble his team and get started.

It left Terax and Velan alone in the office. The silence was deafening.

“Captain seemed pissed,” Velan said, breaking the silence and looking to the doctor who was busy closing up his kit.

“About a great number of things right now.”

“I meant about this mousetrap she’s got me setting Gérard on. What else could there be?”

The Edosian finished packing and stood to his full height, slinging the small pack’s strap over his shoulder. “Admiral Beckett’s orders. The arrival of the Papakura. Not knowing where to strike when we settle this matter here. That Gantzmann got hurt instead of her.”

“Oh, yeah, that last one.” Velan laughed just once. “Was it a good fight at least?”

“It was an idiotic, boneheaded, pointless bloodsport serving to hide the oft underestimated guile of Klingon politicians.” He sounded just like any other doctor would when talking about such pointless things that only served to make extra work. Then he cracked a slight smile. “But she kicked Hor’keth’s backside.”

“That’s our Gantzmann,” Velan answered. “Kicking ass and taking names.”

“And making blood allies,” Terax added.

“And that just leaves the last two.” Rrr was pacing between the console that Gabrielle and Mac were seated at and the holotank, having presented the last two possible targets. “Tower and Empress Ballrooms.”

As they spoke the four current target reticules floating in the holotank faded almost into nothingness and two new ones blossomed into existence. One was relatively not far from Atlantis and was marked ‘Empress’ while the other was practically on the other side of the Deben territories and labelled ‘Tower’. Neither bore a priority value, unlike the others.

“Tower,” Mac said with a nod.

“Leonis,” Rrr started. “On the coreward end of the Ciatar Nebula. Was attacked and occupied by Dominion forces last we heard. A majority of the colony managed to evacuate and formed a convoy heading to Farpoint Station. An attack here would be a power play, driving a wedge into the Dominion’s attack front and forcing them to reinforce their lines or turn back to stop us from pushing through into their logistics rear and causing problems.”

“No immediate threat to populate. No readily exploitable assets the Dominion can make use of. No defences worth a damn they can rely on either.” Gabrielle was throwing her objections out there but in a respectful manner. “It’d be a nice morale win, but strategically it’s minor. Its biggest value to us is as a staging point for larger actions in the Dominion’s rear.”

“Precisely,” Rrr contributed. “Take Leonis, regroup, repair, then let cloaked Romulan and Klingon ships disappear into the Dominion supply lines to do what they do best. Aided by Atlantis running around pulling Dominion forces around on a string to let our raiders do the best they can.”

“Not a bad idea. What’s Empress?”

“That is a complicated mess and an opportunity just ripe for the picking.” Gabrielle hopped to her feet, leaving Mac the only one seated. She rounded the console and waved her hand in the holotank, summoning up a series of windows with what intelligence there was of Breen world known as Deptrock.

“Breen dilithium mining operation called Deptrock staffed purely with slave labour. Starfleet Intelligence estimates a population between eighteen and thirty thousand all up across the various mines. That’s just the slaves though.” A window was pulled forward with planetary information. “One of the richest dilithium deposits for fifty lightyears, or so it’s suspected. Boiling hot during the day, and freezing cold at night.”

She waved the windows away and zoomed in on the strategic map hovering in the tank, placing Handl Dryf and Deptrock on opposite sides of the tank, with the Vadlox Nebula right between them. There was a decent-sized gap on either side, but only one mattered. “Navigate the Vadlox Nebula, pop out the other side, make a mad dash, wipe out the local defenders, liberate the slave population before we deny the mines to the Breen and zip on out before any response ships catch up. We then aim coreward and smash through Dominion forces while making for Farpoint and get orders from there.”

“I like it too,” Mac admitted. “Has some derrying-do with a cavalry charge feel to it. Swoop in, help the oppressed, smash up something important to the bad guys.” Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at Camargo. “What do you mean by denying the mines? Orbital bombardment? It’ll need to be something big enough they can’t just ship in new workers and start operations up again.”

Gabrielle’s smile was perhaps the most wicked thing Mac had ever seen on her face. It spread to her eyes as she stood up as straight as she could, proud of whatever was about to spill forth from her mouth.

“Ever heard of Praxis?”

“Well well well,” Commander Grel said with a growing smile as he stood, approaching the Starfleet officers that had just entered the private room. “This is a pleasant surprise!”

Handl Dryf prided itself as a station that catered to business needs of all sorts and one of those was private and discreet meeting rooms. The Maze was one of those establishments, with numerous entrances and exits around the segment it was in on the torus, allowing visitors to come and go and making it very difficult for outside observers to deduce who someone might have been there to see. As such it made a perfect place for a discreet meeting between officers of the USS Atlantis and members of the Romulan Republic.

While the corridors had been well-lit and tidy, Mac and Velan hadn’t seen a single other person outside of their guide as they passed a collection of unmarked locked doors through winding passages that at times felt like they were looping back around on themselves. No doubt a security precaution to help with the privacy of visitors. The meeting room that they’d been shown to was also extravagantly well appointed, with two comfortable if not lavish couches, a coffee table between them and side tables for visitors to make use of. The only electronics in the room looked to be a series of climate controls and a call button to summon forth a member of staff. There wasn’t even a wall panel to emulate a window or act as a screen, giving the room a real bunker meeting room vibe.

The impression of privacy for clientele if not the reality of it.

“I’ll echo that sentiment,” Mac said as he grasped Grel’s arm in greeting, then found himself pulled into a brief hug before being turned loose.

“And this must be the mad bastard that went for a spacewalk while your ship was under fire!” Grel announced as he turned on Velan, again shaking his arm before pulling him into a hug with a laugh. “It was a shame I couldn’t meet you both in person last we met but we did have places to be.”

“Lieutenant Commander Ra-teshi’mi Velan,” Velan confirmed with a genuine laugh. “Not exactly my smartest idea ever, but it did work.”

“I’ll say!” Grel said. “Oh, the shock it must have been when those old platforms fired up on those Imperial bastards. That you got them working in the first place is a testament to Starfleet engineers, but to then replace the control feed for them in the middle of a fight. Brilliance!”

“Well you’ve got us here now, let’s see if we can’t make up for that, shall we?” Mac asked. “I’ve already asked our guide for drinks and nibbles, he said they’d be with us in a few minutes.”

“Excellent!” Grel said, then waved his arm to indicate the empty seat opposite where he and his off-sider had been seated. “I trust I’ll get to meet Captain Theodoras in person as well this time?”

“I’d wager on it but she is somewhat busy right now. And you and I did most of the liaising over Daloon before you had to leave, so thought a familiar face wouldn’t be amiss. No doubt you saw the other Romulan ship in the vicinity, yes?”

“It is hard to not notice a D’deridex-warbird flying the Free State flag. They haven’t exactly sent their most modern or capable of ships have they?” the Romulan woman answered as everyone sat down. “Sub-Commander Kendris,” she identified herself as. She was from the look of her a tall and muscular woman, dark of skin and hair colour in contrast to eyes verging on bright amber. “It is somewhat questionable if either the Republic or the Free State would have sent representatives if each knew the other was going to be here.”

“My executive officer,” Grel stated Kendris’ position for the Starfleet officers. “Commander MacIntrye, XO of the Atlantis and Commander Velan, Chief Engineer,” he continued with a quick introduction since Kendris had identified herself. “Introductions out of the way, veiled diplomatic unhappiness stated, appeasing statements passed around, declarations of how we’re just the playthings of our political masters, statements about how we’re going to make this work anyway, everyone has now played the game, yes?”

Both Mac and Velan just stared at Grel, neutral expressions bordering on controlled shock, as Kendris turned on her superior with a look that bordered on murderous. Then she relaxed with a shrug and slight smile. “I like playing the game. Keeps us ready for when we have to deal with politicians.” And then to demonstrate she was seemingly cut of a similar cloth as Grel, sat back and truly relaxed into the couch.

“Well my stereotype of Romulans has been shattered,” Velan quipped. “No staring of daggers, veiled threats or superiority complexes. And straight to the point as well.”

“Refined complexes,” Grel answered. “I know I’m better than any Free State officer and can recognise Starfleet can train officers that are so mad I have to respect them.”

“And inspire their own officers to go and fight Klingons,” Kendris added.

“I stand corrected,” Velan said with a slight nod of his head.

“So, while we wait,” Mac cut in, “Commander? Last we spoke you were just a Sub-Commander.”

“Turns out infiltrating the forces of three warlords and working to break up their operations gets you noticed and promoted for your troubles.” Grel chuckled lightly. “And bringing the Admiral Ketterac back in one piece each time helps too.”

There was a polite knock at the door, then another before the door to the meeting room slid open and a diminutive Ferengi pushed a cart in. A couple of bottles of a bright blue wine, four glasses and a mixed platter suitable for the assembled guests to The Maze was quickly removed from the cart and set upon the coffee table before the porter left, not a word said during the whole exchange. As the door closed Kendris produced a small device from a pocket of her uniform jacket and set it down on the table, tapping a single button on it and holding her hand up while a red light on the top blinked a few times before switching green.

“Clear,” she said, the previously held-up hand going for one of the wine bottles and starting to pour drinks for all.

“Right,” Grel’s tone had shifted noticeably from his formerly gregarious and extroverted ways to a more serious one. “So, my superiors sent me here to assess a request for Romulan assistance in light of this so-called Breen border raid that your Starfleet Command has declared to be a minor incident but which your Admiral Beckett, Fourth Fleet Intelligence Director, is calling a Dominion invasion. Have to say, I do find it odd that Starfleet Command and one of its fleet commands are both saying different things at the same time and in such opposition to each other.”

“You and me both,” Mac replied, then nodded to Velan, who produced a small holoemitter and set it down on the table as well, bringing it to life over the platter. The Deneb Sector took shape between the two parties and showed the current extent of Dominion attacks and suspected occupation. “Just from the map alone, this isn’t a Breen raid.”

“The Breen aren’t in the habit of declaring formal wars either,” Kendris said as finished handing out the drinks and then sat perched on the edge of the Romulan couch, eyes fixed on the holographic map. “This could be a full-scale war from the Confederacy.”

“Perhaps. But why are they using Dominion ships and in such quantities?” Mac waved a hand near the emitter and a handful of windows popped up, visual feeds from ships that had engaged Dominion vessels, sensor readouts in infoboxes confirming the ship as what they appeared to be. And one highlighting the quantum irregularity in the Dominion ships. “You can’t fake quantum scans like this. Not across hundreds of ships and so consistently.”

“What’s the leading theory?” Grel asked directly.

“The Dominion Lost Fleet. The one that the Prophets made disappear while in transit.” Mac stared at Grel, looking the man straight in the eyes and willing him to accept what he was saying as the truth as he knew it.

“But in the Deneb region? Not Bajor? Or the Gamma Quadrant?” Grel asked but didn’t wait for answers. “Right, brief me on how bad the situation is. Even if it turns out to be some Breen push, committing the Republic to the defence of the Federation commits the Federation to the Republic in return.”

“Honestly Commander, I’m not sure it does.” Mac waved, making the map and windows all disappear. “This is a Fourth Fleet issue at this point. Starfleet Command isn’t doing anything.”

Kendris’ eyes narrowed as she looked back and forth between Mac and Velan, clearly reading their expressions. “If there is no reciprocation from the Federation, why should the Republic risk itself?”

“They’ll be reciprocation with Fourth Fleet,” Velan said, leaning forward. “Besides, we’ve shown we’re good for it already, yes? Helping keep Velorum from falling into total anarchy, stabilising it until decent chunks of it were able to willingly join the Republic and prevent any possible shooting wars between the Republic and Free State.”

“And Captain Theodoras has personally asked me to convey that she’ll be able to put Republic officials in contact with a receptive House Lorkoth diplomat. As a border house of the Klingon Empire, surely building a bridge there helps alleviate some of the Republic’s defensive issues.” Mac watched Grel but caught Kendris’ expression first out of the corner of his vision.

“The one that your Commander Gantzmann beat up?” she asked. “Could be useful sir.”

Grel nodded, his mouth a tight, thin line at this point. “So we can’t trust Starfleet Command, but we can trust the Fourth Fleet?” He shook his head unhappily.

“You can trust Atlantis.” Mac locked eyes with the man once more as he said that.

“You did the right thing at Daloon,” Grel admitted. Then just faintly the corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Right, show me how bad it is. If I’m going to sell my superiors on this, one way or another, I’m going to need to know something at least.”

Nearly an hour later, the platter well gone, the wine barely touched thanks to the sombre mood, Velan reached out to shut off the holoemitter for the last time. “So yes, the last intelligence we had was Endeavour Squadron making for Izar. Of course, all of our intel is day or so old at this point, since we’re just sitting here pretending to be making repairs, not in an active warzone.”

Kendris was staring hard at the Efrosian engineer, her amber eyes squinting at him. “Are all Starfleet engineers so well versed in strategic matters?”

“Just those with ambitions of one day commanding their own ships,” he replied with an easy smile. “And I am the ship’s second officer. Kinda part of my job to know what’s going on.”

“Huh, I thought that was Commander Gantzmann,” she said, then looked back to Grel. “We’ll have to update our data.”

“Indeed,” the Romulan Commander said.

“We’re stretched thin and Dominion forces could push through in any number of places.” Mac pushed the conversation back to the topic at hand. “The Lost Fleet was thousands of ships and most of them are still unaccounted for. Once they show up the entire sector could be lost if we don’t get reinforcements.”

“An attack like that couldn’t be ignored. Starfleet Command would have to respond.” Kendris stated. “But by then the Dominion would be dug in, started repurposing Federation facilities for manufacture. It’d be their occupation of the Union all over again.”

“And if these are Dominion forces out of time, then a solidarity display might be enough to convince them to actually listen to us when we try and tell them the war is over.” Mac tried his best to convey the urgency of the matter in his tone. “A united show of force, a counterattack to get their attention and bring them to the table, is a bargain price to pay compared to a resumption of the Dominion War and potentially years of conflict again.”

“The Federation could take the Lost Fleet by itself if it came to it.” Grel stated the fact and watched as Mac conceded it with a nod. “But Starfleet would be weakened, distracted. Any number of Klingon houses, if not the Empire, might look on the Republic as a tasty meal to be had. The Free State too. And with your own existence versus a neighbour’s in the balance, you’d have to choose your own. We’d have no allies.”

“Sounds like you know how to sell this Commander,” Kendris said.

“Damn straight I do. Best way to make sure your friends are around to help when you need them is to help them out when they need you.” Then he leaned forward and looked straight at MacIntyre. “The fight between Gantzmann and Hor’keth – Klingon diplomacy?”

Mac grinned and nodded his head. “He said he’s bloodbound to follow Gantzmann’s lead. Has thirty or so ships to his name nearby he’s bringing forward.”

“I can’t promise that many ships. The Republic Navy isn’t the bottomless pit of warbirds the old Star Empire used to be, but I’ll scare up what I can. Some hospital ships, a repair ship or three, the most modern scout ships I can get. Reman commandos?” Grel went for his wine glass, barely sipped at over the briefing, lifting it in a toast. “To secret alliances formed in the dark, may the knife they forge be sharp when brought into the light.”

“Cheers to that,” Mac and Velan both said to the clink of glasses. “To kicking the Dominion’s ass a second time.”

“Captain Sayil to see you, ma’am,” Stirling announced from the door to the bridge, stepping aside for their guest after being waved to continue.

“Captain Theodoras,” Sadiq Sayil practically bellowed as he entered, Stirling in his wake before the door closed. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

The man is a mountain!

No, Rrr is a mountain. He’s a hill.

It’s not fat, it’s power!

Shut up Quote-Tikva.

Standing, with a smile on her face, Tikva offered a hand for a shake before waving her visitor to a seat. “And you as well Captain Sayil. I must say, I wasn’t expecting to actually run into another Federation starship while we were here, but with the collection of rogues out there, I’m glad I have someone at my back.”

“It is quite the collection out there, isn’t it? Administrator Dryf has apparently hired every mercenary for ten lightyears. I wouldn’t have thought a couple of Romulan warbirds and a Klingon cruiser would warrant that sort of response. But maybe he saw your ship and thought he’d prefer enough muscle to keep everyone in line?” The smile on Sayil’s face looked naturally easy, the smile lines on his face testament to that being the case. As he sat the chair groaned just slightly.

“I have to say,” he continued, looking around her ready room, “I do miss the late seventies and early eighties décor. It’s so much warmer and more welcoming than the bare metal and gloss look of the newer ships in the fleet. Papakura might be a beautiful ship, but its interior design is not to my taste.”

She caught the barest sense of nostalgia coming off the man as his eyes took in her ready room. Then curiosity at a series of trinkets she’d started collecting. From what she could recall of the documents she’d read about Changelings, faking emotions was difficult for them, but not impossible. It was an acting skill and one which had to be closely monitored, provocations to make mistakes were required if she wanted to catch one out.

“You didn’t come all this way just to admire Atlantis’ choice of carpets, Captain Sayil.” That got his attention, curiosity blending roughly into suspicion. “And shore-leave at Handl Dryf is, while interesting, entertaining even, perhaps not the cup of tea of most Starfleet personnel.”

He stared at her, then downright glared at Stirling when the yeoman set a cup of tea, unrequested, in front of him, another in front of his own captain as well. Then his attention slid back to Tikva, eyes squinting for a moment. “Ah hell, I’m not cut out for this cloak-and-dagger bullshit,” he admitted, relaxing some. “If this is some sort of trap, know I’ve taken precautions.”

“Pardon?” she asked, reaching for the cup of tea and taking note of Stirling making himself as unobtrusive as he could without leaving. The standing light over by her couch made more of an impact on the room than he did at the moment.

“Starfleet Command, specifically Commodore Wren in Operations, tasked me to investigate why the Atlantis is out of position. Your operational area Captain is on the far side of Tzenkethi and Breen territory. And while Fourth Fleet is for some reason running around the Deneb Sector, you’re sitting here at a Ferengi trade station.” Gone was the smile, the fatherly tone of voice. Well, not entirely. It was now the inquisitorial fatherly voice – the one that was politely asking for an explanation before moving to demands.

“We’re under orders,” she answered, not clarifying that statement.

“Just following orders is a poor defence, Captain.” He crossed his arms as he stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you know about what is really going on in the Deneb Sector?” she asked.

“A Breen border skirmish, nothing more. I’ve been reading my daily analysis from Command.” His emotions betrayed the confidence in his voice. He was curious about what she was going to say but also had doubts when he mentioned those same reports.

“Read the Ferengi news while you’ve been here? Market analysis? Interviews with refugees?” She leaned forward over her desk slightly. “Command is hiding the truth for some reason. Fourth Fleet command isn’t buying it and is responding.”

“Tall claim,” Sayil responded. “What proof do you have?”

She chuckled, then produced a padd, sliding it across her desk. Then opened a drawer and produced a single vial, now far more secure than a field test tube. The golden-brown blob inside sloshed slowly, sticking to the sides as it was rolled across the table. Sayil caught it purely by reaction, stopping it from falling off the table, then nearly fumbling it when he took stock of the contents.

“Let me tell you what I know,” she said, watching the large man set the captive piece of Changeling down on her desk. “Because frankly, I don’t even trust what I’m hearing entirely from my own chain of command.”

“Think I got something,” Rosa Mackeson, Silver Two, announced while checking her tricorder.

The service corridors of Handl Dryf were once again where Silver Team found themselves, minus one member currently pulling a cushy assignment. Gold and Bronze Teams had even been deployed to scour the station surreptitiously, avoiding station security and any uncomfortable questions that might bring. They all had one goal in mind with their search as well – find and capture or eliminate the changeling.

And their only advantage in that regard had been a confluence of factors – a faint residual energy charge left by a combination of two slightly different phaser technologies and a captured sample of their prey that had revealed the charge while under scrutiny.

Never again would anyone hassle Amber for her test tubes, that was for sure.

The energy charge wouldn’t last, but while it did the Hazard Teams had a scent and follow it they would.

“Let me see,” Brek stated, looking over her shoulder to confirm the readings. “That is indeed what we’re looking for,” he said after a moment.

They were being very careful not to say what they were looking for out loud, just in case the walls were literally listening. Let the Changeling wonder how it was being tracked. Let them think Starfleet had developed some sort of new technology. Let them worry and be fearful for once.

With a tap on her tricorder, the readings forwarded to Mitchell and Amber, to the other Hazard Teams as well, and then she was walking again, Brek at her side with his weapon ready. It wasn’t a precise reading, the charge was more a nebulous thing they were following, but it was enough.

“It’s moving,” she announced and took off in a run, stopping only at intersections to consult the tricorder, figure out which direction to head in, and then keep going. “Air ducts are cheating!” she shouted to no one in particular.

“It is only logical for it to use all means of escape that it can,” Brek replied, running alongside her and barely showing signs of physical exertion. No heavy breathing, no sweating, just running at the same speed she was. Orions might have been more muscular than humans, and better suited for physical exertion, but Vulcans had one more step up than Orions did. It wasn’t, she decided, fair.

The service tunnels were an echo chamber, she could hear other running footsteps somewhere, couldn’t quite place them, but had to ignore them. Had to focus on not running into anything and checking her tricorder at each junction to keep up the chase. “Dammit, we’re close!” she shouted again.

As she stopped, whipping out her tricorder, she held up her other hand, balled into a fist. Brek stopped at her silent command, waiting for a direction. But instead, she smiled, then turned to her Vulcan colleague and held the tricorder for him to read. All she got was a nod from him as a finger hit a toggle on his rifle. She stepped back and as she did so a fan of phaser fire swept over the room. Not enough to even stun a person, but seriously piss them off, but records showed it was just enough, at the right frequencies to upset a Changeling.

A barrel in the junction way, bright purple and looking like it had been abandoned for some time, twitched just slightly. She barely had a chance to notice it before it expanded explosively, bounding in her direction. Tendrils whipped out to, as thick as her thighs, smashing both her and Brek into opposite walls as the Changeling shot between them and down the way they just had.

“Fuck!” she shouted, gathering herself and getting to her feet. “That is getting real old, real quick.”

“I am not impressed either,” Brek answered. The closest she’d ever heard him to being angry. The world never ceases to amaze.

Consulting the tricorder, they shot off on its trail once more. “Silver Two here, we’ve engaged,” she shouted after tapping her commbadge. There was no response, no need for one. It was just to tell Mitchell and Amber to hurry the hell up. And to let the other teams know to start converging as quickly as they could.

It was Brek who signalled to stop this time. Her tricorder confirmed they were close, but not specifics. But Brek was paying attention to something else and signalled for her to look around the corner. A quick peak and she ducked back around and looked at the Vulcan with confusion, attempting to mirror the eyebrow raise she’d seen him do plenty of times.

“Intelligence failure,” he whispered, adjusted the settings on his rifle once more, then stood and stepped out into view of the person he’d seen.

“Three, report.”

“Not coming with us?” Amber asked as Stirling Fightmaster arrived in Transporter Room 2, in uniform and unarmed.

“Captain has need of her yeoman,” Mitchell answered, giving Stirling a brief nod. “Showing off for another captain.”

“I have been told it is what I am good for,” Stirling replied with no emotion.

“By W’a’le’ki?” Rosa teased as she finished checking over her gear.

“No, she’d have said ‘good at’, not ‘good for’,” Amber clarified. That broke Stirling’s usually stoic mask, a slight blush coming to his face.

“I came to say good hunting,” Stirling said. “And to give you this.” He held up a hand and produced a mobile holoemitter, of a similar sort to what the team had used the other day for disguises. “Assuming either our Changeling is more mobile than we think, or still has some sort of information-gathering structure aboard the station, I figured some misdirection might be in hand.”

“What have you got Lieutenant?” Mitchell said, stepping down off the pad to accept the emitter, but stopped when Stirling actually smiled and turned slightly to hold the emitter to his side and turn it on.

What came to life was a holographic recreation of Stirling Fightmaster, dressed in rough-wearing civilian garb, looking like any other tourist aboard Handl Dryf. It said nothing, and barely seemed to be moving, but it was, just enough to avoid being a static projection.

“Oh gods,” Rosa muttered. “Now there’s two of them.”

“But which one is the real one?” Amber joked. “They’re both so…Stirling.”

They stopped when Mitchell glared at them, then turned back to Stirling, the real one that is. “Your thinking Lieutenant?”

“Beam over with fake me, be seen, make some noise about splitting up, then when you’re reasonably sure you’re not being watched, deactivate and pocket. If eyes and ears are watching and relaying information, then you’ve just told the changeling that there’s a singleton running around.”

“Which if they wish to get close to us, they may impersonate,” Mitchell finished off the plan. “Sneaky.”

“Only get one chance and I figure they won’t fall for it again, but worth a try.” Stirling gave his holographic doppelganger a pat on the shoulder and suddenly it started to move more. “If you see me on Handl Dryf, fire away.”

“Four, excellent,” the Fake-Stirling answered. It had taken its emotional queues from the hologram that had been seen. Which wasn’t far from Stirling most of the time. “It’s in here somewhere, but I’ve lost my tricorder.” Then it stopped and glared at Brek. “Where’s Two?”

“Here,” Rosa spoke up, coming around the corner and panting for breath. A bit of a show for sure, but not far from the truth. “Damn, this thing is fast.” She checked her tricorder and nodded. “It’s in here somewhere all right.”

“Can I see?” Fake-Stirling asked, stepping past Brek and towards her, a hand outstretched. “Hand me your tricorder, catch your breath. Four and I can find it.”

“Already have,” Brek announced and the Changeling turned on him. She had to give the creature credit for acting, concern on its face for a moment.

“Whoa! Hey now, what’s going on?” it asked, both hands held up towards Brek, showing it was unarmed.

“Surrender now, come peacefully, or we will have to take –“

The face of Stirling Fightmaster contorted in rage as those outheld arms started to stretch, sleeves giving way to golden-brown protoplasm as they extended towards Brek, the hands growing to monstrous proportions ready to engulf him. It hadn’t forgotten Rosa either, tendrils issuing forth from the back, whipping out at her.

But none of them made contact. They instead recoiled in shock and pain, the room filled with a screeching noise as Brek depressed the firing stud on his rifle exactly once. The bolt of orange energy slammed into Fake-Stirling’s chest and hissed and crackled as it slowly started to grow.

“No!” the changeling screamed, losing its masquerade, and dropping to the floor in a puddle. Its hue shifted from golden-brown to sickly green, black along its most extreme edges. “You’ll never defeat us,” it whined, voice edged with pain. “The Great Link will seek revenge. Your kind are –“

It was interrupted by Brek firing a second shot into it, the mass quickly consumed, turning black before losing cohesion and just becoming a pile of ash on the floor.

“I apologise,” Brek offered to the pile of ash, but clearly speaking to Rosa. It was illogical to be speaking to a dead thing after all. “The first shot should have killed it. Ideally painlessly.” He lowered the weapon and looked at Rosa. “It would seem, while masters of disguise, they are not all-knowing entities.”

“Call it in,” she said to Brek, then stepped past him, tricorder still in hand. “Nice shooting by the way.”

“It was not particularly challenging. The chase was far more of a test of our skill.”

“It was a compliment Four, just accept it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. “Thank you.”

“This makes no sense,” Captain Sadiq Sayil said, continuing to read the information he’d been presented with. “I have to assume either Starfleet Command is lying, or the local Ferengi news feeds are lying.”

“Which is easier to pull off? Someone in Command brushing this under the rug, or doctoring what is going out? Or no less than a hundred and fifty Ferengi news stations all telling roughly the same story with the intent to deceive you?” Tikva could sense the concern, mixed with anger coming off the man right now.

“If I hadn’t just been watching live feeds, I’d have considered both equal possibilities.” He waved the padd for emphasis. “You could have doctored all of this as well.”

“But?”

“But you haven’t. Couldn’t. Not with live streams. Someone in the Alliance would have found profit enough to tell a different story. It’s just to –“

“Consistent?” she offered.

“Yes.” He set the padd down. “And there’s the fact that Commodore Wren said I was to report back directly to him. No one else, just him.” Sayil sighed. “As I said, I hate this cloak-and-dagger bullshit.”

“Tell me about it,” she answered and got a slight chuckle out of the man. “But while I’m not sure I can trust my orders entirely; they do make a certain amount of sense. Get here to meet with representatives that were asked to be present and then convince them of the threat. To bring a united front to the Deneb Sector and make whoever is attacking the Federation rethink their options.”

“My wife is going to kill me,” Sayil admitted out loud before he sat up straight. She could sense the return of the man’s confidence. The determination to do what was right. “How can the Papakura help you, Captain Theodoras?”

She smiled, genuinely smiled. She’d been concerned and worried about being watched but had turned it around, at least she hoped so in the long run. But she couldn’t taste any deception from the man across her.

“Watching our back would be nice. Little worried someone is going to put a knife in us soon.”

“Then they’ll need two,” he confirmed. “And be ready for a fight too.”

“No.”

The word was heavy and hung in the conference room, its gravity sucking all the joy and hopefulness out of the room. An hour-long briefing had been brought to a point with a simple question and the answer had been as equally simple, though totally unexpected.

On one side of Atlantis’ diplomatic lounge sat Tikva and Mac, the display screen behind them so they could use it to bring up briefing material. Opposite them was a single individual – Commander Bren Scali, commander of the Free State Warbird Pero’lin. She’d insisted that any meeting between them would take place on Atlantis, that she’d have an honour guard with her at all times and a dozen other near-demands that had made accommodating her the next best thing to organising the entire Khitomer Conference.

“Pardon?” Tikva asked straight away, leaning forward slightly. “What do you mean no?”

She and Mac had just spent the entire time briefing her, detailing the Dominion invasion, the evidence they had that this was actually the Dominion and not some Breen false-flag operation, what was known and not known, and the need for support. And Scali said absolutely nothing the entire meeting. No questions for clarification, no accusations that this was a plot, no cutting critique of Starfleet or the Federation – nothing.

And then when asked if she would speak to her government and seek support, if they would commit ships and resources to fight this threat, she spoke for the first time since entering the room and simply said ‘No.’

“I will not be speaking to my superiors or government about lending support to a purely United Federation of Planets issue.” Her tone of voice reminded Tikva of a particularly unimpressed school teacher, informing her class that she wasn’t and never has been amused by anything ever in her entire life.

Commander Bren Scali was at least a decade older than the Mac, a handful more on top of that decade for Tikva herself. At least by appearances. She could be much older if Romulan longevity was anything like Vulcan. Silver mixing in her hair was the most obvious display of her age but didn’t help without context.

“And why not?” Mac asked.

He’s struggling to keep his cool. Can’t you feel it?

We’re struggling to keep our cool. We asked how many leading questions in that briefing and she didn’t bite once.

She barely seemed to be paying attention. As if she was just passing time until we got to this. She could have interrupted and just got whatever point this is out without wasting our time.

She’s a Romulan. Wasting our time is her way of making a point.

And a dick move.

Well yes…

“The Free State does not appreciate being lured into a diplomatic trap, especially one where illegitimate rebellious rabble is present.” Scali practically spat the last five words across the table. “The diplomatic demand of your Admiral Beckett to be present for these negotiations stated that in lieu of the Romulan Star Empire, the Romulan successor state was invited to discuss the Federation Alliance reconvening to deal with a resurgent Dominion threat.” She narrowed her eyes and stared straight at Tikva.

“The Romulan successor state,” she repeated, emphasising the first word.

“Actually, Commander, that’s not true.” Tikva forced herself to relax, to lean back and sit in her chair properly. “The diplomatic request,” she emphasised the word heavily to counter the ‘demand’ as proposed by Scali, “stated the Romulan successor states. Plural. And I am aware that Admiral Beckett sent the request in Federation Standard and Romulan to ensure the wording was correct.”

Scali’s eyes narrowed, unblinking. “There is only one legitimate Romulan state in this galaxy Captain Theodoras.” She said it with all the haughtiness one might have expected from an Imperial Romulan, as seen in holodramas of the 60s and 70s, or more recent live ones who refused to admit their empire was dead. She’d heard similar tones in debriefings of Rator-aligned officers who’d been captured, stating calmly that any day the raptor would rise and vanquish the Federation.

Any day now.

“Reality says otherwise.” She stared back at Scali, playing the childish game of ‘who blinks first’.

And in the end, Scali blinked first. “As long as the United Federation of Planets continues to interfere in Romulan internal politics by supporting the so-called Republic, I will not convey any of this briefing to my superiors.”

“And if we were to extract a promise from the Federation Council that all support of the Republic was to be withdrawn?” Mac asked. “You would recommend to your government to send as many ships as possible to assist?” Tikva could that he wasn’t serious, but was good at not showing it. He wanted to know the depths of Scali’s position, just how ridiculous this was going to get.

“I would recommend we reunify the Romulan people, secure our borders and then, that complete, we can consider offering aid to whatever is left of the Federation at that time.” And Scali, unfortunately, meant that.

It tasted bitter to Tikva’s mind. Self-importance and unmerited confidence blended poorly. Brussels sprouts and coffee grinds came to her palette and she had to fight from reaching for water to try and wash away imaginary tastes. Instead, she just glared at Scali, willing herself to try and understand this woman and her position and unable to do so.

There’s no point in discussing this further with her. She’s anti-Federation.

Probably old-school Tal’Shiar and wants to see the Federation suffer.

They started the downfall of their own people. Let them stew in.

Punch her in the face!

Shut up Barbarian-Tikva! Though, it would feel good…

No!

“You’re Tal’Shiar.” Tikva just stated it matter-of-factly, then smirked as she tasted the sweet surprise from Scali. She caught Mac looking at her, caught his body language as he saw her smirk. Scali could hide it, but Tikva couldn’t. Made her a bad poker player.

“I will not stand –“

“Oh shut it!” Tikva barked and enjoyed the stunned look on the older woman’s face. “Your people were involved in the Attack on Mars –“

“You have no –“ Scali tried to cut in but Tikva rolled right over her.

“– making you culpable for the subsequent death of billions of Romulans. Your people hobble and cripple any social or political development within your so-called Free State. And when you’re asked for help against a foe that doesn’t care for Romulan neutrality you’d rather use it as a chance to score political points while offering nothing. Nothing!” Tikva had pushed herself to her feet, hands firmly on the conference table as she leaned forward, bringing her impressive lack of height to bear.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time and I have lives I need to go and save,” she continued. “Get off my ship. Now.” She practically growled that last bit as best she could. Where was Rrr when she needed a rumbling growl?

At that Mac stood up as well, without a word she could feel him glaring at Scali as well. Standing in solidarity with his captain. There was no disunity that Scali could exploit to allow her to stay and cast stones any further. So Scali slowly stood, again pulling that air of ownership around her, as if the room was hers and hers alone. She adjusted her uniform tunic, checked her sleeves and then locked eyes with Tikva.

“Typical human bravado. Your loss of temper was expected. So very childish of you.” And then Scali turned and headed for the door, her honour guard falling in around her, and the subsequent security officers around them.

She waited for the door to close, for a count of ten so Scali would be in the turbolift just down the hall and headed for the transporter room before she punched a fist into the tabletop. Then immediately hissed in pain as she pulled her fist in close, tucking it under her opposite arm.

“Feel better?” Mac asked, looking rather unsympathetic. Grinning even.

“Smarmy, self-centred, duplicitous bitch,” she hissed. “Wasted a day organising that meeting and she had no intention of dealing with us at all.”

“Interesting revelation that the Free State considers itself the singular legitimate Romulan successor state,” Mac pointed out, walking to the diplomatic lounge’s replicator and returning with an ice pack.

“Just her opinion,” she confirmed for Mac’s sake. “We got lumped with an anti-Federation Tal’Shiar officer I’m guessing, at least from the surprise I felt from her when I called her out.” She took the icepack, settling across her knuckles. “Or she was just shocked I’d make such a diplomatic faux pas as to actually accuse her of such a thing. We were never going to get the Free State. She could have said something from the moment she arrived here and saw the Admiral Ketterac, but no, she wanted to see what we had to offer and waste our time.”

“Honestly don’t know what to say Cap,” Mac said with a smile. “Aside from perhaps you could have been a bit more tactful when dealing with a woman with a D’deridex-class warbird at her command?”

“Yah maybe I –“

“Red alert!” came Lin’s commanding voice over the ship’s internal comm systems. “All hands to battle stations! Senior staff to the bridge.” There was something truly reassuring about the firm, confident tone Lin used to tell everyone bad news. Things were bad, but they were under control. In firm hands.

Firm hands…

Not the time!

But –

Later all right?

Fine.

Both she and Mac looked out the diplomatic lounge’s windows, looking to the ship’s starboard. Blinking lights of starships off in the distance, the hulking mass of Handl Dryf, all started to slide sideways as Atlantis was manoeuvring. But nearby, just as it was sliding out of view, they could make out the mass of Romulan warbird Pero’lin as she too was turning, bringing her bow to point in their direction.

“Oh, come off it!” Tikva shouted as she and Mac turned as one and sprinted out the door.

“Report!” Mac shouted as he barrelled out of the turbolift ahead of Tikva, down the ramp and straight to the command area of the bridge.

“The Pero’lin has locked weapons on us,” Lin stated flatly, nodded once to Mac then Tivka, and then turned to ascend the ramp on the other side to assume her posting at Tactical, relieving her duty officer in the process. “Showing disruptors are charged.”

“What the hell is she thinking?” Tikva asked Mac, who had the same look on his face as she did. “Rrr, hail the Pero’lin and if they don’t answer, go to an open channel.”

“Open channel ma’am?” her Gaen operations chief asked.

“Open,” she confirmed before turning to Mac.

“I’ll get Papakura on the horn,” Mac said before turning to his left and over to one of the consoles there, whispering orders quietly to a young ensign who had found himself trapped on the bridge during a red alert.

“Pero’lin is on the line,” Rrr announced, before opening the channel and filling the view screen with the opposing ship’s own bridge.

Commander Scali was just as unpleasant through the medium of a screen as she had been a few minutes prior in real life. Perhaps more so because the airs she put on were more in keeping with her actual surroundings this time. Scali just stared at Tikva, looking bored, like a teacher waiting for a student to stop talking before she’d say something cutting in return.

Unfortunately for Scali, Tikva had opted in the whole second she had to think about what to say, elected to say nothing. Just stare at the older woman, her arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart. The difference between them was now in posture. Comfortably seated versus on her feet ready for a fight.

By not speaking, she was giving Scali nothing to work with. Aside from silence. Scali had retreated to her ship and thought to get one more provocation in and all she’d gotten so far was Atlantis answering a threat by raising her shields and the silent treatment over an open comm channel.

The silence lasted a solid ten, tense second before Rrr interrupted with a quiet cough after a chirp at his console. “Ma’am, Administrator Dryf is hailing all ships on an open channel.”

“Incoming warp signatures,” came Lin’s clearcut announcement from Tactical as well. “Nine Nausicaan vessels, one minute out.”

“Put the Administrator on,” she said, allowing herself a smirk.

The viewscreen split into two, Scali one on the right, maintaining her indifference, and Dryf on the left, looking like he was ready to explode. The Ferengi honestly looked flushed with anger, standing behind his opulent desk, hands planted on the surface so he could lean into his own monitor, filling the communication window mostly with his face. “What in the name of the Vault of Eternal Destitution are you two playing at out there?” he screamed across the void. “This is a neutral port! Shut down your weapons immediately!”

“Captain Theodoras –“ Scali had started to speak with her calm, soothing tone, only to be shut off by Dryf.

“I don’t care about the hoo-man! You’re the one with the weapons lock!” he screamed. “You powered up your weapons first! I won’t stand for this!”

“Administrator Dryf, if I could –“ Scali again tried to speak, and again Dryf spoke over her.

“You have until my security ships arrive to get out of here!” And then the screen filled with Dryf’s thumb as he jammed at his monitor, the channel going dead.

Leaving just Scali to remain.

“You think you’ve won here,” the Romulan said.

And Tikva maintained her silence. She kept the smirk though.

“I should destroy your ship for your insulting behaviour. No one speaks to a member of the Free State like you have,” Scali continued.

She couldn’t help the single bark of laughter. “I do. And you’re welcome to try. I reckon we could wreck your junker of a warbird before the Nausicaans arrive.”

Scali’s eyes narrowed as the starting contest resumed, precious seconds eating away. “I won’t forget this Captain Theodoras.” And then the line closed, Pero’lin occupying the viewscreen once more before it pirouetted slowly away and then jumped to warp.

Not ten seconds later and Mac was back at her side and Captain Sayil was occupying the viewscreen, head canted to his left. “That was…something,” he said by way of introduction. “Guess the Free State aren’t coming to the party then?”

“I don’t know if Scali was just trying to get a rise out of me, or actually fire on Atlantis, and frankly I don’t care.” She shrugged her shoulders and with that simple action let so much of the tension flow free she’d been holding the last few minutes. “Papakura ready to roll out?”

“Right behind you Captain Theodoras,” Sayil answered. “And if Scali decides she wants to try another round, we’ll be ready for her.”

“She’ll have to pull off a miracle to catch us. We’ll get underway in fifteen so tell your engineer to be ready for a damn decent sprint.”

“…and while I appreciate Commander Camargo’s suggestion of hitting Deptrock, I’ve elected for the other high-quality target.”

“Tower Ballroom,” Rrr clarified for the assembled senior staff in the conference room, rising to their feet and bringing up the specifics on the wall display. “The Leonis system, located on the far end of the Deneb Sector. While not a major target, it’ll give our partners a quick taste of victory over Dominion garrisons before we disperse into the surrounding systems to begin logistical raiding.”

“I’m not seeing any system defences,” Lin said. “Is that true?”

“Leonis Prime is a relatively new colony with a small population that was evacuated entirely before Jem’Hadar forces arrived.” The system map changed to just show the area around Leonis Prime itself, with only a handful of orbital points of interest. “Immediately around the planet is a small orbital platform for coordinating system traffic and managing the orbital transhipping depot. Its weapons compliment is only scary if you’re an asteroid. The other primary points are weather spotters and communications relays, providing global coverage. No real value of any sort.”

Another tap brought up a dozen purple contacts in a cluster near the orbital platform. “The last ships to leave the system did spot twelve Dominion vessels arriving in system, including one battlecruiser. It could however possibly be a battleship since the sensor data wasn’t the best.”

“When are we expecting the Klingons or Republic ships to arrive?” Gabrielle asked.

“Hot’keth already had ships in the area and is staging nearby. Commander Grel has a handful of ships nearby and is en route already. He’s taking time in transit to communicate with his government and get more ships sent to Deneb.” Tikva smiled with a slight chuckle. “And no, I don’t know where the Tholians are. They will arrive, in their own words, at the appointed time.”

“So, even if we all get blown up hopefully the Republic will still be sending ships to Deneb? Well, that’s kinda reassuring.” Gabrielle didn’t sound it. “And the Klingons?”

“I suspect,” Mac stepped in, “Captain Hor’keth has already spoken to his people, yes?” He turned to look at Gantzmann, who nodded her head in response.

“House Lorkoth is dispatching ships as we speak. And more KDF observers will be on their way as well. Apparently, an entire house mobilising for war is of great interest to the Empire. Hor’keth suspects other houses will send a few ships along as well to see just what is going on.” Gantzmann’s report brought on a bout of nodding heads from the staff.

“T’Val, we don’t have enough fighters, heavy shuttles and runabouts to contemplate using them against a Jem’Hadar task force,” Tikva continued, looking to her helmswoman. “But have crews standing by on the larger shuttles anyway when we arrive. Gear up for search and rescue on one and work with Ch’tkk’va to prepare for boarding actions with the others. If we can cripple and take a Dominion ship or two, it might tell us a thing or two.”

“Aye ma’am,” T’Val answered. “Though I would suggest we do have enough to use in offensive operations. Our biggest issue is how long it would take to launch.” T’Val took a breath in, a pause to think momentarily. “I shall have a proposal on your desk before the end of the day.”

“I shall have the Hazard Teams ready,” Ch’tkk’va answered. “Though I will keep Gold aboard ship to supplement Security for counter-boarding operations.”

“Good call.” Tikva then looked to Velan, seated on her immediate left. “Engineering ready?”

“As ready as we can be. I think we’re good to go. Just try not to let them prang up my ship too much, yes?”

“Always the goal Ra, always the goal. Right people, we’ve got two days to our rally point. Let’s make the best of it. We’ll be maintaining a communications blackout as well until we get there as well, so keep that in mind. Dismissed.”

“Want to talk about it?” Lin asked as she pulled Tikva down onto the couch in the latter’s quarters.

“About what?” Tikva asked as twisted and instead of the couch sat herself down across Lin’s lap.

“The Free State representative and whatever happened between you two.” Lin wrapped an arm around Tikva’s waist while she unclasped the collar on her uniform’s tunic. “See leaves the ship, then brings guns to bear on the ship. Something happened.”

“See wasted our time. Dragging out scheduling our meeting, then just sat there for an hour listening to Mac and I talk before saying now. I accused her of being Tal’Shiar and then when she tried to say she wasn’t I told her to shut it. Then, well, kinda ripped into the entire Free State. Might have also said she was culpable for the death of billions of Romulans.”

“She is,” Lin answered. “Or if she isn’t, then she’s culpable for letting those that are stay in power.”

There was silence between the two as Tikva leaned herself against Lin, just enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the private moment. The taste of the love she felt radiating from Lin. But it didn’t last as intrusive thoughts came to the forefront for a moment.

“Are we doing the right thing? Racing into battle like we are? Should we divert somewhere else? Izar? Sevury?” she asked.

“You’ve already set the plans in motion,” Lin stated. “We’ll get that morale win like you wanted at Leonis and can reassess from there.”

“Yes, but what about –“

“You’ve already committed to the plan, love. Don’t worry about what-ifs and could-have-beens. Worry about what’s ahead of us.”

“Same advice as Mac gave me when I asked him about this an hour ago.” Tikva pulled away just enough to look Lin straight in the eyes. “You know, one day you’ll make a damn fine first officer.”

“One day,” Lin replied before she pulled Tikva into a kiss.

As it broke, foreheads resting against each other, Tikva couldn’t help the smile, couldn’t hold it back as it encompassed her whole face. “How’s the leg by the way?”

“Terax says it’s fine. It’ll itch for a few days thanks to how deep the cut was, but I’m fighting fit.” Lin grinned though as the truth of the question came to her. “Yes, I opted to have a scar.”

“Show me,” Tikva demanded as she got to her feet, pulling Lin behind her and into the bedroom.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 78221.5

Atlantis is a day out from our rendezvous with the ships Captain Hor’keth and Commander Grel have both promised to assemble at short notice. If both men keep to their word, we won’t see them until we arrive. Still no word or idea on when Captain Kaltene will make herself available, but Tholians do have a reputation for the mysterious. I’ll call it a pleasant surprise when she does show up.

While I’ve instituted a communications blackout for outgoing messages, the bridge crew have been monitoring communications across the Deneb Sector while we’re in transit. No one has challenged us or Papakura, which I find somewhat suspicious. No doubt something I can thank Admiral Beckett for later. But what we’re hearing out there is just madness.

I think I’m in the same camp as Captain Sayil – I do not like this cloak-and-dagger bullshit.

“Why are we changing course?” the captain asked as she stepped out of her ready room.

“We picked up a distress call,” Gabrielle answered as she rose from the captain’s chair. She wanted to clear it for its rightful owner as quickly as she could. And from what she just heard, was glad for the captain’s quick return to the bridge. It had been only a few seconds between Ensign Tabaaha executing the course change and the captain’s reappearance anyway.

She knew what the captain’s orders had been, and knew the situation Atlantis racing towards, but she couldn’t just ignore a distress call. Especially not one of their own. She hadn’t even considered handing it up the chain. Order the course change, and deal with her superiors afterwards.

“Let’s hear it,” the captain asked and Ensign Williams nodded his head once, tapped at his controls and the message replayed for all to hear.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the USS Duntroon to any nearby vessels! We’re under attack by three Jem’Hadar raiders. We’ve lost wardrive and impulse –“ The message simply stopped.

“That’s all there is ma’am,” Williams said. “There’s no repeat and I’m only reading their transponder at this point. I’d guess their comm system is completely offline.”

“At present speed, we’re five minutes out,” Tabaaha supplied. “Redlining it ma’am we’ll be there in two.”

“Do it,” the captain ordered, then looked back at her. “Would you do the honours, Commander?”

She took a moment, gulped, and then drew in a breath. “Red alert! All hands to battle stations. Senior staff to the bridge!” She knew she didn’t sound nearly as confident as Commander Gantzmann had the other day. Hell, she was pretty sure she sounded very unconfident. But she’d been practising her commanding tone.

The captain just winked at her, then held out a hand. “I have the conn.”

“You have the conn,” she replied, handing over the keys. Then with a glance around, confirming no one else had just appeared, realised she was the next most senior officer on the bridge for now. “Um, I should –“

“Sit down,” Captain Theodoras suggested as she sat herself down, indicating Commander MacIntyre’s seat. “Calling your first red alert is…a thing.” The captain stumbled for words. “Catch yourself up, you’ve got a minute or so before Mac will want his seat.”

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” The screaming was coming from somewhere nearby. Or was it far away? It was mixed in with the shrill whine of alerts, the groaning of the ship’s hull, and the ringing in his ear.

“What?” he croaked out, coughed once, twice, clearing his throat. It was all coming back. The bridge of the Duntroon had been rendered into an abattoir by the pummelling of their pursuers. Shields had failed, then the engines. Then the Jem’Hadar ships had started to play with them, taking them apart piece by piece.

All he could see looking around the small bridge was death. He and only one other had survived when the bridge had been hit, their own consoles giving them cover and purchase against first the shock, then the vacuum before forcefields had snapped to life.

“There’s another couple of ships coming in. I can’t tell what though.” The other voice barked out. Ensign Carol Rankin, that was the young woman’s name. It had taken way too long to remember that. Better late than never, and just before more Dominion ships arrived to finish them off.

Through the massive rent in the front of the bridge, through the forcefield that offered no sort of magnification, or ability to show views other than straight ahead, he saw the double flash of two ships rapidly decelerating from warp speed. The streaks as they finished decelerating, resolving before the Duntroon far, far too close for comfort.

And not close enough at the same time.

One of the ships, a Sovereign-class cruiser, practically appeared right on top of the Duntroon, its gleaming hull alight with all of its running and spotlights on full display. It wasn’t the hundreds or thousands of kilometres away that he’d have thought it should have been. Or even tens of kilometres. Or a kilometre. It was close enough that he could read the words ‘United Federation of Planets Starship Atlantis’ along the ship’s flank as it glided right over his broken ship. Those letters were the height of an average person, yet he could make them out clearly. With his unaided eye.

The helmsman aboard that ship was either a genius or criminally insane.

And it was perhaps the single most beautiful thing in the universe right now to behold.

He caught the flaring of the ship’s shields as it weathered an attack by the fighters that had been picking at his ship. Then averted his eyes as he saw the ship’s phaser strips start to glow, her reply coming forthwith as orange spears of light lanced out across the void at now unseen attackers.

The Sagan-class ship that had arrived with Atlantis was almost an afterthought as it came up alongside Duntroon, spotlights popping into life and searching over the ship. The way it acted, cruising to a stop, searching over his ship, told him that Atlantis must have had the situation in hand.

Three attack ships against a cruiser designed to fight the Borg – it wasn’t a fair fight. It was about time Starfleet was the one dishing out the unfair fights.

“Comms?” he asked into the smoke, trying to remember where Rankin was.

“Gone completely,” she confirmed. He’d confirmed that for his captain not but a few minutes before. Before the bridge had been hit. Before he went from a mere science officer to commander of the Duntroon, or what was left of her.

He sighed, looking out the hole in the bridge, then around the bridge, eyes settling on Rankin. She looked as bad as he felt. Maybe worse. But the young woman was still at her post at Tactical, despite the ship having been crippled to the point they couldn’t even hurl insults.

Then he took in a deep breath. Someone had to give the order. “Abandon ship,” he said, “all hands to –“

His vision blurred, filling with bright blue light. For a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t sense anything but light and sound, which quickly resolved itself into the clean, pristine and very full transporter room of another ship. Medical staff were waiting, as well as anyone they could rope into helping. “-escape pods,” he finished, though it had tapered off as those waiting rushed onto the padd, clearing everyone off as quickly as they could.

“You’re safe now,” one of them reassured him.

“Sickbay is this way,” another directed.

“Can you walk?” someone asked him, then handed him a corpsman as he nodded in the affirmative.

He was just out the door when he finally grabbed his guide’s arm. “Lieutenant John Cobb, I need to speak with your captain,” he said. “Now,” he followed up, this time as an order.

“Let’s get you to sickbay first sir,” the other man insisted, about his own age. But at his follow-up glare, the man amended this statement. “And I’ll call the captain down personally.”

“Two destroyed Jem’Hadar fighters, no damage to Atlantis. The third is still on sensors and running at full speed towards the Breen border,” Mac reported. “Ra’s finishing the engineering assessment on the Duntroon, but it’s not going to be good.”

Tikva had stood herself by the window looking out of her Ready Room and onto the wreckage of the USS Duntroon, hanging limply between Atlantis and Papakura. The little Saber-class ship was an absolute wreck. And all it brought to mind was her own previous experience commanding such a ship. A crew was small enough that everyone knew everyone pretty damn well. It always felt like you cross the ship in any direction in just a few steps.

Simpler times. Times before her own losses in combat even.

Duntroon’s starboard nacelle had been sheared right off the hull. The impulse engine assembly had been blasted so badly it was difficult to tell the port side engines had even been an impulse exhaust. The starboard assembly was just gone, exploding fusion reactors had consumed it, the ship saved only by emergency forcefields directing the brunt of the fireball when it would have happened.

There were at least three through-and-through breaches in the ship’s hull and she could make out the silhouettes of EV-suited personnel on what was left of the ship’s bridge. Of a crew of 95, Papakura had only rescued twenty survivors. They hadn’t even located all of the dead.

They likely never would.

“She’s a write-off,” she finally said, giving the ship one last look before turning her back on it. “We can’t spend time getting her back in operation and dragging her back to Deneb would take too long anyway.” She sighed. “Tell Captain Sayil he can stay and do a proper recovery of the dead aboard Duntroon, but then he needs to scuttle her and catch up. Papakura is faster than us, she’ll be able to make the rendezvous.”

“What about those they don’t recover?” he asked.

“Drop a buoy for a recovery team. But we’re not leaving a ship that could still have valuable technology or information aboard it for the Dominion to pick over. They can sift through an expanding plasma cloud if they want.”

“Lieutenant Cobb isn’t going to be happy.” Mac set his padd down with his report on her desk, saw the look on her face. “Cobb, the young science officer who’s the ranking survivor.”

“Oh, him. Well, I’m not happy either. Pass along my apologies to him, but Sayil has to scuttle that ship. I want us back at warp in five minutes.”

“Aye Cap,” Mac replied, stopping himself just before the door to the bridge opened. “Hey Cap, you and Gantzmann free for dinner tonight?”

“Why?” she asked.

“We’re going into this war tomorrow. Blake figures we could all do with a nice meal the night before to get our minds off of it.”

“I,” she started, stopped for a moment, then nodded her head. She’d been about to say no, but changed her mind. “Captain’s Mess?”

“Port Royal,” he replied. “Be seen by the crew, lift morale, convey our invincibility.”

“Lift spirits,” she added.

“Oh, I think we’ll be lifting some spirits for sure,” he said, then stepped that one more step, the door opening for him. “Nineteen hundred. Casual.”

“Shields at eighty-two per cent,” Rrr reported as Atlantis rocked once more under heavy assault.

Everyone on the bridge was either seated or gripping onto some sort of support as Atlantis surged through the first exchange of weapons fire with the Dominion forces in the Leonis system as both forces finally found the range for accurate weapons fire. Even with the best sensors and targeting systems, range and mobility still meant combatants had to close range to accurately hit each other. Fire from far enough away and just being off by an arcsecond with your targeting, the enemy moving just a touch and you’d miss. But get close and sweeping phaser fire could hit not just your target but multiple enemies as well.

“Looks like Bogey One has targeted us solely,” Lin said from Tactical. “Bogey Two has lined up Admiral Ketterac.”

“Fun and games,” Tikva muttered. “Rrr, tell everyone else to get in and remove those attack fighters. We’re sticking with the plan people, so brace yourself.”

“Aye, captain I –“ The Gaen stopped in mid-acknowledgement and then rumbled loudly, something that was species and culturally equivalent to a hiss in frustration. “New contacts in orbit. Twenty orbital platforms have just come online. Designation Leo One to Twenty.”

“How the hell didn’t we see them earlier?” Tikva demanded, sitting forward in her chair, almost about to through herself to her feet but stopped as more fire raked the ship, rocking its inhabitants.

“They just came online,” Rrr said. “Papakura is taking a wing of Klingon ships and moving on them.”

“Mac!” Tikva shouted over her shoulder and through the gap in the tactical arch so MacIntyre could hear her in the Mission Operations bay towards the back of the bridge. “Send the Harpys with Papakura. I want those orbital platforms dead yesterday!”

The star system that was being used as a staging point for the hastily assembled Alliance ships didn’t even warrant a name. It barely warranted a catalogue number, but it had one anyway. A pathetic little red dwarf that would burn for the better part of eternity, a dusting of asteroids in two belts barely worth mentioning and a single little terrestrial world at the heart of the system, tidally locked to its parent and too much trouble to even do a proper survey of.

In other words, a perfect place for three disparate groupings of ships to meet while staying just off the beaten path and any likely patrols that might spot them. It was a useless ball of hydrogen burning in the infinite expanse whose only job right now was as a navigational reference.

Captain Hor’keth’s little ‘hunting party’ looked like House Lorkoth was practising fleet logistics. With thirty ships in total, it sounded more impressive than it really was. IKS Ba’korth, a modern Vor’cha-class cruiser sat in the middle of the gaggle of birds-of-prey, a couple of K’t’inga-class ships and ships that looked suspiciously close to the K’t’inga but which the computers had already identified as fleet support ships.

Even in the Empire, a logistics ship was a warship. Guess even the logistics department likes a chance to die with honour, rather than an accounting accident.

Commander Grel had managed to round up his ship’s escorts from wherever they had been hiding. Four lighter Republic ships hung around RRW Admiral Ketterac as if she was the grand lady of the ball and no one was going to be allowed near her. And to be fair, the Valdore-class ship was a handsome design.

And amid all of this sat Atlantis and Papakura, both having arrived at the same time despite the latter having stayed with Duntroon for hours before scuttling the ship and catching up. With everyone in the same place, it was time to finalise the plan for the attack on the Leonis system.

“Before we start,” Tikva said as she sat down at the table, “I’d like to personally thank you all for being here.” The head nods in response were a mix of stoic acceptance, gleeful anticipation and a couple of weary nods as glances went around the room. “And thank you for speaking with your governments. Once reinforcements arrive at Deneb, they’ll be following in our wake, so let’s give them something to follow.”

She’d opted for the lesser used, in fact to date unused, diplomatic conference room on the other side of the ship. The reasoning was that the round table present meant there was no head of the table. She’d told Fightmaster to seat herself, Hor’keth and Grel at equidistant parts and then fill the table accordingly. Admittedly the Klingon and Romulan contingents were larger than the Starfleet one, but playing nice and soothing egos was the name of the game.

“I’d like to say something too.” Commander Grel must have been a practised speaker, projecting his voice so clearly and confidently and gathering everyone’s attention by demanding it. He looked not to Tikva but to Hor’keth and the Klingons accompanying him. “I look forward to fighting alongside the forces of House Lorkoth. Death, as the Klingon saying goes I believe, is an experience best shared.”

“Ha!” Hor’keth barked. “I like him!” That earned a few nods of respect from the captain’s he had invited as part of his delegation. “Die well Romulan!”

“How about we fight well and make the Jem’Hadar be the ones doing the dying?” Tikva spoke up. She waited, having regained everyone’s attention and glad that Hor’keth and Grel had seemingly broken the ice for their respective parties, then tapped a control, the room lights coming down just a touch as a holographic system map sprung to life over the table. “The Leonis system and the site of the first allied victory.”

A dozen purple blips appeared over one of the terrestrial worlds. “Leonis Prime was occupied by Dominion forces early on and they’ve left a garrison behind for one reason or another. Last reports we have stated a single battlecruiser and twelve attack fighters in the system. Long-range scans are proving difficult as it appears the Dominion ships in the system are moving around and trying to disguise their numbers and composition.”

“What was the source of intel?” Grel asked.

“A fleeing civilian passenger ship,” MacIntyre interjected. The Romulan captains immediately all looked a bit dubious. “It’s the best we have without sending someone ahead to scout.”

“We could undertake such an operation right now,” one of the Romulan captains spoke up. “We would need a day to get there, conduct a scout run and return.”

“We’re pretty confident that Atlantis and Papakura will have been detected since we don’t have cloaks and came in pretty fast,” Tikva continued. “So, we need to move before reinforcements could be dispatched. Defeat this picket in detail, then if reinforcements are incoming, we can swing out to smash them in before we start system hopping.”

“It sounds like you already have a plan,” Hor’keth half-growled, leaning into the hologram with a predatory smile. “And Starfleet plans have a tendency to be…interesting.”

“Harpy Flight, new targets,” Commander MacIntyre’s voice cut in over the comm net for the small craft deployed from Atlantis. “Designation Leo. Papakura is breaking to engage with Wej wing. Actual wants you to support.”

“Understood,” T’Val said, her tone as unemotional as if she was simply acknowledging a report about a minor course change.

Her proposal for using Atlantis’ fighters, heavy shuttles and runabouts had been accepted by the captain and commander in the end and Harpy Flight had been expanded, if temporarily, to include the shuttles Waihou and Lesbos, as well as all of the runabouts aboard ship. All together they could make for a decent harassing force.

She’d have preferred to be aboard Atlantis right now as her senior helm officer, but the captain’s logical, if somewhat emotionally biased reasoning, had seen her once more in the seat of Harpy Two, Corfu, leading the small craft forces. She couldn’t deny the skill argument, but she’d been training her people. Trusted them to do their jobs competently, if not satisfactorily even. But in the end, Atlantis’ was heading for a brawl and fancy flying would be needed in the small craft.

She thumbed the stud on her controller to switch over to the flight comms. “Harpies, new targets. Follow Papakura and await targets.” She wasn’t waiting for Atlantis or Papakura to paint targets for her people. Harpy 2 was specifically modified for the recon role and she put those sensors to work.

“Roger dodger,” came Lieutenant Petrov’s voice over the comms. “On your tail boss.”

“Aye,” responded Shven. That accounted for the rest of the fighters. The shuttles and runabouts followed soon after as they came in behind the fighters.

She’d planned for the runabouts and shuttles to essentially be torpedo carriers, able to pelt targets the Harpys designated and strafed to bring down shields so the follow-up torpedoes could hit their targets. Now she was about to put the idea into practice. She targeted one of the platforms, brought all of Corfu’s intense sensors to bear and then passed on all of her targeting information to the larger, less nimble craft behind her. “Leo Six, target locked,” she announced. “Begin attack run.”

And with that the Valkyrie fighters sped forward, phasers spitting fire at the first Dominion orbital platform to come into their sights.

“Dropping out of warp now,” Ensign Tabaaha announced as the viewscreen reverted from streaking stars to static pinpricks of light and the blue disc of the system’s outermost gas giant just off to the left. Directly ahead of the ship, a single point of light was brighter than the rest – the star Leonis itself.

“Thank you, Ensign,” MacIntyre replied as he stood from the command seat and stepped up to the dual helm and ops stations. “Rrr, let the Harpies know they’ve got permission to start launching. And any movement from the Dominion?”

“Some,” they replied after checking their console. “Well, that’s not good.”

“Hit me with it.”

With a tap of controls and the viewscreen switched from a view ahead to a tactical display around Leonis Prime. The Dominion ships were coalescing into a single mass, a few emerging from the planet’s magnetic poles, others from behind the planet itself. Instead of the single battlecruiser and twelve fighters they had been expecting, sensors were now seeing a battleship, a battlecruiser and ten fighters.

“Bright side, there are fewer ships,” Rrr chimed in. Then their console chirped once more. The tactical display then pulled right out, the Leonis system disappearing into a vague dot on the screen accompanied by one other purple dot lightyears away. The numbers next to it however painted a pretty bad reality.

“Twenty-four ships incoming. They’ll be here about the same time as we’re engaging the picket over Prime.” Mac shook his head, stopping just as the ready room doors opened, the captain stepping out and looking straight to the tactical display.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” she quipped. “Hail Hor’keth.”

It only took a few moments for the Klingon warrior to appear on the viewscreen. “Looks like the reinforcements I feared are on their way. Twenty-four ships coming on two-seven-six mark zero-zero-nine.”

“I shall leave you two wings of B’rels and move to engage them.” Hor’keth grinned, looking like the idea of more ships to fight wasn’t a problem but an opportunity to be relished. “Today is a good day,” he paused, leaning towards the video pickup on his bridge. His eyes weren’t locked on Tikva or Mac, but past them to Lin at Tactical. “Fight well, fight without mercy. I look forward to celebrating our victory!”

And with that, the comm channel went quiet. Their sensors couldn’t detect it, and hopefully neither could the Dominion sensors, but all around the fleet, most of it under cloak, a sizable portion of the Klingon ships were breaking formation and jumping once more to warp. Their goal was to delay if not outright destroy the reinforcements incoming.

“New contacts,” Rrr announced. “Two-seven-three mark zero-one-nine.” They switched the forward view to the new contacts that were emerging from the blue clouds of the gas giant nearby.

The planet’s clouds were such a shade of blue that the first settlers in the system, upon needing names for the other celestial bodies in their system, had named the gas giant Blueberry.  It hadn’t been a real stretch of the imagination that one. But right now, emerging from the cloud depths, their drive fields disturbing the clouds more than the streamlined hulls could, were three Tholian meshweavers.

“Appointed time indeed,” Tikva said with a knowing grin to Mac. “Your girlfriend has great timing.”

“I’m going to tell Blake you said that.”

“She’s hot stuff,” Tikva quipped as she headed back for her office.

“Who is?” Mac asked Tikva’s back, the humour in his voice.

“Yes,” she responded, stopping at the door. “Call me when we’re halfway there.”

“Damn,” Kelly Tabaaha muttered under her breath, stretching out the word.

“That’s enough of that, Ensign,” Mac said. Then grinned as she looked at him with a modicum of fear, afraid she was about to get reprimanded, but confused by his grin. “Take us in, please. Three-quarters impulse and straight to Leonis Prime.”

“Starboard shields down to twelve per cent,” Rrr shouted over the shower of sparks that rained down from an overhead light. While others might have flinched, the Gaen officer didn’t even respond. “Buckling on deck fifteen, sections eighteen through twenty-six. Evacuation in progress.”

“Helm, roll her over! Get those port shields facing that battleship,” Tikva ordered from her seat. “Guns, I don’t care what you have to do, rain hell down on that thing.”

“Aye aye,” Lin responded from behind her.

This wasn’t the unfair fight when Atlantis came to the rescue of Duntroon, swooping in to save the day, a shark amongst minnows. This was more what her class was designed for – slugging matches with enemies that meant the Federation’s total annihilation. Advancements had stripped her of the title of Starfleet’s bruiser, but up against a ship twenty years out of time, she was back in her element.

The whine of phaser strips, the thud of torpedo launchers – these could be heard throughout the ship. But so could the blaring of klaxons demanding attention, critical alerts firing off as issues arose. And while she couldn’t hear it, Tikva could imagine the screams, moans and cries of the injured and the utter silence of the dead within the ship’s hull.

They’d been breached a dozen times by now. No doubt the battering they were taking was causing damage throughout the ship anyway as overloads blew conduits out, or framing members buckled and collapsed. Splinters of duranium alloy spearing their way through compartments would turn those spaces into slaughterhouses.

Against the Dominion battleship there hadn’t been much choice but to go head-on against it. It was their premier platform. The two alphas had eyed each other up from half a system away. Atlantis had drawn its fire from the start of the engagement. The first volley from the Dominion had been scattered, confused, as targets had emerged from nothingness as ships decloaked, coming in from a multitude of angles and drawing attention rapidly away from a concerted effort on the two uncloaked Starfleet ships, but that battleship had never wavered in its determination to bring down its target, just like Atlantis hadn’t either.

“We’ve got to get in behind that beast,” Tikva growled. “Helm!”

“I’m trying ma’am,” Tabaaha answered back, panic creeping into her voice. “But their screen is keeping us far enough away she can still turn with us.”

A series of violent shakes rocked Atlantis, the whole space frame moaning in protest as she bucked through the exploding remains of a Jem’Hadar fighter. Or had merely run over a crippled hulk and finished it off as shields ploughed through the hull.

The sounds of the ship then changed momentarily; the sounds she’d been getting used to that signified weapons firing ceased. She turned in her chair, looking up at Lin, who was busy looking at her tactical console, then grinned before punching in a series of commands and Atlantis renewed her assault. Quantum torpedoes belched forth in rapid first, the first such volley since the start of the fight. Phaser fire raked a singular spot on the battleship’s flank, piercing the shields, beating them back with each strike as they tried desperately to flow back over the now exposed flank.

And then the first torpedo slammed into the hull. What shielding remained there flickered and died, the hull left glowing in the aftermath. But it never got to dissipate as the next hit, ripping the purple-tinged duranium asunder. The third buried itself in the hull before detonating, bulging the entire ship outward slightly as it died. The fourth and fifth torpedoes were gratuitous overkill, but in the moment there was no such thing. They ripped the hulking mass apart in an expanding ball of plasma that immediately consumed two of the attack fighters, one of the birds of prey and one of Atlantis’ runabouts, all of their fiery plumes adding to the conflagration consuming the heart of the battlefield.

The shockwave slammed into Atlantis and sent the large ship sideways, carried upon the plasma wave, shields flaring as they tried to absorb the blast.

“Port shields down to six per cent,” Rrr announced as the ship settled, Tabaaha righting the vessel and bringing it back into control.

“Die you bastards,” Lin barked and Tikva could just see the grin.

Hot.

So hot.

Agreed.

Yup, no arguments.

Uh, what’s that?

She squinted at the viewscreen, at the speck directly in front of her, spitting forth hate at her ship. Shields flared at the onslaught and she realised what it was – an attack fighter on a head-on course. It wasn’t veering, wasn’t manoeuvring as it took fire from multiple directions. It was coming right at them.

The Dominion had just lost their command ship and were now resorting to whatever tactics they could muster to take down Atlantis. Likely all of the larger ships in this hasty little task force.

“Helm, evasive now!”

Stars.

She could see stars.

There are no windows on the bridge.

So why can we see stars?

We shouldn’t. Unless…

She tried turning her head and regretted it immediately. Pain seared through every part of her being. She couldn’t help but clamp her eyes shut in pain and scream. An eternity later and it still hurt but she was out of breath. Drawing in air, holding it, she forced her eyes open.

There was the dull pulsing of the red alert lights still. Emergency lighting had joined it, bathing what she could see in a blood-red illumination. The entire roof of the bridge was gone, ripped from the ship, an emergency force field constantly flickering as debris rained upon it.

Moving just her eyes she should see the framing member that pinned her to the deck. Literally. It pierced her abdomen, likely the deck below as well. But more debris had fallen on her, cocooning her amongst the ruins of the central seats of the bridge and forced up against the tactical arch.

Slowly she tried moving her head, stopping when the pain came on. The viewscreen was gone, ripped diagonally from high left to low right. The right side of the bridge was just missing, ragged edges where consoles and hull and flesh had been ripped free from her ship. If she’d been in her ready room she’d be gone.

There had been three officers of her crew seated at those stations.

Zhu, Gomez, H’rev.

The battle seemed to continue, the view of it unfiltered by any electronics and therefore just a series of motes of light flinging beams and small motes at each other, but Atlantis wasn’t part of it. Eyes flicked to the helm and she could see Ensign Tabaaha, blood pouring down one side of her face, still at her station, one hand gripping the edge of her console for dear life, the other working Atlantis free of the conflict. Blue-shouldered medtechs burst forth from a turbolift and one went straight to her but Tabaaha barely seemed to have registered the intrusion in her duties. She could see the young man’s mouth moving, could see the others speaking, but couldn’t hear any of it.

She couldn’t hear anything.

She spoke up, a medtech’s attention immediately turning on her. The woman shouted something and suddenly more faces came into view.

She couldn’t hear anything.

There was Rrr, the rock in a storm. They said something to her and she scrunched her eyebrows at them, then shook her head, bursting into a scream almost immediately at the pain.

And still, she couldn’t hear anything.

When she opened her eyes once more Lin was there, reaching through the debris for her. She tried saying something but couldn’t as she started coughing. More pain wracked her being. Lin spoke, she heard nothing.

“I can’t hear you,” she said back, barely hearing her own words to herself. “I can’t hear anything.”

That stopped everyone for a moment, then she saw the medtech tapping their badge, speaking to someone distant. Lin turned to say something to Rrr, then Mac when he appeared in her field of vision. He had a nasty gash on his left cheek, a decent bruise on the other side of his face and was holding his right arm.

Mac merely nodded, then spoke as if to the whole bridge. Medtechs started helping the walking wounded to turbolifts or the access doors that lead down to deck two. They were evacuating the bridge. But how would she get out? She was pinned, buried under the ruins of the bridge.

Lin turned back to her and spoke slowly, carefully. She followed along, moving her mouth just like Lin’s trying to work out what she was saying.

‘We’re hurt but okay,’ Lin said. ‘We’re beaming you to sickbay. I love you Bug.’

“I love you too,” she replied, letting go of a held breath she hadn’t realised she had. And then the light took hold of her before darkness snatched her.

Sirens blared around the broken bridge, smoke billowing from a fire in what was formerly the science station. She started pulling herself up off the floor, surveying the absolute mess around her. Moaning from the lucky few, silence from others. Captain Denevan was stirring but barely looked like he was there. Commander Thomas…

Grayson Thomas was dead in his seat, a splitter of metal pinning him in place, his body slumped around it.

Her body ached in pain all over. She’d been thrown from the helm, a good distance too. Not by her console exploding, just by sheer concussive force as the Gorn raider had pounced on Jutland out of nowhere, with no provocation at all.

Her left leg refused to cooperate, sending her stumbling as soon as she put pressure on it. Hitting the deck hard she screamed as her left shoulder connected, rolling immediately to the right to take pressure off of it. The shock had disguised the injuries she’d taken until now. Her left arm and leg were mauled. Likely by the same shower of splinters that had claimed Thomas. Blood stained her uniform, but in the poor light, the only hint she had was the wet slickness of her uniform.

Jutland rocked more, alarms blared in renewed protest, demanding attention from their operators.

“Fuck!” she screamed as she grabbed at her seat with her good arm and dragged herself upwards, catching herself against a fall as blood-slicked hands slipped. Her vision was starting to blur around the edges, thinking was getting harder and harder.

But she didn’t need to think about this. She had no orders, the ship was under attack, and the bridge was an utter mess. Her right hand flew across the console, bloody finger and palm prints left in her wake as she set a course, slid her finger along the speed selector till it stopped and brought the ship to bear on its new vector.

As the ship lurched once more under enemy fire, the rocking ceased with a final lurch as the ship jumped to warp. She took in a deep breath and slouched in her seat as everything started to get cold, as thinking became an absolute chore.

Saving the ship wasn’t a bad way to go, was it?

“Ha,” she said weakly as some inconsiderate jerk started waving a light in her face. “Fucking hero.”

While most might stir from unconsciousness after surgery with questions like ‘Where am I?’ or ‘What’s the time?’, it was a common enough belief that starship captains would immediately ask the same question. “Report?”

She could hear something in response, but it was muffled like she was hearing it through a wall. Or like Lin’s commentary some mornings when she tried to bury her head in a pillow.

None of it made sense, just garbled droning that stopped eventually as she forced open her eyes with an effort of will. She’d been put in one of the private recovery rooms but obviously not alone. She had been expecting Terax or Lin to be there, but instead opened her eyes to a rather tired-looking Blake Pisani, who was looking over a padd at the end of the bed.

“What?” she finally asked and was answered by Blake looking up, giving her a full-body sigh and then turning the padd around for her to see.

‘GO BACK TO SLEEP’ was displayed on the screen in large block letters. She flicked a finger and another message appeared. ‘MAC HAS THIS.’

She wanted to protest, to argue, but instead just found herself drifting off again.

Stirring again, she was greeted with faces she wanted to see. People she would have called for anyway. Mac was there, his arm in a splint and sling, his face at least cleaned up. Lin too, having ditched her uniform tunic somewhere and just standing there in a grey undershirt.

“How’s my ship?” she asked dryly.

“Battered and beaten but mostly intact,” Mac said, though his words sounded distant, far off. It was a remarkable improvement from Blake’s warbling or the silence on the bridge. “We’re somewhat warp capable, but not combat capable at the moment.”

“How many?” she croaked out.

“Thirty-seven,” Mac answered somberly. “I’ve already got a list for you when you’re ready.” He waited a moment, letting the number sink in before continuing. “We lost the Pangea and Karpathos. The Romulans lost the RRW Shadowstrike and the Klingons lost nine ships, including one of the KDF observers. They’re likely to scuttle two more once damage assessments are done.”

“The Dominion?”

“Not a single survivor,” Lin answered. “The Klingons made sure of it. Away teams on the surface haven’t seen any signs of occupation either. Looks like they searched the settlement when they first arrived, but then otherwise focused on space assets.”

“The plan?”

“We can talk about it later,” Lin reassured her.

Mac however had something to say on the matter and continued anyway. “Hor’keth is already sending ships out to scout nearby systems and confirm numbers for raiding strikes. But Atlantis took a pounding, so did Ketterac. We’re going to need to fall back.” Mac’s assessment was the unpolished truth. One he didn’t want to have to convey she could tell.

“I –“ she stopped herself as she looked to Lin, then back to Mac. “The ship is yours, Commander. Do what needs doing.”

“Aye, ma’am. You can count on me,” he answered, gave Lin a pat on the shoulder as he passed, and then stepped out.

There was silence for a moment, a minute, an eternity between her and Lin before she broke it with a smile. It was that or wallow in misery for a moment as she considered the losses they’d taken. Smile now, wallow later. “Gods your gorgeous. Sit before you fall.”

“Must be good drugs you’re on. Normally you’re a lot more verbose,” the taller woman said as she perched herself on the edge of the bed.

“How bad is it really?” she asked.

“Thirty-seven dead, but nearly a quarter of the crew are walking wounded at the moment.” Lin settled a hand on her arm. “We’ve lost the bridge for now and a lot of exterior compartments too. The emergency force field system wasn’t happy with the strain so Velan ordered evacuations and bulkhead closures for now so we can keep fields up in places where teams are just working to seal breaches.”

“The bastard packed a punch.”

She felt a spike of regret and pride from Lin at reminding her of the battleship. “I should have seen that shield flaw earlier,” he muttered. “But we got the bastard before it got us.”

“Rescues me from caves, beats up Klingons who insult me and kills Dominion battleships. Anything you can’t do?”

“Keep you safe?” Lin answered.

“You did that love.” She tried to sit up but gave up straight away. “You kept the ship safe by beating that monster.”

“Make you breakfast then?” Lin offered half-heartedly

“Oh please, never again!” She laughed, then coughed straight away, wincing in pain as she did. “Stay with me for a bit?”

“That an order?” Lin asked.

“It’s a request from your girlfriend. Your captain likely would say you’ve got a job to do and go do it. Or get me a list of our dead so we can start working on letters. Or a million other things.”

“Then the captain can punish me for insubordination later,” Lin said as she moved herself to sit on the bed properly. “Because I need some time to just…feel.”

“You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant T’Val turned at Mac’s announcing himself and faced him, her face void of emotion as was to be expected. But he couldn’t help but notice something off about the Vulcan. She’d asked to see him and he’d tracked her down to Shuttlebay 2 in the parking spot assigned to Harpy 3, the Karpathos. While the shuttlebay was a buzz of activity, crews servicing the remaining two fighters as their skillsets weren’t needed elsewhere right now, this spot was a spot of calm in the storm.

“Commander,” she answered, her voice as always rich and clear. “I would like to take responsibility for communicating with Lieutenant Petrov’s family regarding his passing. As well as Ensigns Burke and Grant.”

“Of course,” he answered. “Forward any letters to me and I’ll review them. Is that all Lieutenant?”

She paused for a moment, her head tilting to one side momentarily. “I…Commander, this is the first time I’ve lost people who were under my command. I admit I am having some difficulty processing the situation.”

“Oh?”

“I have reviewed all the sensor data from the battle and can find no fault with any decisions I or my pilots made. They flew according to my expectations during combat and I have no doubt beyond their own expectations. And yet we still lost three pilots to enemy action. Logically I understand that I can not account for the actions of the enemy, they are a variable outside of my control. And yet –“

“It angers you? Confuses you? Saddens perhaps?” he asked at a low point in her speaking.

“All of those things,” she answered.

“First off, I’m not a counsellor,” he said. “So do see Hu. And maybe consult with some of the other Vulcans aboard ship?” He didn’t need to have a suddenly moody Vulcan running around the ship. Not that that would happen. He hoped. “But all those feelings – totally natural.”

“And yet you and the captain, both far more emotionally expressive entities, aren’t displaying as such.”

“The captain is dosed up in sickbay, so she gets a pass right now. As for me, I’m too busy to consider such things right now. The crew can’t see us wallowing around, or skulking the halls looking for someone to beat into shape right now. They need to see us as in charge, in control and doing our jobs.”

He stopped for a moment and took stock of just what he said. A few years ago he wouldn’t have said such a thing. A few years ago he’d likely not have been in this sort of situation at all. He had been stuck and going nowhere. But he’d had his butt kicked into action. He’d done those advanced command courses he always said he would. He’d done far more reading and study on such things than he wanted to consider.

“I’m not going to lie, Lieutenant, I wish I had your emotional control. It would be helpful. But right now I’m just keeping busy and will process all of this later. Is it healthy? Probably not, but it is why we have a team of counsellors onboard.”

“I believe I understand Commander,” she replied, then straightened her back even more. “Where do you need me, sir?”

“Battle bridge. Velan wants to recalibrate flight controls before we set course for Deneb and I want the best pilot we have sorting it out.”

“Understood.”

“Oh and Lieutenant,” he shouted at her back as she departed. She stopped, turning on her heel with utter precession. “Consider Ensign Tabaaha for Harpy Flight when you have a moment. Nerves of steel that one.”

“Slow down and repeat what you just said,” Rrr stated, their voice filling Atlantis’ battle bridge far too easily.

“I said I’ve figured out how to get us up to a much higher warp speed, even with our damaged drives,” Samantha Michaels repeated with a grin on her face. She waved Rrr over and turned back to the console where she was seated and to her fellow co-conspirator. “Well, okay, Jessica and I came up with the idea.”

“Uh, hi,” the young ensign in Engineering yellow said with a polite wave. “Ensign Jessica Chu.”

“Oh, I was half afraid you would be Ensign Sumner,” Rrr said.

“Jess? Everyone loves Jess,” Jessica responded, then squinted her eyes at Rrr. “Are you serious sir?”

Rrr just stared at Jessica but the contest was interrupted by Sam nudging her.

“So, the problem is we can’t get produce a powerful enough warp field for higher speeds, so we’re stuck at warp seven.” Sam brought up a side view of Atlantis and her warp field in a diagram. “Power more power in, we’ll melt the coils we have left. Only way we can go faster is to stop, discharge the nacelles, make repairs –“

“I understand the repair aspect of the situation, please continue,” Rrr grumbled. They were a little impatient, like more of the senior staff at the moment. There was a lot of work to do and not a lot of hands to do it at the moment. Sickbay was working as fast as they could to get people back on their feet but till then even senior officers were finding they had to chip in and a double shift grated on even the toughest of officers.

“Sorry. So…what if we made it easier on Atlantis to get to those higher speeds?” Sam then tapped a key and the diagram shifted, a second ship appearing in front of Atlantis with its own warp drive. A ship with four nacelles.

“I’ve been cycling on the holodeck with a few friends lately,” Ensign Chu chipped in. “South of France, summer, not important.” She waved the useless facts away. “Anyway, there’s this concept called drafting. Everyone rides in a line, and the person in front is doing more work than everyone else. As they tire out they fall to the back and let the next in line lead for a bit.”

“You want to draft Atlantis behind Papakura?” Rrr asked, then found themselves emulating Velan, not accounting for the lack of a beard on their silicate exterior. “Those Sagan-class monsters do have the engine power for it. And the quad-nacelle design likely does help out. But the warp field calculations so we don’t kill ourselves would be horrendous.”

“Already started on them,” Sam said. “Simulations should start giving workable results within the hour. We’ll need to tie automatics in between our two ships no matter what so both computers can adjust on the fly and cancel out quicker than any of us could should something happen.”

“Guess that Fleet Formation hardware might actually have a use then,” Rrr grumbled. “This is a promising idea.”

“Thank you, sir,” Chu said. “But it was just spitballing.”

“Some of the best ideas often are,” they replied, then fished in a pocket to pull out the keys. The token of command that had of late been forgotten about in the face of urgency. But this wasn’t one of those moments.

“We’re at warp, heading back for Deneb, surrounded by Papakura, Admiral Ketterac and five Klingon warships. I think we’re safe enough, yes? Safe enough I can go for a wander down to Engineering?” they asked of Sam.

“Yeah, think so boss,” she answered, then held out her hands for the keys.

“How safe?” they asked, holding the keys just short of her hands.

“Damn safe,” she answered. “I can watch the ship while you go for a walk.”

“Damn safe?” Rrr couldn’t help but grin, then turned to Ensign Chu, offering her the keys. “You have the conn, Ensign. Lieutenant Michaels, show Ensign Chu the ropes, will you?”

They watched as Sam’s face went through a quick flash of annoyance, to understanding, then mirth. They were foisting her into a tutoring position, and a chance to give an ensign a taste of command and Sam had picked up on it and was willing to run with it.

“Aye sir,” Sam said. “Right Jessica, first up, the captain’s seat. First things first, the captain always has it set way too low, so never ever mess with preset 1.”

“Oh no, no no no. I can’t sit in the captain’s chair,” Rrr heard Ensign Chu protesting as Michaels guided her across the battle bridge.

“Sure you can. You’ve got the keys to the ship after all.”

“Sorry sir, haven’t seen Commander Velan for a few hours.”

“Last I saw him he was toiling around deck twelve with those Romulan engineers from the Ketterac. Those folks know their stuff. Should have seen them when Stubby came after one of them! Priceless!”

“Oh, no sir. The Romulans were on deck fourteen looking over the life support systems. Well, some of them anyway. We’ve spread them around on non-critical repairs.”

“Sorry sir, Commander Velan went off duty a few hours ago. Said he needed some rack time before getting back into it.”

Rrr had tried calling Velan numerous times after the third run around, but the ship’s second officer had opted to ignore calls to his comms. It said something for how preoccupied their mind was that the possibility of a threat to Velan hadn’t occurred until they stepped out of a turbolift not far from Velan’s quarters.

Opting for the responsible course of action, security had been called. Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va had then opted to bring Gold Team with them and upon seeing Rrr, head cocked to one side, had simply said “I am not taking risks with a potential Changeling threat.”

“Fair enough,” Rrr answered as they fell into step beside the Xindi-Insectoid, proceeding to the Commander’s quarters in silence, save for boots on carpeted floors. “Let’s at least try the door, shall we?”

“As you wish,” Ch’tkk’va answered, though raised a weapon anyway. “You are after all tougher than I am.”

“On the outside, perhaps,” Rrr joked. “And the inside. But deep down I’m just as fragile as all of you.”

“Then I shall remember to only use insults to bring you down Lieutenant.”

Rrr stop themselves, finger above the call button and looked to Ch’tkk’va, puzzled. “A joke? Really?”

“You have obviously never seen the captain and me talking off-duty. I have been told,” the Xindi-Insectoid said plainly, clicks barely audible over the universal translator, “I have a very sharp sense of humour.”

Rrr couldn’t help but chuckle and kept chuckling as the call button was finally pushed. And then pushed again.

There was a quiet thump, then a curse from inside the quarters, followed immediately by a very hasty “Just a moment!”

“That didn’t sound distressed,” Rrr said.

“That’s what they want you to think,” Ch’tkk’va countered.

“Commander,” Rrr said loudly to the door this time. “Lieutenants Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr and Ch’tkk’va here. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you, sir.”

There was the sound of another voice inside, but quiet enough that words were indistinct. Then Velan once more spoke up. “I said just a moment!”

“He said just a moment,” Rrr echoed, which earned a single ‘ha’ from one of the hazard team members before they shrunk under the glare of their fellow team members. “Now now, laughter is a good stress reliever.”

“And a distraction,” Ch’tkk’va retorted.

Finally, the door to Velan’s quarters hissed open and instead of Commander Velan, as Rrr and Ch’tkk’va were expected, they were greeted by Sub-Commander Kendis of the Admiral Ketterac. She was just finishing buttoning up her uniform jacket and looked both of the lieutenants over before clearing her throat. “Excuse me.”

Before Ch’tkk’va could protest, Rrr stepped aside, a smile on their face. “Sorry for the interruption Sub-Commander.”

“Quiet all right,” she said, then stalked past them and through the security team present.

Then as one, they all turned on Velan who was standing there in a similar state of just finishing getting dressed. “Not a word,” Velan said as he looked straight at Rrr, a finger pointing straight at the Gaen. “Not a single forsaken word.”

“You weren’t answering your comms,” Rrr said, doing their best to sound the epitome of professionalism. “We were concerned for your well-being.”

It took Velan a moment before he buried his face in his hands. “Of for the love of,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t even think.”

“Sir, there’s a possibility –“ Ch’tkk’va started before being cut off by Rrr.

“I think Lieutenant the security concern is over-hyped. The Lieutenant Commander was…blowing off steam?” Rrr asked.

“Not,” Velan said, lifting his face from his hands, “another word.”

“Very well,” Ch’tkk’va said, then signalled for their people to depart as they did, leaving Rrr and Velan alone in the corridor.

“You’re going to bury me alive with this aren’t you?” Velan asked.

“Who, me?” Rrr asked, holding a hand to their chest. “Never. Won’t tell a soul.”

Velan whole body sighed in defeat. “What do I owe you not to have this spread around the ship like Lypician lice?”

“That can wait,” Rrr proclaimed. “More importantly, I have an ensign and a lieutenant who think they’ve come up with a way to get us to Deneb faster. Perhaps you’d like to come and see their thinking?”

Velan’s despair disappeared in the face of an engineering puzzle. “Best see what bright young minds have come up. And if we hurry, we catch Vilo and get her input.”

“Vilo?” Rrr asked, knowing full well the answer that was about to arrive.

“Sub-Commander Kendris,” Velan said with an exasperated tone. “Cripes, you’re going to be impossible aren’t you?”

“I’m going to revel in this,” Rrr reassured the chief engineer. “And enjoy it for all it’s worth!”

“Yes, Stirling?” Tikva asked, looking up from the paperwork on her desk.

“Five minutes ma’am,” her yeoman said before he started to putz around the small ready room, tidying things away, putting a cup and plate back into the replicator.

The ready room off the battle bridge was just like the battle bridge itself – small, cramped and generally not meant for long-term use. It really was just meant to be a retreat for the ship’s captain, to think or consult in private. It wasn’t meant to be a long-term office.

“Have you managed to line up the music I asked for?”

“I have already provided it to Lieutenant Michaels for broadcasting. As well as providing the schedule to Lieutenant Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr to transmit to the fleet for our little presentation piece.” He finished tidying the office, aside from the padds on the desk, standing at attention with hands clasped behind his back.

“Fantastic,” Tikva said, finishing off the letter she had been working on and then turning the padd off. “Shall we go and put on a performance for our audience?”

“The allied fleet defending the Deneb system, or the Dominion fleet we’re arriving in behind of?” Fightmaster asked.

“Oh, why sell ourselves short? Let’s go put on a show for everyone. Friends, enemies and the Admiralty alike.”

“I believe ma’am the admirals will definitely have something to say with your plan.” Fightmaster stepped aside to let Tikva leave while he finished tidying up.

Not but a few seconds later she was accepting the keys from Mac, both of their attention on the viewscreen showing the tactical plot for the entire Deneb system. The bulk of the Dominion fleet had beaten them, by virtue of Atlantis’ battle damage and by design. Atlantis, Papakura and their Tholian allies had swung around to come in on the same vector as the largest Dominion force had, cutting off their avenue of retreat.

The Deneb system itself was a hive of blue and green transponder codes, forming up for battle or rushing to those formations as fast as they could. A whole slew of new contacts in orbit indicated hastily assembled and shipped-in defence platforms. The system wasn’t a fortress, but it was giving a mighty fine impression of one right now.

“No response to us being here outside of some rather serious scans,” Mac offered. “Though to be fair they were scanning Kaltene’s ships more than ours.”

“There’s a Vorta over there confused at Tholians riding shotgun, but has dismissed them. After all, what’s a barely combat-capable Sovvie, a Sagan and three light Tholian ships going to do to that absolute wall of ships?”

“Oh how little they know,” Mac said with glee.

“Let’s enlighten them, shall we?” Tikva said as she sat down.

Mac nodded as he approached his seat on the battle bridge and tapped a key, leaving Tikva in her solitary seat in the middle of the cramped space. As the all-hands whistle went up throughout the ship, there was a quiet pause before Mac spoke up for all to hear.

“All hands to battle stations,” he announced just once. A short, sweet and formal declaration that Atlantis was about to enter the fray.

“Captain, didn’t expect to see you on your feet,” Lieutenant Samantha Michaels stated as the door to the battle bridge opened in front of Tikva.

And apparently with that phrase Sam had managed to figure out how to launch an Ensign clear across the bridge, fumbling the ship’s keys as she went. At least Ensign Tabaaha had the decency to immediately fetch the keys.

“Captain’s place is on the bridge,” she replied to the junior operations officer. “But don’t mind me, just passing through to my ready room.” She then grinned at Tabaaha, who was approaching with keys in hand. “As you were Ensign.”

“I…uh…ma’am?” the young Amero-Indian woman responded.

“You have the conn,” Tikva continued, trying to play the moment off as cooly as she could. They were still two days away from Deneb, after all. There was no need for someone more senior to be in command while just cruising at Atlantis’ best speed.

A series of chirps from the ops console caught the attention of the three women, the rest of the bridge crew busy with their own work and too enthralled to notice. Credit where it was due, Sam was at her station quick smart and bringing up the report. “Sensors are picking up shadows forming up all around us ma’am. Admiral Ketterac and Papakura are reporting the same.”

“What about our Klingon friends?” Tikva asked as she walked up to Tabaaha and held out a hand to the young woman, who was very quick to be done with the keys and return to the helm beside Sam. It could be nothing, but she wanted to be in charge and Kelly Tabaaha most certainly didn’t want to right now.

“They haven’t – scratch that, we’re being hailed by the IKS Mak’beht. She’s not one of the ships travelling with us.” Sam read the header on the hail. “Captain Tor’bel, House Lorkoth, Second Task Force.”

“Well put them on,” Tikva said and was within a few moments greeted by the visage of a Klingon who looked like he’d barely ever been in combat. He wasn’t young, just unmarred and well-kept. Either he’d never seen battle or was very, very good at it. The phrase that came to mind was ‘model’ but she knew that would be insulting in Klingon culture. He looked a contemporary of Hor’keth and the murderous look in his eyes made her immediately wish she hadn’t allowed him to start his campaign of logistics disruption and accompany the forces back to Deneb. Then he’d be here to deal with this.

“Captain Tor’bel, I take it you’re in command of the reinforcements that Hor’keth said would come?” No pleasantries, just straight to the point.

“Where is that self-aggrandising, glory-seeking, silver-tongued idiot?” Tor’bel growled at her. While he was giving the impression of anger, she wasn’t tasting that emotion. No, it was something else. Worry? Concern? Fear?

“He is busy leading his hunting party behind Dominion and Breen lines in search of decent prey,” she answered. “He could not be dissuaded from his plan.” It wasn’t entirely true. It had been part of the plan after all, but when the entire Starfleet and Republic contingent were falling back for repairs, he had sent only a handful of ships to accompany them versus returning with them to maintain the original plan as best as possible.

“Idiot!” Tor’bel bellowed, slamming a fist into his command chair’s arm with fury. Fury Tikva could tell was aimed at Hor’keth. Taking a moment, Tor’bel returned to the present and focused on Tikva. “I would speak with you in person Captain Theodoras. And your Commander Gantzmann. My task force will accompany you to Deneb.”

“Very well Captain. We can beam you and a party over to Atlantis in, shall we say ten minutes?”

Tor’bel merely huffed in acceptance at the terms before the channel went dead.

“He seemed pleasant,” Sam said. “Oh wow…all those ships just networked with our other cloaked friends. Ma’am, you’re gonna want to see this.” Sam made space to Tikva could look over her shoulder and see the true magnitude of the Klingon ships assembled around them under cloak.

“Okay, that was,” Sam confided to Kelly after Tikva had left the battle bridge giggling to herself, “probably the scariest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

“What? Why?” Tabaaha asked.

“Captains shouldn’t giggle. The captain is coming up with a stupid plan.”

“We are secure from warp,” T’Val announced. “And proceeding at three-quarters impulse speed.”

“Is that our best speed?” Tikva asked.

“At present ma’am. Though I suspect it will get worse before it gets better.”

“Guns,” Tikva turned to the tactical station where Lin and her assistant were both standing, “let’s get our guests’ attention shall we?”

“Long-range torpedoes, aye ma’am.”

The torpedoes that launched from Atlantis weren’t meant to actually hit any targets. Or even get near them. What they were meant to do was show up on Dominion sensors as torpedoes being fired. With the extra emitters shoved into them instead of a warhead, they would show up on everyone’s sensors. Probably on some tricorders even. They were the closest Atlantis could do to signal flares to announce their arrival to all and sundry.

They were meant to draw attention, to make someone within that Dominion fleet bearing down on Deneb pay attention to a sensor screen for a moment after so rudely dismissing them as a viable threat.

Tikva counted to three, mouthing it but not speaking, then raised a hand as she continued. Four. Five. Then pointed straight to Sam Michaels at the secondary ops station. “Now,” she commanded and the junior grade lieutenant swivelled and tapped a single prepared command into her station.

“Transmitting on all non-Fleet operations channels now ma’am,” Sam answered.

“White noise?” Rrr asked from Ops.

“Mars, Bringer of War by Gustav Holst,” Tikva answered. “Put it on speaker. We have time to listen to it before we close. Rrr, signal the fleet to start the clocks on the plan.”

“Where is Hor’keth?” Tor’bel demanded again as he was shown into the small meeting room. None of the conference rooms were particularly suitable for hosting guests right now.

Lin, summoned at Tikva’s request, stepped forward and shoved a Klingon datapad into Tor’bel’s chest without a word. She did not step back as Tor’bel stopped, considered things for a brief moment, then took up the padd and read it.

“The man is a fool,” Tor’bel said after a full minute of reading the padd, throwing it to the floor beside him. “If he thinks I will –“

Lin, without having warned Tikva at all of what was to come, socked Tor’bel straight in the jaw, sending the meticulously put-together and handsome Klingon to the floor. And before he could stand she stepped over him, a boot on his chest and forced him to the floor. Shock seemed to be doing most of the work for her.

“I know Hor’keth, I don’t know you,” Lin growled. “He said you’ll do as your told. Or you’ll bring dishonour on him. What will it be?”

The tension was palpable, the room ready to explode, before Tor’bel conceded with a raising of his hands. Lin kept him down for a few more heartbeats, then helped the man to his feet and directed him to a chair.

“He said you were to the point,” Tor’bel muttered as he sat. “And you,” he turned to Tikva, “were dangerous for inspiring such loyalty.”

“I try.” Tikva held his eyes for a moment. “We should talk about a plan I just had. But first, before we get anywhere, I have a question to ask of you. It might be personal, so don’t feel you need to answer it.” She sat herself down at the table as well, opposite Tor’bel. “When you first hailed us you weren’t angry at Hor’keth. You were concerned. Worried even. What’s your relationship to him?”

Tor’bel sighed, settling into the chair. “He’s my par’Mach’kai,” Tor’bel admitted. “And my only real worry and concern is he’ll end up getting to Sto’vo’kor before me. I hate being late.”

“Then let me lay out my plan. Because we’re heading for the biggest fight since the Dominion War and he’s off raiding supply lines.” Tikva sat forward. “Plenty of glory and honour to be won for all, yes?”

Tor’bel’s grin as he sat forward was answer enough before she started mentioning her plan, her theatrics.

They had a show to put on.

As Atlantis, Papakura and the Tholian ships continued in system, following the Dominion attack force after doing everything in their power to gain their attention, space around them started to shimmer and blur.

Light green hulls started to emerge from the distortions as a Valdore-class cruiser and her few escorts slid into solid shapes in formation with the Starfleet ships. While the escorts dropped into guard around Admiral Ketterac, the Tholian ships responded by doing the same to Atlantis.

And as the music blaring across all frequencies continued to swell, more ships continued to decloak at each peak. Dark green hulls slid from nothingness into existence with a long enough period before the next batch did that someone could count and verify the numbers of each batch.

And they just kept coming as the forces of House Lorkoth, of a ready unit of KDF ships and assorted independent commands and smaller allied houses revealed themselves as a force that couldn’t be ignored on the Dominion’s rear.

And as the orchestral piece wound to a close, the last ship had revealed itself, Atlantis broadcast one last message for all to hear.

May humanity after Victory be the predominant feature of the Fourth Fleet.