“For the love of all that is holy,” Evan Malcolm muttered as he looked out of the glass canopy of the inspection pod upon his greatest work to date.

“Sir?” the young ensign beside him asked. The young man had been assigned as his pilot for the day, freeing him up to conduct an actual visual inspection of the ship. What he lacked in years and experience he also lacked in understanding that sometimes an engineer wasn’t talking to a person, but the twisted and maligned nature of the universe as a whole, intent to ruin someone’s day.

And that nature had a name. A name that every engineer learned and loathed for its ability to summon chaos. To rend a perfectly fine day into a shitstorm. To turn what was supposed to be a perfect inspection into even more work.

Murphy.

“Stop the pod,” Even grumbled as he moved in his seat so he could directly up. “Back us up about ten meters.”

Right there on the underside of USS Republic’s saucer, standing out as if it was highlighted in red, encircled by flashing lights and neon arrows pointing at it, was the target of Evan’s rapidly forming foul mood. One of the external hull panels, a large ten-metre square piece of plating, was not the same colour as the rest of the ship’s hull.

“Fucking seriously,” he muttered again.

“I don’t see it,” the ensign said, following Evan’s gaze and on inspection staring right at it too. “Wait…” The boy squinted, squinted some more, and then relaxed his eyes. “Is that panel a different colour? Geez, subtle isn’t it?”

Subtle wasn’t the word Evan would have used. Obvious. Apparent. Conspicuous. A glaring mark on the hull of the ship he was still the construction supervisor on.

He sighed, a finger jamming down on a comm button on the limited console before him. “Jamieson, Malcolm here.”

“What’s up Commander?” the husky yet feminine voice on the other end answered. She was, like him, still heading Republic’s construction team, but bound to actually be aboard the ship when it finally left port. Unlike himself, she was actually looking forward to active duty aboard a starship.

“Saucer, ventral, fore starboard quarter, section twelve and thirteen,” he said after glancing at his console, confirming the location of the offending panel in question. “Got a hull panel that needs repainting.”

“One second.” He could hear tapping on a keyboard from her side. “Got it. It’s scheduled for repainting this afternoon in fact. Looks like Marcus spotted it yesterday.”

“And of course he didn’t tell me or leave a note,” he complained.

“If he had I’d have reported him for being an imposter,” Jamieson quipped. “I’ll speak with Gonrel and see if they can’t push the repainting up the schedule.”

“Don’t bother,” he conceded. Murphy would win this round. For now. “We’re not due for a final flag inspection until tomorrow afternoon and every inspection this week has been either on time or delayed. It would take a perfect storm for it to happen a full day ahead of schedule.”

A full day, that would by that afternoon, become two full days. With a missive from her desk, Admiral Tau had issued additional leave for Orbital Assets. And naturally the construction inspectors had been the first in the queue to take a day or two off, to rest their weary and world-worn, chair-bound backsides upon the beaches of Avalon II while those who worked for a living carried on with the duties set upon them.

And so, as the world spun beneath them and time passed on, Republic eventually came under the meticulous and relentless attentions of Captain Andreus Corrin. A man who had never in his ten years as an inspector passed a ship on its first inspection. Who had always found a fault with a ship, somehow and no matter how small, that he could use to delay certification and mark it against the ship’s construction supervisor. ‘Why,’ he had heard Corrin lament a few years ago when he had been in Jamieson’s boots as an assistant, ‘you modern construction crews can’t finish a ship by the time of first inspection I will never know. I know I never had to have follow-up inspections when I supervised starship construction.’

“Where’s Marcus?” He found himself asking out of the side of his mouth at Jamieson as he waited for Corrin to cross the shuttlebay from his shuttle.

“On leave, just as you wanted,” she reassured him. “Everything, and I mean everything, is sorted. He fails us, I’m spacing him, you and then myself.” Her levity was not appreciated and the grumbling he issued told her so.

Hours later, or an eternity in a bureaucratic circle of hell from which the likes of Andreas Corrin had slithered out of and then back into, Evan Malcolm sat himself down at the bar in the senior officer’s lounge aboard ship. He and Jamieson had done the impossible – appease the Chthonic deity responsible for allowing a ship to be certified as ‘complete’ on the first pass. Murphy, the god of mischief and engineer’s ulcers, had obviously decided to spend their day elsewhere as well.

Which meant something, somewhere, was either going to or about to go horribly wrong.

But it was a problem for another day. Right now, was a time for celebration. He and Jamieson both sighed in relief at the same time, sharing a brief chuckle afterwards.

“Barkeep,” he said, attempting to invoke the holographic barkeep into existence. Republic didn’t have a full crew yet. Didn’t even have full stores. But in lieu of that, both the Agora and the Pnyx, the two main lounges, did feature holographic staff. If somewhat limited in features and capabilities, they were capable of, as advertised, attending to the needs of the social space’s patrons.

“Barkeep,” he repeated when nothing happened.

“Seriously, this is our glitch?” Jamieson exclaimed as a ghostly apparition started to take form behind the bar. It wasn’t the seconds-long activation of an EMH or a holodeck character. This was slow, blocky, snapping into and out of existence. A garbled and tortured utterance accompanied its brief existence before disappearing back into nothingness.

“Who was responsible for installing the bar?” Even uttered, defeat in his voice. It wasn’t a line item in the inspection, but he was damned if he was going to hand this ship over to its eventual commanding officer with a broken holographic barkeep.

This ship would be perfect.

His ship would be perfect.

“Who cares right now,” Jamieson answered as she got to her feet, rounded the bar and pulled out two chilled glasses from behind the bar and promptly went about filling them with a golden lager. “You did the fucking impossible today Evan. To Corrin and his Never Pass First Inspection, may it rest in peace.”

He took up his glass, rocked his head side to side and answered her toast with a clinking of glass and a sip of beer. “You know, this means we’re no longer Orbital Assets anymore. We’re Republic crew now.”

“This day just gets better and better,” she replied. “Aren’t you currently the senior most officer aboard ship as well?”

“Just until the executive officer gets aboard. We’re apparently going to have to go pick up our captain as well.” Republic was being not so much rushed into service, but rushed or outright ignoring the pomp and ceremony of commissioning. The slip space was needed, the ship was complete, and there was no need to sit around, to wait for people to move around and assemble when the duty station could move around and pick them up after all.

“So, until whoever they are shows up, that makes you the captain right?”

“No.” He said it as a declaration to the universe. He had no desire or intent to command a starship at all. He was only going on active field duty for experience, to get time as a chief engineer before returning triumphantly to his passion of construction. This new assignment was merely a career progression formality. “No,” he repeated as Jamieson smiled at him.

“Captain Evan Malcolm,” she said, from her lips to Murphy’s ears. “Got a nice sound to it.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, before starting in on his beer properly.

As the transporter finished cycling and the transporter room aboard Republic came to his senses, Lieutenant Commander Matt Lake, late of the USS Vamektu, found himself greeted by only two people waiting for him. Or more precisely only one of them was waiting for him, the other was likely just there to facilitate his arrival.

Dismissing the ensign behind the transporter controls and focusing on the lieutenant in front of him, an Orion woman of a solid build in Security yellow, admittedly a guess at her department, he offered a warm smile as he stepped down off the pad. “Lieutenant Commander Matt Lake, permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted and welcome aboard the USS Republic,” the woman answered, her voice quiet and level. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place his finger on it straight away. “Lieutenant Selu Levne, Chief of Security,” she introduced herself, then held out a hand to the door exiting the transporter bay. “I apologize that Lieutenant Commander Malcolm couldn’t be here to greet you personally but he’s been called shoreside.”

As they exited out into the corridor, busy with personnel moving around, be it merely rushing from one place to another, or facilitating the receipting and storing of the ship’s stores from the look of it, she led him through the tumult with ease. “A Lieutenant Commander is a little junior to be commanding a new Constitution III, so I’m guessing this Malcolm fellow is the XO?” he asked as he increased his gait to match hers and keep stride.

She might have been shorter than him, but she walked with purpose. That aura, that sense of being, was likely the mystical force parting the seas of junior officers and enlisted, letting two of the ship’s senior officers move around mostly unmolested. She turned her head briefly to look at him, an eyebrow raised, before turning back to look straight ahead. He’d been judged and found wanting clearly.

Again, alarm bells were ringing in his head and again he was failing to understand what his subconscious had picked up on.

“Lieutenant Commander Malcolm is the Chief Engineer for Republic and was, until your arrival, the senior officer aboard ship.”

He stopped. He watched her take a few steps past him, then turn to face him, again with that curious look on her face. “I’m sorry, did you say he was the senior officer aboard ship? Was as in the past tense?”

“That would be correct,” she replied, then turned, her head first, then body in a fluid motion, as she continued down the corridor, forcing him to catch up once more. “According to records you have three weeks of seniority on Commander Malcolm, so until the executive officer reports aboard, you are nominally in command.”

“My first command, how grand,” he said, unable to prevent the sarcasm from infecting his words. “Any word on when the XO is supposed to report aboard ship?”

Levne had led him to a turbolift, pausing in front of the door, the indicator light next to the door showing a car was on the way. “Tomorrow afternoon, ship time,” she answered as the doors parted.

He followed, letting her select the destination and found himself riding the short distance in silence. With a stunning lack of conversation, he turned to study her features, to commit them to memory and see if he could deduce what some quiet part of his own mind had twigged to about her that was odd. Olivine skin tone, dark hair and eyes, strong shoulders, and solid build. Nothing he couldn’t rationalise with what he knew of Orions already.

But whereas he was used to an easy charm from Orions, she was standoffish. Stoic even. She must have noticed him studying her but she’d ignored him. Not even glancing in his direction or asking what he was doing. Just endured the silent study until the turbolift doors parted once more and she continued to lead him through the maze of the ship’s halls. “The ship’s operations chief will also be reporting aboard with the executive officer tomorrow. Until then we’re operating on a schedule of my design. I have you scheduled as officer of the watch tomorrow morning if that is acceptable?”

“Uh, certainly,” he stammered out.

“Your quarters,” Levne suddenly announced as she stopped in front of a door, no different from any of the others on his deck or that they’d passed. A finger pressed to the controls next to it and it parted for him. “The rest of your effects will be brought to you as soon as possible and I have asked Lieutenant Stoner to report to you within the hour to give you a tour of the science labs aboard ship.”

“Uh, thank you.” He squinted at her then, studying her and in response, she raised a single eyebrow at him. It was a near-universal expression, the unspoken question prompting the first person to explain themselves. But it was enough for his subconscious to finally let his conscious mind in on what it had deduced. Or wildly speculated at. “Tell me, Lieutenant, out of curiosity, do you have any Vulcan ancestors by any chance?”

The eyebrow settled back down, which Matt had learned from his years working with Vulcans was either ‘everything is back to normal’ or a non-verbal sigh. He had never managed to figure out which was which, even with other context clues. There must have been some other body language sign he was missing and Vulcans just weren’t willing to explain it. A ‘you wouldn’t get it if we tried’ cultural thing. Something best learned through cultural absorption, like a child in their formative years.

“Senior officer personnel records are available for your perusal,” Levne answered. “If that is all Lieutenant Commander?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

 With a brief nod, she turned on her heel and was off, leaving him to stare through the doorway and into his new quarters. It was intensely barebones, with just the barest of furniture present. There was no warmth, no character to the room. He could have stepped into a dozen other quarters on this deck and likely only known the difference by the view outside the windows.

“Oh, this just isn’t going to do,” he muttered and stepped inside, tossing his carry bag onto the provided grey couch. He’d had hotel rooms with more character to them. “Not going to do at all.” Then he looked out the window, catching the disc of Avalon, the blue-green tantalizing to those in orbit. “Wonder how quickly I can get things delivered?” he asked, thought about it for a few moments, then marched towards the desk and the console waiting there.

One couldn’t judge a bit of procurement for decoration now could they?

“Don’t look now team but I think we’ve got our first admirer.”

Dirk ‘Knives’ Mattis, the single largest member of the Night Witches, was at the opposite end of the half-court from the basket and therefore the only one who could see the Bay Control office windows above them. He dribbled the ball a few more times, then looked to Catalina ‘Cat’ Saez, their squadron leader and nodded once, before making an all too obvious advance, letting himself be intercepted by her and swapping possession of the ball and position. Their game had gone from just a chance for the whole squad to blow off steam to a cover for a counter-spying operation.

Shuttlebay 1 had become the official home for the Night Witches, with its larger bay and ease for quick recoveries and quicker launches. And while the squadron had only been aboard the ship, still sitting in her construction slip, for a few days now, it had only taken them a few hours to find a spot somewhat off to the side, out of the major traffic areas, and go about setting up a basketball half-court. And this was despite the protests of T’Kenn who duly noted that Republic did feature a gym on the same deck which did have a half-court already.

“Looks like the bus driver,” Cat commented after a moment. She looked over the court and specifically at her two teammates for this particular game. She’d had first pick against Dirk and naturally stole T’Kenn, ‘Blunt’, but the Vulcan was just standing there, looking as impassive as possible. He had speed and agility aplenty and would react if he had thought it worthwhile, but otherwise did his best to pretend to be a statue. Then she had Moana ‘Flip’ Tipene, who did respond to her glance. The tall, solidly built Polynesian woman could just about give Dirk a run for his money in size but had him routinely beat on strength. A juke around Dirk, a pass to Flip and the ball was sailing through the air towards the net once more. As Flip liked to remind everyone, netballers had to put a ball through the hoop without the benefit of a backboard so when the ball sailed through the hoop, only making contact with the net, it was just what was expected.

Sonhi ‘Crash’ Nagnax, the squadron’s resident Trill, took the ball after it hit the ground and proceeded towards the backline, giving Cat a wink as she passed. She was tiny, more so compared to Knives and Flop, barely squeezing past Starfleet’s minimum size requirements for a Valkyrie starfighter pilot. But what she lacked in mass, or strength, she made for in a lighting fast mind and fast reactions. Her response to combat training of any kind was simple – don’t get hit at all. That had gone out the window after she’d been Joined a year ago, but she was getting back to her old form finally.

“Oh she is cute,” Crash commented after barely being at the backline. “Wait, what am I saying?” She shook her head, dismissing an errant thought before her attention came back to the game at hand. There was no sly move, no attempt to let Ebath ‘Red’ Ch’Shirok, the squadron’s resident Andorian to the back line. Crash was, like in all things, in it to win it and for her sake so was Red and Knives.

It was nearly an hour later when the Night Witches as a whole wandered into the Agora, the Republic’s largest social space, offering the best views of the shipyards stretching as far as the eye can see. While pretty sparse with patrons at the moment, the ship’s complement still arriving, staff were present, fittings were in place and every effort was being made to establish an atmosphere of welcoming comfort.

“Eleven o’clock,” Knives muttered, throwing his chin in the direction of the bar and the lieutenant sitting there by herself – their wayward observer from earlier.

“Grab a table folks, I’ll get the drinks,” Cat said, gave them all a wink and parted, heading for the bar and a spot directly next to the only person there.

“Afternoon,” the young man behind the bar greeted her, an easy smile on his lips as he stepped up, doing the perfect job of paying, or at least giving the impression of, his full attention on Cat. “What can I get you, ma’am?”

“Call me Cat,” she offered to the barkeep. “Three lagers, a pilsner, a glass of your strongest water and two bowls of your best pub fries to that pack of lovable idiots.” She half twisted and pointed at the table in the corner by the windows and wall where her people were settling in, earning a wave from Crash. “As for me, whatever she’s having,” she finished the order with a thumb at the lieutenant beside her.

“Triple shot cappuccino, full cream milk and sugar was,” he looked to the lieutenant, wracking his memory. “’Yes, all the yes’?”

“Okay, that’s a bit much,” Cat said, waving the order off. “How about a caramel latte, two sugar? And your name my man.”

“Trent,” the barkeep answered with a smile, a pleasantry about being ‘right back’ and then he was off to sort out her drink order.

“Lieutenant Catalina Saez.” Cat had waited about two whole seconds before turning on the lieutenant next to her and introducing herself. And taking the chance to sit herself down on the barstool she’d been avoiding so far. Only now on examination did she notice the second pip was a hollow one, it having caught the light just right earlier to come across as a full pip at a distance. “You must be Lieutenant Willow Beckman, yes?” She couldn’t help the snap of her fingers, the finger-gun pointing at the younger woman.

Though younger was being used in a strictly technical basis here. The helmswoman for Republic wasn’t that much younger than she was, but those extra years were all the difference it would seem.

“I am,” Willow answered, somewhat surlily. As if answering any of Cat’s questions was costing her greatly. “Chief Helm Officer.”

“Night Witches Squadron Leader,” Cat countered immediately. Someone wanted to throw their position at her, who was she to not counter? “Now we’ve got introductions out of the way and played the who’s got the biggest responsibility game, can we maybe rule out the seemingly clichéd starship and starfighter pilot antagonism and go straight to ‘all on the same team’ state of things?”

“Are we?” Willow answered with her own question.

“All Republic here,” she nodded thanks to Trent as he returned with her coffee, spying another server now heading for the Witches with their drinks and food. The young Andorian woman taking those drinks was, by virtue of being the squadron’s first server, now their favourite as Knives so loudly declared in the near-empty Agora. His appreciation, his undying loyalty and love – all for the meagre price of a cold beer and chips. “Though maybe Trent here is secretly a spy from…the Minnesota?”

“Oh drat,” Trent said, mock shock and under-utilized acting lessons coming to the fore. “My devious and diabolical plan to comfort and ply the crew with food and drinks to their heart’s content exposed.” He then leaned forward, one hand to the side of his mouth, deepening the conspiracy. “Though I’m actually from the Azerbaijan. Fuck the Minnesota.”

Cat couldn’t help the single laugh that escaped her lips, shaking her head and smiling. “Fuck the Minnesota,” she repeated and then turned back to Willow. “See, all Republic here. Say, come have a drink with the Witches. Introductions all around since we’re at your piloting mercy most of the time. Let us get to know she who makes Republic truly dance.”

“Maybe another time,” Willow said, as blandly as possible. “Lieutenant.” And with that acknowledgement, Willow departed, leaving Cat by herself at the bar.

“Okay, someone needs to lighten up,” Trent said, breaking the silence after the doors had closed after Willow’s departure. “Sorry about that LT,” he said, saying the letters themselves. “She was all charm and class yesterday, but once your people came aboard, she got all…prickly.”

“Willow Beckman…wouldn’t happen to know what year she graduated would you?” Cat hadn’t had time to read all the senior staff bios between getting orders and arriving on Republic like she had wanted to, but she’d at least read the names and Willow’s stuck out to her.

“2400,” Trent answered, then looked to her drink. “Still want the cappuccino or something a bit more in line with your people?” he asked, indicating the Witches with his chin.

A polite refusal and a small number of steps later and Cat was sitting down with her team. Crash had made sure to slide the small dish of mayo towards her, followed by the devastated remains of one of the chip bowls, though it looked topped up a little from the other that Knives and Flip were wrecking ruin and devastation upon still.

“So?” Crash asked.

Cat thought for a moment, and even ate a chip while thinking about what to answer. “I think, by virtue of being so gods damn glorious folks, we’re not someone’s particular favourites at the moment.”

“Well that’s a damn shame,” Flip answered, her New Zealand accent very noticeable. “But on to important matters boss.” The table went still, all attention on Cat. “You heard who this boat’s captain is supposed to be?”

“Well…don’t tell anyone, seriously don’t tell anyone, but I did here it’s supposed to be…”

The main shuttlebay aboard the USS Republic was quite literally the definition of brand new. Everything was squeaky clean, the floor looked polished to a deadly precision, and everything was in its place and filed away. Shuttles, fighters and toolboxes alike were all in their places. With everything being so new and not used since coming aboard, no active maintenance teams were going over anything, giving the bay a rather empty feeling as well. A few deck personnel were doing odd jobs, but the only people in the bay to greet the newly arrived shuttle were Republic’s current senior officers.

“I still haven’t seen a personnel jacket for this XO,” Lieutenant Commander Matt Lake said, standing in between his two colleagues. “When I inquired with Operations all I got was ‘Will forward when able’ as a reply.”

“Probably means we’re getting some spook,” Lieutenant Commander Evan Malcolm grumbled to Matt’s left. “And someone just wants to withhold information until they can’t withhold it anymore.”

“That is certainly a possibility,” Lieutenant Selu Levne added to the conversation. “The other is that no decision was made until a few hours ago and therefore there was no personnel jacket to send along until recently.”

“When did you last ask?” Evan asked.

“Last night,” Matt answered. “Haven’t had a chance this morning, what with signing off on transfer requests and cargo forms. Including I might add a request regarding a series of engineering spares that were only requested last night.”

Evan chuckled lightly at that, but it sounded more exasperated than anything. “I was reading the reports from Titan and thought to order a few spares so we don’t get stuck in a similar situation.”

“Well I’m just a science nerd, so I’ll take your word for it,” Matt replied, giving the chief engineer a wry smile. “Though maybe an explanation attached to the request might help in the future?”

“Never had to before,” Evan grumbled.

“Because your superiors were also in starship construction and knew you would only be ordering parts or work done because it needed to be done for deadlines. Trust me, out there in the active Fleet, you’ll need to explain yourself.” Matt offered a slight smile to counter Evan’s disapproval. “Though as an engineer I bet you’ll be able to get away with ‘because if I don’t, we all die’ on your requests unlike me.”

“Huh.” Evan’s disapproving glare evaporated just as the shuttle’s rear hatch finally hissed as seals broke. “Here we go. Money on Andorian.”

“Human,” Matt countered. “Just on demographics in the fleet.”

As they both turned to look at Selu, she looked at them both briefly, with no emotion on her face, then turned her attention back to the shuttle. “Horta brood mother, her minders and no less than five hatchlings.”

“Not on my damn ship,” Evan grumbled. “I just built this ship, I’m not letting someone literally eat it.”

Matt however wasn’t arguing the point like Evan, but instead staring sideways at the Orion to his side. “Horta brood mother?”

Selu once more looked to him, this time with a slight smile. “The odds are not great I will admit.”

“I think Lieutenant, if that’s your idea of a joke, we’re going to get along just fine.”

As the shuttle’s hatch clinked against the deck plates, an inner door opened from the flight deck to the rear compartment. A young Bajoran woman in Operations yellow was the first through the door, followed by another woman in Special Services silver, both chatting with each other amicably. And following them came an Orion woman, a sliver shorter than Republic’s already extant Orion officer and decidedly more extroverted. The three silver pips on her collar announced just who she was as if the red shoulders of her uniform didn’t already.

“Commander Lake, I’m Commander Sidda,” she introduced herself, offering a hand for a surprisingly firm handshake.

“Commander Sidda Sadovu,” the young woman in silver spoke up, her tone correcting and placing emphasis on the last name.

“What she said,” Sidda responded in a light-hearted manner as she offered the woman a wink. She held out a hand, the Bajoran woman producing a padd, which Sidda then handed over to Matt. “Orders, confirmations, security codes and all the attendant paperwork to verify I am who I say I am and that I am the assigned executive officer for USS Republic and nominally in command until such time as we pick up our commanding officer.”

Matt gave the padd a look over, being required to type in an access code he’d only been given yesterday to unlock documents on it. A quick flick through the most relevant and then he too was handing the padd off to Selu. “I stand relieved Commander Sadovu. Welcome to the Republic. This is Lieutenant Commander Evan Malcolm, our chief engineer, and Lieutenant Selu Levne, our chief of security.”

Sidda nodded to each in turn. “Nice to meet you all. This is Lieutenant Jenu Trid, who will be our operations chief, and this is…Crewman Revin.”

“Crewman Revin Sadovu-th’Ven,” Revin said, correcting Sidda once more and seemingly taking no small amount of pride in either the double-barreled last name or the uniform she was wearing.

“th’Ven?” asked Selu almost immediately. “A Romulan family name, yes?”

“Indeed,” Revin answered. “But completely irrelevant I can assure you.”

“Right!” Sidda interjected. “Introductions all around complete, perhaps we can save life stories for a senior staff dinner tonight perhaps?” She clapped her hands once, not waiting for a response. “Fantastic. Now, which way to the bridge? We need to get this young lady on the move.”

“This way boss,” Trid answered. A held-out arm indicated the main doors and soon enough she, Commander Sadovu and Crewman Sadovu-th’Ven were on their way.

Leaving the other three standing there, both Matt and Evan looking a little flabbergasted.

“Aren’t officers assuming command supposed to want a tour of the ship, or to see their quarters first?” Matt asked.

“Haven’t I heard that name before somewhere?” Evan asked.

“Which? Sadovu? There’s a Captain Sadovu on the Sunshine Coast.” Matt shrugged as Evan looked to him. “All I’ve got.”

“I meant Sidda. I know I’ve heard it somewhere.”

“Indeed you likely have.” Selu turned the padd in her hands around and offered it to Evan, who made to snatch it, but stopped himself at the last moment, accepting it with a mouthed apology. “Captain Sidda…Vondem Rose…Battle of Archanis…anti-piracy operations…Starfleet Intelligence. By order of Commodore Sudari-Kravchik. They have put a goddamn spook on our ship.”

“Ours is not to reason why,” Matt quoted as he started to walk toward the main doors back into the ship proper himself. “Besides, sounds like it’ll be the next best thing to serving on a pirate ship without you know…going pirate.”

Evan glared at the padd a moment more, then at Selu. “I’ll take that Horta brood-mother now.”

“Alas, we have our Executive Officer for now,” she answered and then made to follow Matt, catching up quickly with him. “We should head to the bridge and ensure a smooth transition, yes?”

“Maybe even ask if she knows who the captain is going to be,” Matt added. “Before Commander Sadovu hoists a jolly roger.”

“All right ladies and gentlemen,” Sidda announced loudly as she stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge of Republic. “I’ll be your captain for this little trip to go and get our actual captain.”

She’d stepped across the bridge to lay a hand on the back of the captain’s chair, fingers gripping it tightly before relaxing a little. “I’m Captain…Commander Sadovu.” The pause, the moment to stop, think and correct herself before continuing was evident and the knowing smile on Trid and Revin’s faces, like people who were in on the inside joke, made it all the more evident. “I promise I’ll be making proper introductions, doing the rounds and the such, but right now I’d really like to get the show on the road and complete a few things before we hand this beautiful ship over to her rightful commander.”

“And just who might that be?” Lieutenant Commander Matt Lake asked, stepping out of the opposite turbolift with the other two officers who’d been left in the shuttlebay in Sidda’s wake.

“Spoilers,” Sidda answered, throwing a wink at the end before indicating to the XO’s seat for Matt with her free hand. “All in good time.”

“So you do know?” he followed up.

“Of course,” Sidda answered as she stepped around the centre seat, looked at it for a moment, and then took great care as she sat herself down in the seat. “Oh goddesses that’s actually comfortable.”

“Would hope so boss,” Trid said quietly as she walked behind Sidda towards Ops. “It’s new and has never been exposed to the vacuum of space.”

“What?” Matt asked, having just caught some of what was said.

“A story I’d be happy to tell over dinner tonight,” Sidda answered, shutting down Trid’s jibe and Matt’s inquiry. She then pointed straight at the young woman at the helm. “Name and rank.”

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Willow Beckman, ma’am,” the young officer answered.

“Ooof. No, don’t call me ma’am. That’s my mother. Commander, Sidda, Boss or…Mistress of the Ring of Chula…if you want to get fancy.” Sidda turned to Revin, who had found herself a spot at the back of the bridge, back firmly pressed to the wall. Revin’s smile brought one to her own face and she noticed Revin’s right hand covering her left.

“Uh…yes Commander,” Willow corrected herself, which brought Sidda back to reality.

“Right, plot a course for Gateway Station,” Sidda answered, then spun the chair, delighting in the smooth swivel, till she faced Lieutenant Commander Evan Malcolm. “How soon can you give me maximum warp power?”

“What? Now?” Evan asked, then looked to Matt and Selu, the former shrugging while the latter didn’t respond. “An hour for maximum warp. Fifteen minutes just for warp drive.” He took in Sidda’s look at this answer and glared back at her. “We’re sitting in a construction slip. Why would I have the warp engines running?”

“That’s a fair point Mr Malcolm, I apologise,” Sidda answered. “If I can have warp drive in twenty minutes please and maximum speed at your best possible.” She waited, saw his eyes squint a little, then a begrudging nod before he stepped into a turbolift.

Matt leaned over the arm of his chair towards Sidda. “I don’t think you’re making a friend there.”

“No, I don’t think I am. But, I read he built this ship, so why not let him show off how well-built she is and put two endurance runs under her belt before we pick up our captain?”

Matt chuckled as he straightened up. “Now that might just earn you some brownie points. Wait, two endurance runs? So we’re not picking up our captain at Gateway?”

“Oh no. Gateway is an errand I need to run and have sign-off for. Need to deliver a package. Then we’re running for Deep Space 47 in the Thomar Expanse.”

Matt’s eyes moved about while he thought as if looking at a map only he could see. “Thomar…that’s the opposite side of the Federation from Gateway Station. Hell of an errand you’re running.”

“Hell of an endurance test too,” Sidda said, then turned to face Ops. “Lieutenant Jenu, hail the dock master please.”

“Aye Commander,” Trid answered, a quick series of commands and then, “You’re on.”

“Avalon Docking Control, this is USS Republic, requesting permission to depart.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a very rough, but clear masculine voice over the comms. “Republic, this is Control. Permission to depart granted. Departure vectors are being transmitted now. Thrusters only out of your slip and to Able, then clear for quarter impulse to Gamma-4. Proceed to the outer marker after that and then free to manoeuvre afterwards. Safe travels Republic.”

“Roger that Control. Thank you and goodbye for now.” Sidda gave a hand wave about neck height and Trid nodded once before closing the channel. “Right. Disengage all walkways and clear all umbilicals. Beckman, got those vectors?”

“Aye ma’am…Commander. And the course for Gateway is plotted as well. By the time we hit the outer marker, we should have warp drive ready too.”

“Fantastic,” Sidda replied with a smile. “Trid?”

“One moment,” the Bajoran woman said, her hands free of her console but eyes riveted to a few displays. “And…we’re clear and free.”

“Right, before we depart, guess I should say something.” Sidda stood, adjusting her tunic briefly. “I’ll leave profound words of wisdom and the such for our captain when he comes aboard. But I will say this – the best crew in the fleet is always the crew you’re part of. You’re all Starfleet, you’re all giving it your best, you’ve all got each other’s back. As long as that holds true, this is the best damn crew. And the fancy, pretty and exceedingly new starship doesn’t hurt either.”

There was another pause, everyone looking at Sidda as they waited for more. “That said, let’s get moving. Beckman, hit it.”

———-

“You’re a nervous wreck,” Revin said as the door to their shared quarters closed behind her.

“Is it that obvious?” Sidda asked, having already made it to the replicator and the glass of water she’d ordered from the machine. “I’m half-expecting that security chief to try and place me under arrest for impersonating an officer.”

Crossing the room in a few short steps, Revin took Sidda’s free hand and led her to a seat, sitting her down and then taking the glass of water off her, placing it on a nearby table before turning her attention back to Sidda. “It’s obvious to me. I hear it more than anything.”

“Your hearing is either going to be a godsend, or get us in so much trouble one day.” Sidda took Revin’s hands in her own and brought them up to her own face. “You didn’t have to put on that uniform you know.”

“But I look so good in it.”

“Oh no argument love,” Sidda replied. “And me?”

“I think that bright red from your older uniform was a better colour.” Revin worked one hand free of Sidda’s own and placed it on Sidda’s shoulder, fingers rubbing at the texture. “But the texture on this is much nicer.” Then Revin turned to face their quarters, which looked exactly like every other officer’s quarters on the ship right now – right out of a brochure. “We need to decorate.”

“Tomorrow,” Sidda answered. “Right now I just want to have a shower and relax before subjecting myself to a senior staff dinner. Why did I do that?”

“Because nervous you makes silly promises.” Revin then turned and sat herself down in Sidda’s lap sideways. “But lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere, so you’ll have someone with you throughout this adventure.”

“Oh, you think you’re coming to this dinner, Crewman?”

“I’m not, Commander?”

“Give me one good reason why a mere crewman should come along to a senior staff dinner?” Sidda asked.

Revin smiled, then leaned forward to whisper in Sidda’s ear. “First off…”

The Pnyx, the senior officer’s lounge aboard Republic, was a small yet cosy place with a late-mid 20th-century vibe to it. And it was here that the majority of the senior officers of Republic were currently gathered while the ship was proceeding towards Gateway Station at high warp. Nominally the gathering was called ‘breakfast’ but for some was a mere break in their day and for others would be the end cap for their day once they arrived.

“Well last night was certainly interesting,” commented Lieutenant Cat Saez as she sat herself down amongst her colleagues in the central collection of couches and seats around the two low tables that formed the heart of the Pnyx. She was nursing a coffee between her hands as she sunk into her seat. “Got to say, I think the Commander is quite the character.”

“She’s a spook,” Evan quipped, his attention mostly on the padd in his left hand, the drink in his right ignored as much as the oatmeal on the table just out of reach. “Starfleet Intelligence, undercover assignment for over a decade. Turns up in a number of Operational updates as ‘suspected pirate’.”

“I read those reports as well,” Cat replied. “I also read the reports where she was responsible for the capture and turning over of T’Rev of P’Jem, the so-called Last Pirate King. Or instrumental in assisting the USS Endeavour during the Archanis Crisis.”

“Still a spook.”

“No one is arguing that Evan,” Matt Lake spoke up as he too joined the group proper now, having retrieved his own breakfast. “We’re just putting it into context.”

“Indeed.” Selu Levne’s single word was said over the lip of her cup of tea. “It would appear this assignment is the Commander’s reward for a rather lucrative career breaking up pirating and slaving operations.”

“So why do we have to get the pirate then?” Evan asked.

“Because someone was going to be the lucky ones,” Cat answered with a wicked smile. “I think it’s great to be honest.”

That drew Evan’s attention away from his padd as he sat it down in his lap and stared at Cat. “And why’s that?”

“Yes, why is that?” asked the last voice to join the group. Lieutenant Junior Grade Willow Beckman was the lowest-ranked individual who could access the Pnyx without question by virtue of her position as the ship’s chief helmsman. She had just entered and went straight for a seat, finding one opposite Cat and throwing herself into it, eyes focused intently on the fighter pilot.

“Well, I managed to have a one-on-one with the Commander yesterday between the ship getting underway and the senior staff dinner.” Evan leaned forward at that, remembering his drink and setting it down to free his hands to clasp together. Even Matt turned in his seat to pay attention. Cat smiled, waggled her eyebrows and then continued. “Sure she seems laid back, but wicked smart. Had a few pretty good questions for me, seems to have a fairly good grasp on the regs and procedures, if a bit dated perhaps.”

“Spook,” Evan quipped.

“Is everyone who is well-read on their subordinates a spook?” Cat asked.

“Just those that worked for Starfleet Intelligence. Always running a game within a game,” he answered.

“You know most people in Starfleet Intelligence are just normal officers doing boring analysis?” Cat shook her head when Evan’s eyes squinted at her slightly. “Anyway, she gives me the right vibes. Sure, she might be a bit rough around the edges, but honestly, I’d rather a commander with personality than a cookie cutter, by the book, uniform-wearing mannequin.”

Matt couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped at that comment or the wide and genuine smile that took over his face as a result. “Oh man, now there’s an image. Cripes, I can think of a dozen officers I’ve worked with like that and totally agree – would much rather one with personality.”

“As long as it isn’t criminally inclined,” Selu spoke once more, her voice barely loud enough to be heard by those gathered. “The list of suspected and even decently supported crimes the Commander committed during her undercover assignment does hint at a pattern of repetition.”

“Well, we’ll just keep an eye out for it, won’t we?” Cat asked, earning a nod in the affirmative from Selu. “Anyway, she said she was going to arrange one-on-ones with everyone hopefully before we reach Gateway Station, so maybe some opinions will change, yes?” Cat’s attention settled on Evan, who rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath.

“I certainly look forward to speaking with her,” Willow said. “Should be an interesting opportunity to discuss cross-training between capital and small-craft trained operators.”

“Not a bad idea Lieutenant,” Cat replied with a smile. “Wouldn’t mind brushing up on my starship flight skills and putting some hours under my belt. I’ll even get all of the Night Witches to sign up.”

“Fantastic,” Willow replied icily, before pushing herself to her feet. “I just remembered I have something to do.”

As she left, the others watching the young lieutenant depart, it was Selu who spoke up, addressing Cat directly. “It would seem she doesn’t like you.”

“She feels threatened,” Cat replied. “I’m higher ranked, I’m commanding a wing of fighters and she’s stuck flying the ship. Which isn’t nothing mind you, especially for her age and skill, but she’s worried I’m going to displace her in the grand scheme of things.”

“And you won’t?” the Orion-Vulcan security officer followed up.

“I’m only going to be on the bridge when either I’m called up there or something has gone seriously wrong. She’s going to be sitting right there, in all of your faces more often than I ever will. She’s got nothing to worry about from my taking her place. Hell, if anything I should be worried about her.”

“And are you?” Matt asked.

“Nah.” Cat shrugged as she slouched her in seat as far as she could. “I’m too good-looking to let anything worry me.”

“Besides, Evan will do all the worrying for you,” Matt chipped in, saluting his comrade with his drink.

“I’d be angry if it wasn’t half true,” Evan replied grumpily.

With the sound of the Pnyx’s doors opening again, it was Cat who spoke up as she turned around. “Hey Willow, look I…uh, can I help you, Crewman?” At the door, instead of a returning Lieutenant Beckman like Cat had been expecting was instead the newest and lowest-ranked member of the ship’s company.

Revin, now bearing the family name of Sadovu-th’Ven, was there, not in uniform, but in fashionable, if comfortable attire, eyes half closed as she stepped in just far enough for the doors to close behind her. “Actually, Lieutenant, I believe that is my question.” She took a few heartbeats more, then opened her eyes, smiled broadly and stepped closer to the gathering of senior officers. “I wasn’t aware anyone was here in the Pnyx and was assisting in the Agora. I apologise for taking as long as I did to get here.”

“Oh, uh,” Cat stammered for a moment, then looked to Evan and Matt, both shrugging their shoulders at her. “That’s alright Crewman. We’re all big enough and pretty enough to serve our own drinks.”

“I’ll say,” Revin teased. “But it is my duty after all to attend to the Pnyx first.”

“Well, who am I to argue with the bartender?” Cat replied. Then indicated one of the empty seats in their little gathering. “There is something you could do for us actually. Would you be willing to answer some questions about our dear Commander? To help put some of my colleague’s unease to rest?”

Revin stood there for a few moments, considering, looking over the officers before her, before she settled herself down in the offered seat, all grace and elegance as she did. “Within reason,” she answered, then repeated. “Within reason.”

“Of course.” It was Selu who spoke up. “Could you elaborate some on the circumstances around the destruction of the Vondem Thorn and the acquisition of the Vondem Rose?”

“I would suggest,” Revin said while making herself a bit more comfortable, “you get comfortable. It all started…”

USS Republic’s appearance at Gateway Station hadn’t been accompanied by any sort of fanfare or announcements. She’d sent a notice ahead, as she had to every starbase she had passed, that the ship was conducting high-speed endurance testing of her brand-new engines. Her arrival was just a mundane piece of everyday business, only made memorable by the fact she was a brand new ship and one of the few Constitution III-class ships currently in commission.

A sprint from the Avalon Yards to Gateway Station was certainly not in the direction of her soon-to-be duty station, but it did afford the ship safety in testing, always within a few hours at most of any facility that could render aid should something go wrong with the ship. And then her sprint to the Badlands and the Thomar Expanse beyond would give them a second chance to thoroughly stress-test the engines. Sensible and logical decisions in light of her recent commissioning.

Leave had been granted for the crew, a couple of days at most, while Engineering confirmed their findings and made any calibrations and adjustments they wanted to satisfy their concerns. Arcane and esoteric calculations, analysis and simulations would reveal the true state of Republic’s modern engines and Commander Sidda Sadovu was more than happy to leave such matters in the hands of the engineers who not only were responsible for the ship’s wellbeing but had been in charge of her very construction.

And so she had made her own way over to Gateway Station, to station operations even, with only a few people stopping her to ask who she was, to verify details, inspect the small package she was carrying (and even a few appreciative whistles at the contents) and then let her pass. Directions asked politely, helpful individuals pointing her in the right direction and she ascended the short flight of stairs in Ops to the door of the station commander, a hand tapping at the call button politely as a wide and all too wicked grin started to spread across her face as she adjusted her uniform tunic briefly.

The summons from inside was brusque, admitting her to these under-decorated, hallowed halls of the heart of command of the station. By the far bulkhead stood Commodore Rourke, his back to the door as he waged war with a framed picture he was trying to hold level and hang at the same time. ‘Give me just a second,’ he called, not looking around, obviously distracted. ‘This vicious bugger…’

Sidda kept quiet for only a moment, affording herself an all-to-brief examination of the office before she spoke up, with all the charm she could muster. “You know, I go to all the trouble of procuring a chair, taking risque photos in it and then sending them to you and not a single one of them is on display in your office. I’m vaguely insulted.” The small bag she had brought with her was set down on Rourke’s desk gently, the ever so slight clink of glass on glass of full bottles coming from the contents.

The picture was allowed to slide to the deck with a thunk. Rourke turned only slowly, his expression a mask of incredulity as his eyes landed on her. And he stared. ‘You…’ But whatever he was going to try to say proved immediately inadequate. He worked his jaw, then pointed an accusing finger at the door. ‘I’ve got a 1030 meeting with the Republic’s XO,’ he said, as if the scheduling inconvenience was the most pressing issue here.

The grin, wicked before, found just a bit more room to grow as she turned her jaw to the left, lifted it and then with a small wave of her hand drew attention to the commander’s pips on her collar, the silver devices catching an overhead light just ever so slightly. “Honestly, you put on a uniform, walk with purpose and say you’re the XO of a brand new starship and people will just about let you walk anywhere you want. Or,” she stretched that word out for a moment, “play along and omit certain details from scheduled appointments.”

For a moment, it looked like he believed her first joke. Then his expression set, and he lifted a pair of fingers, counting them off as he said, ‘Two questions: what the hell happened, and do we need drinks?’ Only a glance at the clock on the wall to check the time made him amend that. ‘Non-alcoholic.’

“Reverse order, yes, we need drinks,” Sidda replied, opening the bag and pulling out the two bottles from within and setting them down on the desk. Neither bottle itself was terribly distinctive so as not to distract from the contents. One was filled with a lilac-coloured liquid, which moved slower than the amber contents of the other bottle. “Rose cordial all the way from Vondem. Terribly sweet, water it way down or you’ll be up for days. Goes well with still and sparkling water.” The amber bottle was then lifted and read from. “And this is off the menu for now with this high an actual alcohol content.” She turned it around, presenting it to Rourke. “Avalon whiskey from the Sato Distillery, twenty-one years old. A commiseration gift for the promotion, Commodore.” She emphasised the rank, a smile to go with it.

Rourke eyed the bottle for a moment. Then he reached to take it, lips twisting in a silent grumble. “Yeah, I’m gonna need it,” he complained at last. “Thanks. I’ll get the water.” He headed for the replicator, gesturing for her to keep talking.

“Now, as for what the hell happened? You want the official record, the Starfleet Intelligence record, or the truth?” She sat herself down, not at all waiting for permission, or following the decorum owed to superior officers. “Ever heard of Fleet Captain Sudari-Kravchik? Goddess what a mouthful that name is.”

“Beckett’s newest creature,” Rourke said roughly. He’d never met the woman, but was inherently suspicious not only of officers in the command echelons of Starfleet Intelligence, but ones working so closely with Admiral Beckett. “So I’m assuming not someone who wants me to get to the truth.” He returned from the replicator with a pair of beakers and a glass bottle of sparkling water. Popping the cordial lid, he had a deep sniff, and though he looked suspicious of the sweetness, poured them both liberally-mixed amounts. “Truth’s just a matter of perspective, but I reckon I’ll be able to read almost every perspective except yours.” He met her gaze with pointed curiosity.

“I suspect, if you were to ask nicely, she might make an allowance and bring you up to date.” Sidda took her glass, sniffed at it to gauge the mix ratio, and then sipped, savouring the sweet floral note. She was quiet for a moment, eyes closed as she just let herself be before returning to the present and setting the glass down on Rourke’s desk carefully. “Oh that brings back memories,” she muttered. “I honestly spent a week thinking she was a Vulcan only to find out she’s half-human, half-romulan and all Federation. And apparently hates weasels and snakes anywhere she finds them. Like, I’m sure she’d memorised the Federation Charter and most of the Starfleet regulations that let her bring down the hammer of at least ten different deities.”

“That’s reassuring,” Rourke said, easing back in his chair. He had a sip of his drink and blinked. “Alright, that’s enough to dissolve my teeth.” He topped it up with a little more water, but despite the adjustment, didn’t sound like he was complaining. “I’ll have to see what her take on things in Fourth Fleet Intelligence are. But that’s for another time.”

Sidda smiled, shrugged her shoulders to release some tension and started in on things. “So, my perspective. Cliff notes then. Youngest scion in direct succession to a prominent Vondem family, expected to take over the family business of power for power’s sake, weasels her way into the Vondem Republic Guard. Expected to just wear a fancy uniform and look good for the media, ends up being a promising young officer and uses that as a chance to transfer sideways into Starfleet all to bypass alerting her mother who had run away from home decades ago and her grandmother who would have forbidden her from going to the Academy. Then the Romulan supernova happens, idealism hits hard, some ass in Intelligence offers disaffected officers a chance to ‘do the right thing’ and naturally ends up going sideways. Said young promising officer, whose career was basically wiped away by Intelligence, keeps doing the right thing in a self-imposed exile instead of going back to the gilded cage of Vondem.”

Rourke drummed his fingers on the side of the glass as he listened. “Not sure they all started out in big Vondem families or ended up running around in a bird-of-prey, but that’s not the most unusual story for a lot of former Starfleet. Nothing after the supernova was our finest hour.”

“Anyway,” Sidda continued, “long story short events in my life transpired that I was going to get burned in my particular chosen field, so I thought to bring down as many folks as I could. Turns out about the same time this Sudari-Kravchik was doing her own in-house investigating into my old handler as well as investigating an old colleague turned bio-terrorist and who better to chase down a crazed doctor than someone who worked with her and is still drawing breath?” And then she smiled, easy and confident. “Dump everything I know about pirates and smugglers of ill-repute, Sudari-Kravchik turns it into ‘deep cover operation’ and time in grade gets me three pips because she couldn’t quite swing getting me my own ship. Someone would have had a conniption about that.”

“You’re kidding.” Rourke stared at her. “So now I retroactively facilitated a deep cover Starfleet Intel operation with the whole salvage rights thing? No wonder they promote me.” He added that in a grumble, rolling his eyes, before he sobered and met her gaze more cautiously. “That’s a how you got back. But you left for a reason. A lot of folks aren’t so convinced Starfleet has changed enough to bring them back. What changed your mind?”

“Who said I’m back long-term?” she countered. “I honestly thought the person I’m being asked to chase was dead. Then I find out only recently she’s been trying to kill off as many Romulan aristocrats as she could and fled the Free State when things got too hot for her and she’d fled off to the Cardassian Union. Atlantis apparently had her on board before she just went off with a bunch of Cardassian scientists like it was a regular thing to do. Honestly, I feel responsible for Shreln still being out there and this Sudari-Kravchik is playing to that and dammit if she doesn’t know what strings to pull. I wasn’t even a proper officer when everything went sideways and she’s given me a cover, a proper rank, a job and orders to throw every regulation I can back at her to support doing the right thing whenever I have to.”

She sat forward, idly collecting her drink once more, if just to have something in her hands. “She has me over a barrel and worst of all it’s where I want to be. On a starship bridge, doing the right damn thing. I love the chance, I hate the person. But if this doesn’t pan out after I clean up this mess, I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do.” She took a swig of the drink and then looked at the glass in utter disappointment. “One of these days,” she grumbled, “I’m going to figure out how to will any liquid into alcohol whenever I want.”

Rourke gave a gentle, sympathetic scoff. “Not a good look in that uniform, manifesting booze,” he said, with a clearly facetious edge. He leaned forward, hand on the desk. “You got a mission to do. Something to finish off. But you’re right that you’ll be on a starship bridge. Republic won’t spend her entire time helping you chase your target. So the rest of the time, you’re their XO. You have to live that and be that. Doesn’t mean you can’t sometimes thumb your nose at regs and do the right thing, but you’ve got a responsibility to your ship now, your crew now.” He sounded like he expected she knew this; like he was trying to reinforce a commitment, not lecture her as if dutiful obligations had escaped her. “We can only fight the battles in front of us.”

“Also means I’m not allowed to just vaporise assholes anymore either.” She rolled her eyes at that, finished the glass of cordial and then set it down. “Or jump-scare slavers by decloaking. Honestly, why is the Treaty of Algeron still a thing?” She slumped back into her chair. “Oh, commiserations on the promotion by the way. Got to do some reading and sounds like you got promotion-punished for doing the right bloody thing as well. Got you a gift too, but mainly because it’s safer giving it to you than that Klingon hotness you had as an XO.” She waited for a moment, waited for his attention to settle. “Inwards Goods should have received it by now and catalogued it for delivery to you.”

“Talk about failing up; I’m here because it was promote me or fire me, and there’s not enough brass left to demob me,” Rourke grumbled as he sat up. He looked like a part of his soul might have left his body at the words ‘Klingon hotness’ being used to describe Valance, but, suspicious, he reached for his desk console to bring up a record. After a beat, his eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. Then, “Oh.” Then, with an edge of a whine, “Wait, does this mean I have to tell Valance?”

“Better chance of avoiding a friendly or not-so-friendly fire incident.” Sidda chuckled slightly to herself. “She really did seem bent out of shape when I stole it. Or was it that I didn’t send her the pictures as well?” Sidda’s question was posed such that an answer wasn’t needed, just an idle musing to the universe. “Or was it that I didn’t get her a sword too? I can get her one if she wants.” But she waved it all off. “I’m invading the middle of your work day. How about dinner tonight aboard the Republic? Give us a chance to crack out the fancy dinnerware and scare the senior staff with the knowledge I personally know a commodore famous for being demoted for ‘doing the right thing’.”

“I’d make a comment about maybe being infamous, but I reckon you’ve got me beaten there. Dinner sounds great,” Rourke said with a flash of a grin. But after a moment, he sobered as he looked her up and down. “The uniform looks good on you, Commander. Remember that you’re the only person with the power to make sure it doesn’t let you down. We can’t control the galaxy. Just us.”

“And sometimes, let’s be fair, not even that.” Sidda’s smile was cheeky before sobering up. “But I get the gist. Be the best version of myself, do the right thing, so on and so forth.” She stood from her seat, an effortless action of trained grace. “Oh, and I know I promised to send you an invite,” she waved her left hand, the plain band of silver with a single emerald on display, “but had to rush things. So, uh, least now you won’t have to explain to someone why you received a wedding invite from a…licensed salvage merchant and suspected pirate.”

Rourke assumed an expression of mock-outrage. “We pull all of these strings to get you into a uniform and halfway respectable, and it doesn’t even pay off with a good party?” But at once, his expression split into a toothy grin, albeit one with a hint of curiosity. “Congratulations. How’re you squaring family life with this assignment?”

“Crewman Revin Sadovu-th’Ven is currently heading up the hospitality business in Republic’s social spaces and scaring me by studying psychology currently. If I’m not careful I’m either going to end up with a counselor or diplomat at my side.” Sidda smiled, her attention somewhere else for a brief moment. “Her enlisting and us marrying let me keep her at my side. But she’s taking to it like it’s one big adventure.” Sidda then waved her hand, signalling an end of this line of conversation. “She’ll be at dinner, not as a crewman, but as my wife. So, in that vein, Commodore, I’ll extend the invite to dinner to as many as you wish to bring. Just give us a heads-up a few hours in advance so someone can sort out the seating.”

“It is one big adventure. You might get a counsellor, diplomat, or… analyst.” The smile turned crooked. “Give me a plus… four,” he continued after a moment’s thought. “The whole of Gateway’s senior staff ends up a rugby team on their own. But Commanders Shepherd and Harrian, Doctor Sadek, and Ambassador Hale should be able to behave themselves. Entertainingly.”

Sidda smiled, held up her hands and then spread them apart as she spoke. “Rogue starship commander kidnaps Commodore, three senior staff members and an ambassador.” Then she sobered up. “Nineteen hundred hours then. And bring that young lady too,” she said, pointing at the bottle of whiskey she had brought Rourke. “I’ll dig out a dance partner. Romulan Ale is still illegal right?” She then stepped back towards the door to Rourke’s office, just enough for the door to trigger and open. “Still think a blown-up print of me on that wall would be perfect,” she finished, pointing at where Rourke had been trying to hang a picture when she arrived.

And then, just as she had arrived, she left without formal recognition, smiling the whole time as she backed out of the office, offering a wink just as the door closed on Rourke.

Commander’s Log, Stardate 78324.3

I am officially going on the record to state I have no idea where that second bottle of Romulan Ale came from last night. Luckily however we had the extra numbers from our visitors from Gateway Station to help investigate and dispose of the contents in a controlled manner and I have it on good authority from our quartermaster that there shouldn’t be any more bottles aboard ship.

Note to the quartermaster – Romulan Ale to be served at all state dinners aboard ship.

Republic is once more at high warp as we’re now tearing across towards the Badlands. While we’ll be within a short distance of a number of high-profile systems on this trip, we’re not stopping as we’re scheduled for Deep Space 47 in just over a week. I’ve been told we’ll only be able to maintain warp seven through the Badlands, so should only be a day and a bit through the plasma storms.

I’ve read so much about them and similar, though much smaller, phenomena. Honestly can’t wait to see them. We’re also going to be hugging the Tzenkethi border as we go, but we’ve been informed that as long as we stick to a particular route they shouldn’t see us as anything more than regular fleet traffic.

So, in a little over eight days, we’ll be at Deep Space 47 and we’ll have our captain aboard. Then I get to brief everyone on tracking down Dr. T’Halla Shreln.

Fun.

“Commander.”

The one-word greeting, gruff and dripping with venom, did not provoke the intended response as Lieutenant Commander Evan Malcolm’s scowl grew with Sidda’s smile. It was just the merest acknowledgement of her presence in his domain and that she didn’t have the proper respect for his unwelcoming attitude hadn’t sat well with him.

“Morning Commander Malcolm,” Sidda answered in reply as she walked through Engineering towards Evan. “Lieutenant Jamieson told me you got an early start in this morning. Brave after last night.”

“I didn’t have that much to drink,” Malcolm answered. “And someone has to watch the engines since you have us sprinting across the Federation again as fast as possible.”

“We did the Avalon to Gateway run just fine, I think this second long-haul will be just fine.” Sidda offered a smile, which bounced off Evan’s irritable nature. “I read your report after our last run. Amazing engines you’ve built. Going from a ship that could barely hold 8.5 for 12 hours to one that gets up to 9.99 for longer….amazing.”

“Yes, well, Republic isn’t a Klingon deathtrap.”

“I wouldn’t write off the Vondem Rose so easily,” Sidda said as she kept her smile and walked past Evan, deeper into Engineering and towards the warp core. “Those Klingon deathtraps are built tough, are mean in a fight and have plenty of their own tricks up their sleeves.” She stopped at the railing around the core, turning to face Evan as she perched herself on the railing, hands settling on it. “But Republic is just so much newer than Rose, even her cloak wouldn’t hold up against all the fancy sensors this ship has. Should be proud of the technological marvel you’ve built.”

“I am,” Evan said, crossing his arms over his chest as he focused on Sidda. “Though I do not appreciate having my engines stress tested so strenuously after so shortly after we put to space.”

“Should we have spent a few months tootling around somewhere safe, slowly working the engines up?” Sidda asked. “Or mere weeks?”

“A series of increasing endurance runs would have been preferable.”

Sidda nodded her head in acceptance of Evan’s answer. “I’m sorry I couldn’t deliver that for you. But I needed to deliver a package and we need to be on station as quickly as possible. I saw it as a good opportunity for stress-testing Republic’s engines since we’re likely to be stationed in the Thomar Expanse long-term and there is a lot of space to cover out there. And, having read your personnel jacket, Commander Malcolm, I was confident you had not only built a superior vessel but having you on hand would ensure she’d meet my expectations.”

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m saying I had every confidence, upon a review of the available facts, that Republic was up to the task thanks to your shepherding of her through construction and being on hand during her first major tests.” Sidda pushed off the railing and approached Evan, remaining just outside of his personal space. “And I’m hoping we can perhaps get past whatever this is,” she waved a hand between the two of them, “and work together, yes?”

“Upon a review of the available facts,” Evan started, echoing Sidda’s own words though with disdain lacing every word, “I don’t trust you. You’re Starfleet Intelligence, or someone who has SI fooled and is now parading around in a uniform.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have Republic’s best interest at heart.” She winked at him as she walked past him. “Don’t you worry Commander, I’m sure we’ll be friends eventually. Just need to know how much of an uphill struggle I’m facing.”

“You didn’t answer me,” he asked to her back. “SI stooge, or someone who has them fooled?”

“You didn’t ask it as a question at first,” Sidda said, turning and walking backwards as she approached the door leading away from Engineering. “But, why not both?” she shot back as she finally disappeared from view.

“Huh,” Lieutenant Michelle Jamieson intoned as she stepped up beside Evan. “She’s going to be fun.”

“Tell everyone to keep an eye on her whenever she’s down here in Engineering. And goes double for that Romulan spy she brought with her.”

“Who, Revin? But she’s so nice. And have you tried the pastries she bakes for the Agora?” As Evan glowered and stalked away, Michelle couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. “You’re working yourself into an early grave again boss.”

“Someone has too around here!” he shot back.”

Their quarters had finally been decorated properly and perhaps overly lavishly. At least, at Sidda’s insistence, the colours matched across the space or complimented each other at least. While it was still a textural cacophony, Revin’s influence evident there, it wasn’t an assault on the eyes like their shared personal spaces had been previously. It was all warm and comfortable colours, suffusing from red to purple and back again across the room, contrasted by the odd bit of rich wood panelling or stark black modernist furniture.

Rugs covered most of the floor now, bringing warmth to the room immediately, but it didn’t stop there. A few dividers had gone up, there to break up the common space. Throws adorned most of the furniture and a few recently procured paintings, or replicas of some, had gone up on the walls. Including a large painting of the Vondem Rose in orbit of Kyaban, the K’t’tinga-class battlecruiser’s purple hull glistening.

Another feature was how a number of the pieces of furniture in the common space had also been swapped out from the ‘factory finish’ to something more Vondem-chic. A low table and large floor cushions had replaced the table and chairs. Larger cushions had replaced the couch and single seats, the coffee table nearly the same, just shorter legs.

And it was on this pile of cushions, looking out the windows at the streaking lights of warp travel, that Sidda had perched herself after a long day and then shortly after found herself anchored in place as Revin had set herself before resting her head in Sidda’s lap.

“Evan Malcolm is going to be a problem,” Sidda finally said after nearly five minutes, her fingers playing with Revin’s hair as they both just sat there, enjoying the quiet and company of each other.

“Oh?” Revin asked sleepily.

“Hmm,” was the reply. “Paranoia, or just deep suspicions I’m guessing and a pathological dislike for Starfleet Intelligence.”

“Why don’t you look into it further?” Revin asked, turning to rest on her back and looking up at Sidda. “Maybe there’s something not in his personnel jacket?”

“I’d rather figure it out than give SI the satisfaction of having to go to them for more information.” Sidda looked down, smiling at Revin and brushing a few stray strands off her face. “Hey beautiful.”

“Hey,” Revin answered. “We should do dinner before we get too comfortable.”

“Replicator is just over there,” Sidda said, shaking her head once in the direction of the standard issue convenience.

“I was thinking the Agora. Ensign Merkle is kicking off themed dinner nights as a way of trying to bring the crew together. And you mixing with the crew every chance you can is a good idea.” Revin sat herself up, then was on her feet, holding out a hand to offer to help Sidda up.

“Fine, fine,” Sidda conceded, letting herself be dragged away from blissful comfort and back into the fray. “What’s for dinner then?”

“Something called a taco?” Revin said, phrasing it like a question. “Whatever that is.”

Commander’s log, stardate 78335.1

Despite a short bout of search and rescue and then convoy escort work through the Badlands, Republic has made it to Deep Space 47 on time. Apparently, the USS Atlantis only beat us here by a day, though I suspect it has something to do with the Cardassian ship that is also present around DS47.

Looking forward to hearing about that story.

Captain Theodoras and Commander MacIntyre are coming aboard shortly for an inspection. We’ve spent the last twenty-four hours getting the ship ready and I’m confident she’ll pass with flying colours.

Tensions with a couple of the senior staff and I have been waning, but I have no doubts will ramp up once we have our captain and they have someone to voice their concerns to that isn’t me. No doubt our new captain is going to have questions for me as well, but I’ve been informed that Commodore Sudari-Kravchik has parked herself in the SI offices aboard DS47, so she’ll be around to verify details.

Fun times ahead.

“Captain Theodoras, Commander MacIntyre, welcome aboard Republic,” Commander Sidda Sadovu said as she extended her hand for the customary handshake as she greeted the two officers who had just beamed aboard what was soon to no longer be her ship.

“Our pleasure,” Tikva Theodoras said as she stepped off the transporter pad, then stepped aside for Charles MacIntyre. “Hell of a ship you have here Commander Sadovu.”

“Faster, smarter and more aware than your ship ma’am.” Sidda was smiling proudly as she shook MacIntyre’s hand, then indicated the door and began to lead the visitors through to the nearest turbolift. “Though I wager Atlantis packs the overall heavier hits and the larger crew means you’ll stand up longer in a fight thanks to damage control.”

“And being an older design, the kinks are all worked out too,” MacIntyre chipped in. “I doubt we’d have had the same engine problems that Titan reported while fighting the Shrike.”

“I read Atlantis’ latest battle reports too and agree. The Sovereigns really were designed to get back into the fight as quickly as possible. Wager the Dominion War would have been a lot more different if we had more of them at the time. Round 2 certainly demonstrated that.” Sidda turned to face Captain Theodoras as they walked. “Looking forward to playing second fiddle to Atlantis.”

“Wait, what?” MacIntyre asked, the surprise obvious in how he phrased his question.

“Atlantis Squadron,” Tikva said, waving a hand in front of her as they walked. “Has a neat sound to it doesn’t it?”

“Does your career honestly have no brakes on it?” MacIntyre asked, this time his tone clearly joking. “Cripes cap, are they promoting you as well?”

“Oh hell no!” Tikva shot out with a bark. “One, I haven’t been in grade nearly long enough for that. Even with the disruption to the admiralty. Two, too much like being promoted to a desk job. I haven’t done enough daring-do and mayhem just yet. And I’ve done too much as well to be a boring, bland, generic desk jockey.”

“Lost an arm and a leg, blown up a star, made numerous first contacts, had a ship seized by an ancient AI, kidnapped by conspiratorial radicals, gotten involved in Romulan politics, roped into interstellar politics, lead an impromptu task force to rescue the Deneb system,” Mac listed off a series of achievements, counting each off on a finger as they walked. “Yeah, that’s only a few minor career events.”

“Barely worth mentioning,” Tikva said, waving the whole affair off. “Besides, a squadron command is just formalising what would happen if two ships were operating in the same area for an extended period anyway.”

“Regulation 191, Article 14,” Sidda declared. “In a combat situation involving more than one ship, command falls to the vessel with tactical superiority, should there not be a higher ranking officer present.”

“That wouldn’t apply in this situation,” Mac answered. “What with the captain here being, well, a captain and Republic only having a commander at the conn currently.”

“I’m not the ship’s captain,” Sidda answered. “Just her custodian.” She stopped in front of the turbolift doors, glancing at the indicator when they didn’t immediately open. “I have decided that waiting for the lift is a universal constant that will never, ever be resolved.”

“Fancy ship, same lifts,” Tikva joked. “I once served on a ship where the captain insisted on having more cars working the network than was recommended. Waiting for one was never an issue, but every trip was just that bit longer as cars had to move out of the way and such. Lasted about a week.”

“Bridge,” Sidda ordered after the doors finally parted and they all boarded. “Personal transporters,” she then blurted out loud. “Everyone has their own for getting around the ship.”

“Oh no, no no no,” Tikva quickly followed. “I do not want to deal with the inevitable emergency of transporter blending, or people beaming in between decks or anything like that. No, thank you.”

“Sounds horrific from a security perspective as well,” Mac added. “There is a lot to be said for a simple locked door.”

“Get a better lockbreaker?” Sidda asked as the doors opened up onto Republic’s bridge. “Captain on the bridge!”

All at once the bridge crew of the USS Republic got to their feet, coming to attention with what was obviously forewarned preparedness. The silence that followed, interrupted only by the chirping of a few consoles seeking attention, was palpable. Everyone was staring straight ahead, into the undefinable middle-distance, backs to their stations.

“At ease people,” Tikva ordered, her words dismissing some of the tension in the air.

Sidda led her guests to the front of the command level where Lieutenant Commander Matt Lake stood, giving the first impression the crew weren’t all mannequins when he gave Tikva and Mac a nod each. “This is Lieutenant Commander Matt Lake, Republic’s Second Officer.”

“Pleased to meet you, Commander,” Tikva said as she and Mac went through the motions of handshakes.

“Pleasure is mine, ma’am,” Matt said. “Eager to find out who our captain is though. Commander Sadovu hinted you would be the bearer of such news.”

“Eager to know myself,” Mac commented. “Not that you haven’t done a fine job so far Commander,” he said to Sidda. “But a ship like this, brand new, new class and all, should have a captain yes?”

“Yeah, about that,” Tikva said, turning on Mac with a smile. She held out a hand and an operations officer, a young Bajoran woman, stepped forward and handed a padd to her. “Read this, out loud, will you?” she asked as she then turned the padd over to him.

“You didn’t?” Mac asked, taking the padd and glaring at Tikva.

“Do I need to make that an order, Commander?”

“No ma’am,” Mac answered, eyebrows furrowing at Tikva for a few heartbeats before his attention turned to the padd. “Ops, shipwide comms please.”

“Shipwide, aye,” Lieutenant Jenu Trid answered before the bosun’s whistle sounded throughout Republic’s hull.

“To Commander Charles MacIntyre, USS Atlantis. You are hereby requested and required to make your way aboard USS Republic, there to assume command of the vessel and crew, as her first commanding officer. By order of Starfleet Command, stardate 78335.”

Silence hung over the bridge as Mac lowered the padd and looked up and then around the bridge, taking in the faces of the bridge crew. “I hereby assume command of the USS Republic,” he finally said.

“Computer, note Commander MacIntyre’s assumption of command in the log and transfer all command codes,” Sidda ordered of the ship’s electronic minion, answered by a confirmation chirp and voiced acceptance. “Commander MacIntyre, the ship is yours.”

“Oh we’re not done yet,” Tikva said, her smile reaching dangerous levels. Again she held out her hand, and again Lieutenant Jenu stepped forward to place a small box in her hand. “You’re out of uniform, Captain.” The box was then offered to Mac with an accompanying wink. “I recommend you fix it right now.”

“I…” Mac’s mouth moved like he was trying to say something, but his mouth and brain had gotten out of sync with each other. Then he stopped, closed his mouth, recentered and then looked Tikva straight in the eyes, gave her a distinct nod and accepted the box, opening it to look at the single solid silver pip within. “Yes ma’am,” he answered finally.

“Crew of the Republic, three cheers for Captain MacIntyre,” Sidda half-shouted, leading the bridge crew in the cheer while MacIntyre submitted himself to Tikva’s care while she fitted his fourth pip on his collar. “All hands, a party will be held in the Agora starting 1900. That is all.” And with that, the computer signalled the closing of the shipwide channel.

“You’re pathologically averse to a normal promotion ceremony aren’t you?” Mac asked Tikva, standing just that little bit straighter now, holding himself to a near-heroic standard.

“Hey, I got promoted over subspace, remember?” she shot back at him. “And thanks to that new pip, and Republic being part of Atlantis Squadron, I’ve got a few briefings I’ve got to give you over the next few days.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that mess in the Delta Quadrant,” he stated.

“Oh, are we talking about super-secret captain briefings?” Sidda asked with a smile as she sidled up beside Mac and elbowed him in the arm. “Congratulations. Looking forward to working with you.”

“And I you,” Mac said. Then realisation hit and he turned to Tikva once more. “Blake. Not looking forward to explaining this to her.”

“Oh no worries from my side of things,” Tikva replied. “Any bloodshed isn’t going to be on my decks once I throw her over the side onto Republic. After all, I think you’re down a chief medical officer right now anyways, yes?” she asked Sidda.

“Doctor Andrews is a little junior for running a full sickbay according to what I’ve read and he’s looking forward to passing the buck, so to speak,” Sidda confirmed.

“A ship, a promotion and you’re assigning Blake as my CMO,” Mac stated to Tikva. “What’s the catch? Where’s the shoe drop?”

“Already got a mission for you and you depart in the morning,” Tikva answered. “Commander Sadovu will brief you on the mission. I’ll brief you on all the captain need-to-know stuff afterwards.” She then clapped her hands, smiling at Sidda. “I was promised a tour Commander. Let’s start at the bottom and work our way back here before hitting the bar, yes?”

“That Captain, Captain,” Sidda said, acknowledging the now two captains before her, “sounds like a plan. Matt, join us, please. Trid, you have the conn.”

Captain’s Log, stardate 78335.5

Captain’s log. Honestly, a few years ago I doubted I’d ever say those words. But recently started wondering when I would get to say them. And now here I am.

So, I think I’ll let this be nice a short.

The ship and crew are ready to deploy. The captain, not so much just yet. Give me a few days, let me read all the paperwork, then we can go cause chaos somewhere.

The door to the ready room hissed open upon Mac’s command and in stalked Blake Pisani, who didn’t even bother to say hello as she looked around, eyes locked on the replicator and went straight for it. “Two scotch whiskeys, neat, double.”

“Please specify whiskey of choice,” the device responded.

“Blake,” Mac started to say from his seat, only to stop as she held out a hand to him, a single raised finger telling him to be quiet.

Blake’s attention was on the list the replicator provided for a mere second before she tapped on one of the options, then scooped up both glasses as they appeared. “Doctor’s orders,” she stated as she approached Mac’s desk, setting one in front of him before perching herself on the edge of the desk facing him. “A promotion and a new ship are nerve-wracking experiences and we can’t have you suffering nerves.” And to punctuate the point, she took a hefty sip of her drink.

“It’s lunchtime,” he countered, then sighed and conceded defeat as she turned her professional glare on him. A small sip satisfied her for now and brought a small cough from him as the whiskey burned its way down. “Happy now Doctor Pisani?” he asked as he set the tumbler down amongst the padds.

“Marginally,” she answered, then nudged his leg with her own as she smiled. “Your own ship eh?”

“Honestly, I’m still having trouble believing it. It’s been two hours, and I’m still waiting for a surprise to jump out of a cupboard. I spent the whole tour expecting something, anything to happen.” He pushed back from his desk, littered with padds and his personal computer, display alive with profiles. “I should have called you as soon as I could.”

“Yes, you should,” Blake answered but shrugged it off. “Not that I’d have had a chance to talk. Lin and Rrr got to me just as you and the boss beamed over here and told me the news. Still haven’t packed and moved everything over, but they helped me get the essentials over at least. Going back this evening to move everything else.”

“Oh shit, I hadn’t even thought about my quarters.” With that realisation, he reached out for the whiskey tumbler and brought it back to his lips for another sip. For the nerves after all, or so his doctor had informed him. “I’ve seen my schedule for the next two days and I don’t know when I’ll get time before either we or Atlantis have to disappear off to who knows where.”

“Lin told me that Fightmaster is sorting your quarters out. And no, I asked, we’re not going to be allowed to steal him. Or clone him.”

“Tikva would kill me if I tried. She hated the idea at first of a yeoman but honestly, Fightmaster has done wonders. Going to do my best to keep squadron paperwork to a minimum for both of them.”

“They’ll appreciate it,” Blake said. “Any guesses on who’s taking your seat over there?”

“Velan would be the logical choice. He’s the second officer, good record, and knows the crew. And Gérard deserves a chance at the engines. But,” Mac trailed off, using the time to take a sip from his whiskey again, only a single cough this time and plaintive ‘smooth’. “Tikva told me apparently Atlantis is receiving an exchange officer for at least six months to fill my position.”

“An exchange officer? From who? Gods, a Klingon on her bridge is a recipe for disaster.”

“Yeah, but for who?” Mac asked, earning a shrug from Blake. “But no, not a Klingon, that much I have been reassured. The Empire is dealing with things.”

“Things?”

“Things,” Mac repeated. “But that’s all I know. Whoever she gets, it’ll be an adventure.” He leaned forward, collected a specific padd, checked it and then handed it over to Blake for her to look at. “I’ve got my own adventure as well.”

Blake took the padd with a quizzical look and a sip of her drink. “Let’s see, your CMO is a mess.”

“A hot mess,” Mac interrupted.

“No argument,” Blake replied. “Your XO is ex-Intel, and so is your Ops officer. Fun. Oh, and they spent time undercover as pirates?”

“Yeah, over in the Archanis Sector. Years in fact.” Mac sat back, leaning his chair as Blake continued to read. “But honestly, my read of Sadovu so far is she’s on the level.”

“Asked the boss for her read? What with her Betazoid gifts?”

“I did not. Haven’t had a chance. And it’s my problem to sort out anyway.”

“Huh.” Blake continued reading. “Beckman looks like a hotshot. Oh, picked a fight with Red Squad at the Academy. Eh, mark in her favour as far as I’m concerned.”

“And a mark for some dangerous flying at the Academy, but otherwise nothing major since then. An early promotion, so she must be good at her job. But she’s now at a leadership level, so here’s hoping.”

“Want me to have a word with her? Gauge things? After all, I’m only a lieutenant.” Blake gave him a questioning look, head tilted to the side.

“Can’t hurt,” Mac answered. “I just want to make sure I don’t have a bomb on my bridge waiting to go off.”

Blake set her glass down to free a hand and scrolled down the list further. “Lake looks a model officer, and so does Levne, though this medical absence in her record intrigues me. Huh…an engineer who has never had a ship deployment till now.”

“He did build Republic and oversaw her construction trials. He knows his stuff,” Mac reassured. “But yes, a little concerning.”

“Huh.” The padd was set down, the whiskey reclaimed. “So, yeah, fun adventure.”

“Second best adventure I’m on.” Mac finished his whiskey and slowly got to his feet.

“Second best?” Blake asked. “What’s the first?”

“Whatever this is,” he answered, waving between the two of them. “Glad I’m going to have you with me.”

“Smooth,” Blake answered, slipping off the edge of the desk and onto her own feet. “Lunch?”

“Read my mind. Beam over to the station, picnic in the same park as last time?”

“Rank hath its privileges it would seem,” Blake answered before she reached out and took one of Mac’s in her own and led him towards the door. “But no hun, we’re having lunch in the Agora.” She smiled at his quizzical look. “Republic’s Port Royal. The crew need to see their new captain.”

“And you want to let anyone who might be interested know I’m off the menu,” he said as she dragged him away from his work, though not with much resistance from him. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I shall neither confirm, nor deny that,” Blake answered as the doors to the bridge hissed open. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

“Quite the record you have here Commander,” Mac stated as he tapped at one of the inactive padds on his desk. “And quite the list of rumours, accusations and intelligence briefings about you here as well, Captain Sidda,” he continued, emphasising the rank while tapping at another padd on his desk. “Piracy, blackmail, extortion, political revolution and even murder. Ranging across the Klingon Empire, the Federation and the balkanised Romulan territories.”

“Usually done in self-defence,” Sidda responded, smiling innocently at him.

“Usually?” Mac answered, sitting back in his chair and studying the Orion woman who was sitting across from him. She radiated self-confidence even more so than his former captain did and for some reason, it wasn’t sitting well with him at this time.

“Usually. I preferred to let someone try and kill me first before I killed them. But sometimes, if I had a really good reason and the person was absolute scum, I wouldn’t be averse to jumping the gun on them.” She kept smiling, relaxing as he had and set her hands down on a crossed knee. “I wasn’t always in a position where I could capture pirates, slavers and murderers to drop off with a Federation or Klingon magistrate. And in the case of the latter, I’m sure I was doing them a kindness.”

“I’m sure,” he said as he pursed his lips in thought. “And the political revolutions? Two of them on Romulan worlds.”

“One was a pack of old Imperial nobles wanting to kill me, enslave my crew and steal my ship to build their own pocket empire. The other was all circumstance – visiting while the Rator collapse kicked off, the governor refusing to let my people rescue me, slave revolts and inter-faction fighting. I was just seeking a resolution to multiple problems all at once.” She shrugged, again with that easy smile. “I think Ta’shen is now a member of the Republic and sends the only non-Romulan or Reman to their Senate.”

“I see.” He’d been impressed by the personnel jacket he’d been provided. Unlike many officers, he didn’t have a problem with Starfleet Intelligence, as long as they didn’t interfere in his day-to-day. And Sidda’s record had been impressive. But then digging around, calling in a few favours and reading news articles had given him alternative details or countervailing stories that didn’t sit right.

“I know my actions while on assignment with Intelligence don’t align with the expectations for a typical Starfleet officer, Captain MacIntyre, but I had a role to play and the expectations of the community I was involved with to live up to.” Sidda’s speech he noted was clear, precise and well-spoken. His mind leapt to label it as ‘educated’, though through the lens of his upbringing, it really meant well-to-do layabout with an overinflated sense of self. “But you can corroborate details with Lieutenant Jenu if you wish. She was embedded on my ship without my knowledge by Intelligence officials who hadn’t been briefed on my mission.”

“Who watches the watchers, eh? I’ll do that,” Mac said, again keeping himself tight-lipped. “And your transition back into regular duty, how are you finding it?”

“Refreshing,” Sidda answered. “I’m still bringing myself up to scratch on the changes in regulations. Starfleet loves bureaucracy.”

At that Mac couldn’t help but smile. And there was no use in squashing it after he found himself doing it. “Lawyers, I’ve been told before, are as fundamental to the universe as hydrogen.”

“And infinitely less useful,” Sidda responded with a slight chuckle. “I’ll be honest though, I am finding more than a few of the regs to be…burdensome. I’m sure they had a specific reason birthing them into existence though.”

“Undoubtably.” A deep breath in, a slow breath out. He was still studying her, still trying to place things in his own mind when it came to Sidda Sadovu. “You’ve had Republic for two weeks, running an errand out to Gateway Station.” He raised a hand to stop her from speaking, her body language giving her intent away. “Commodore Sudari-Kravchik’s permission has been relayed to me and if I ever feel the need to ask more, I’ll do it over a pint.” She nodded to him with a slight sideways tilt of her head, still smiling before he continued. “During that two weeks however it would appear that Commander Malcolm has managed to write no less than three separate complaints ‘for the new captain’ about you.”

“Guess it’s too much to ask to see them by any chance?” she asked, continuing after he shook his head. “Had to try. Commander Malcolm has made his displeasure with Intelligence known to me and known to my wife as well.”

“Crewman Sadovu-th’Ven, yes?”

“That’s her.” Sidda’s expressions shifted subtly. It wasn’t a trained or practised mask of smiles and happiness, but actual happiness. Could he define it exactly? No, but he could tell when he saw it just then. “Anyway, Evan Malcolm is a competent, skilled and knowledgeable engineer. He just has firm opinions on Intelligence. And he’s heard or read enough rumours about me to…taint his opinion of me in a deleterious manner.”

“Careful Commander, you’re starting to sound like one of those lawyers.”

“Goddesses forbid,” Sidda quipped. “I don’t hold Malcolm’s prejudices against him, just yet. He’s a construction worker who’s being forced into the Fleet to qualify for a promotion. And we badly need skilled Engineers after Frontier Day. The fleet is a bit messier than a shipyard and most people probably have a view of Intelligence being the…dirtier aspect of the Federation they’d not like to think about. I’ll turn him around eventually.”

“Perhaps consider easing up on the charm? He might see it as you trying to butter him after all for something. Just…be?” He cringed inside as he said that. “Just, relax around him for now. We’ll figure out a strategy for dealing with him that hopefully means you and he can work together and my inbox doesn’t get filled.”

She nodded in understanding a few times and he continued, picking up yet another padd to refresh his memory before continuing. “A klingon disruptor, two knives and a sword, which I’ve been told is a monomolecular edged blade made of duranium that matches Federation starship hulls.”

“Girls gotta have hobbies,” Sidda joked. “So, the disruptor…”

Hours later, many hours later even, well past the end of the interview, which turned into a working meeting at some point without any conscious effort, and Mac finally found himself walking through the doors on his own quarters. It had been a long, meeting-filled day. He’d seen his quarters earlier, admired the stark emptiness but wealth of volume he was assigned as ship’s captain and then not thought about them at all until just now. The social space had all the accoutrements one would expect – a table and chairs, a few couches and a coffee table, and a workstation for even more ‘don’t bother me’ work. The bedroom had been equally as bland but would be serviceable for now.

He’d walked through the door rubbing at the bridge of his nose, then his eyes, trying to work some energy into them, which is why he’d missed that someone was already there, waiting for him. Blake Pisani had somehow gained access to his quarters well in advance of his granting access and had made herself at home on one of the couches, feet kicked up and over one arm, head supported by a couple of pillows as she read from a padd, earbuds blasting music into her ears and her’s alone.

She hadn’t seen him enter or heard him over whatever wretched audio torture she was favouring currently. So he took the opportunity to take off his boots, to pop into the bedroom and strip off his tunic, hanging it properly, before he returned to the lounge. A gentle prodding or sliding into her peripheral vision wasn’t going to cut it this time to get her attention. Instead, he just walked over and pried the padd from her hands in one swift action, bringing it up to read.

“Hey!” Blake shouted, but any further protest was cut off.

“The initial response of the aircraft to a longitudinal stick input is greatly dependent on the dynamic -.” He stopped reading aloud the contents on the screen and looked down at Blake, who was moving to sit up on the couch, pulling earbuds from her ears. “Is this a flight manual for an airplane?”

“Yes,” Blake answered. “Tikva pissed me off by being actually good at my holoprogram, so I thought I’d read up on what I was playing at.”

He looked at her, holding up the padd. “You could be reading the manual for shuttle operations you know. Getting better at flying something a bit more modern.”

“And put all those fancy flyers you have out of a job?” Blake answered, getting to her feet. She took back the padd and tossed it onto the other couch before stepping right up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him briefly. “Hope you don’t mind I broke in.”

“No, but I am interested in how you did it,” he answered, wrapping his own arms around her waist. “I’m going to find a chief medical officer override in the logs aren’t I?”

“Maybe,” Blake answered ruefully, following it with a smile. “So, how was your first day as captain?”

“Exhausting. Mentally that is.”

“Think you can work with this crew?”

“I can work with Sadovu,” he answered. “The others…well if I can’t, I’ll let Sadovu make them walk the plank. But they all seem a mostly…interesting bunch.”

Blake chuckled briefly, then turned Mac loose before turning him and pushing him back onto the couch before marching triumphantly towards the replicator, ordering two cups of tea and a smattering of biscuits. The replicator in its programmed wisdom threw in the tray without request, allowing Blake to bring it all over with ease.

“Now,” she started, handing over one cup to him, claiming a biscuit for herself then her own cup, “why don’t you tell me about it, hmm?”

“…and you were just firing off your disruptor down the street as he ran!” Trid barked out in shared laughter with Sidda just as the rest of Republic’s senior staff arrived in the conference room off the bridge. The laughter continued as both the Bajoran woman and her Orion senior took note of the new arrivals, then started to fade quickly with only a single attempted resurgence as some in-joke unspoken resonated between them.

The table had been set with a few carafes of hot and cold drinks, a few plates of what would happily counter a mid-afternoon snack, which for the host of this particular meeting it was. Sidda stood, abandoning the chair she’d been sitting in as she and Trid had been reminiscing about some point or another and waved a hand over the table with an accompanying welcoming smile.

“Afternoon, afternoon,” Sidda greeted them all as she stepped back to let Matt Lake past her, then circled around the table to the main display behind the seat that Captain MacIntyre had just sat himself down for.

“Sounded like a colourful story,” Mac said as he went about sorting out a cup of coffee for himself. “Might have to tell it to the rest of us some time, yes?”

“Oh, you don’t want the boss…Commander Sadovu, sorry, telling you the story, sir.” Trid was leaning forward to look down the table while refilling her cup. “She leaves all the good bits out.”

“You know,” Matt interjected, “Revin tells some rather interesting stories too.”

“Revin wasn’t there for most of them,” Trid replied straight away, just a touch defensively too. “I was.”

“Oh, joy.” The sudden damper on the friendly banter from Evan Malcolm had its desired effect – flattening the mood and killing the vibe. “Can we get on with this please?”

“Do you have somewhere else to be, Lieutenant Commander?” Mac asked as his attention shifted to his chief engineer. “Some dire engineering situation I need to be made aware of? Something to drag you away from a staff briefing where we’ll be told about our first mission?”

“No, sir.” The pause between the two words was pronounced and thick enough to cut with a knife.

Silence sat over the table for a few moments before being broken by a sheepish request from Lieutenant JG Willow Beckman to Trid at her left to pass a plate over so she could collect some of its bounty for herself. While most had stopped to see the outcome of the captain putting an officer in their place, one could rely on a junior officer to get to the important things – free food. “Sorry,” she said a bit louder when she noticed Mac’s attention shifted to her, but with nowhere the scalding intensity he had levelled at Evan.

“Don’t be Lieutenant,” Mac responded, his tone easing and a gentle smile coming to his face. He craned his head a moment to see what was on the plate Trid was setting back down. “Are those gingernuts on that plate?” he asked.

Trid’s noncommittal shrug was countered by Willow’s confirmation after a quick dip of one of her biscuits in her drink and a taste sample. “Good,” Mac immediately followed up. “Pass the plate would you please?”

It took a minute more for everyone to sort themselves out with drinks and snacks, save for Lieutenant Levne, who sorted herself out with a simple glass of water and some lightly salted crackers, set almost directly in front of her chair, prepared just for her. Coffee, hot chocolate and tea were claimed, plates of biscuits and small cakes had been portioned out to smaller plates and for now, forthcoming hunger was sated in preparation for the briefing.

Mac turned in his seat, pushing to the side and drawing alongside Matt who had been at his right. It left the viewscreen unobscured by himself and most importantly let him see it as well. “It’s your show Commander, take it away.”

Sidda took a moment, tugged on her uniform tunic, took a deep breath in and then tapped at the large monitor, bringing it to life immediately with a screed of text on one side and two images of an Andorian woman on the right – one in a bright blue uniform of the mid-2380s, the other a more recent image from a spaceport somewhere in the Federation showing her in a crowd of people. “This is Doctor T’Halla Shreln, a former Starfleet doctor turned Romulan sympathiser turned bioterrorist. And we’ve been tasked to bring her in by the Deputy Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence.”

“I know that face,” Mac said, face scrunched up in thought for a moment, then realisation hitting him all at once. “Sonofabitch,” he hissed.

“Sir?” Sidda asked, eyebrows scrunched in concern at Mac’s sudden outburst.

“I met her only a few weeks back. She was on Atlantis.” Mac reached forward to set his coffee cup down on the brief table, a precaution to spilling it. “You’re telling me that we had a bioterrorist aboard Atlantis and we didn’t even know it?”

“You didn’t know it because Intelligence hadn’t disseminated the information to all commands. Let me explain,” Sidda tapped once more on the screen, bringing some of the text up in a window, enlarged for all to read. “Doctor Shreln is a –“

It took over an hour for Sidda to go through the full intelligence briefing regarding Doctor Shreln. The backstory, slightly edited by Commodore Sudari-Kravchik, her supposed death, disappearance into the Romulan underground movements, radicalization and eventual self-waged war against the surviving Romulan aristocracy from the days of the Star Empire.

Questions were asked, a number of them from Levne when Sidda started talking about the psychological profile for Shreln compiled to date. How so much of it was based on her prior Starfleet career and scant few interviews that the Free State had passed along. Simply too much was unknown or based on supposition.

“Though from what I recall of speaking with Doctor Shreln while she was on Atlantis she did seem a reasonable, cognisant woman in full control of her faculties.” Mac’s interjection reinforced Sidda’s position that Shreln was a manipulator of the highest order.

“Who makes engineered viruses and plagues in order to assassinate people with little to no regard of the collateral damage,” Evan Malcolm threw in.

“That Commander,” Levne spoke, cutting off Mac unseen, her eyes on the wall screen and the information displayed there, “is why I want to know as much of her way of thinking as I can. There is clearly a logic she is working towards.”

“A warped logic,” Matt threw in. “Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he followed up immediately, “she clearly has a goal, intentions and a drive and skillset to achieve them. But there’s a flaw in her thinking somewhere.”

“Emblematic of radicals everywhere,” Mac finally said.

“And we’re in the ideal position to track her down,” Sidda continued, having claimed a seat during the briefing at the far end of the table from Mac, having brought a moment of terror to young Beckman when she had sat down. “I worked with her back on the Surabaya and afterwards for a few years. And Intelligence had a tentative location on Doctor Shreln as somewhere in the Cardassian Union, which Captain MacIntyre has confirmed for us.”

Evan sat up, having leaned back his seat as far as he could to passively absorb, or endure, the briefing. “So in summary, crazy plague-wielding genocidal maniac on the run from the Tal Shiar has fled into the Cardassian Union and we’re being tasked with going and asking nicely to look around and try and arrest her.”

“Ask nicely,” Sidda said, head tilted to one side, “look around anyway,” she continued, head moving to the other.

“Magros?” Trid asked.

“Magros,” Sidda confirmed.

“Magros?” Mac asked.

“Situation where I tied up the local authority by asking nicely, being polite, keeping them busy while the crew of the Vondem Rose went skulking around in back alleys looking for the scumbag we were hunting for anyway.”

“Hmmm.” Mac’s barely verbal response to that was to squint slightly at both of his supposedly former Intelligence officers. “There will be no unauthorised manhunts while we’re in Cardassian space. The Union is a political quagmire I have no interest in making worse. For us or any other Starfleet crew.”

“Certainly captain,” Levne answered as she turned to face Sidda, her face expressionless in opposition to Sidda’s smile. She waited a moment, the two Orion women staring at each other, then turned back to Mac. “That said Captain, I would like to brief the Security personnel on our target on the minuscule chance we may spot her by chance and wish to apprehend her immediately.”

Mac answered the request with a gentle nod of his head a few times. “I want all departments ready for departure tomorrow morning during alpha shift.” A deadline which gave roughly eighteen hours to get Republic ready. “Commander Malcolm, we’ll try and not stress the engines as much over the next few weeks as Commander Sadovu has already done.”

“Appreciated,” Evan replied.

“In that case all, finish up any business you might have on Deep Space 47, get your departments ready and dismissed, save for you Commander Sadovu.” Mac’s order was greeted with a series of ‘thank you’s and ‘aye sir’ from the younger officers as everyone stood and filed out, leaving Mac and Sidda facing each other down the length of the table.

“Good briefing,” he said as soon as the door closed. “And I see what you mean about Malcolm. He was totally different in our one-on-one and last night. But you and he in the same room and he gets snippy.”

“As you said captain, he’s going to be a project.”

“Hmm.” Mac stood up, collecting his dishes and then stacking them on the nearest left behind, his going through the motions of cleaning a sign for Sidda to start cleaning as well. “Now, tell me about this Magros incident,” he said as he turned for the replicator to dispose of the plates and cups.

“Oh, Trid’s not kidding, you want to hear the stories from her perspective. She was the one after all running down the street chasing after a naked Nausicaan.”

“Okay, see, now I want to know anyway and I want to know now,” Mac said with a chuckle.

“Right, so it all started – “

“Afraid you won’t see her again?” Sidda asked MacIntyre as she sat herself down in the XO’s seat.

The question broke his reverie, bringing him back to the here and now. A few blinks of his eyes later and he realised he had been staring dead ahead at the main viewer. The gentle curve of DS47’s upper hull dominated the righthand side. Beyond that, sitting just off-centre, the jutting prow of the USS Atlantis at port further around the station as the two ships had docked roughly facing each other along the station’s perimeter. He nodded his head a few times, put on a smile and turned to his XO.

“That’s the second ship named Atlantis I served on. Thought I’d take command of them both, to be honest.” He chuckled briefly, more to himself than anything. “But turns out, someone, somewhere decided to give me something brand spanking new instead.” He patted at the armrests on his chair, narrowly avoiding the quick commands console built into the right arm.

“Least you walked off the ship you thought you’d be commanding one day and get to look back at her,” Sidda joked. “I had to beam off of my first forever ship and watch it explode.” She chuckled at Mac’s raised eyebrow. “I’ll tell you the store of the Vondem Thorn another time.”

“I thought you had been commanding the Vondem Rose?” he asked.

“Yup. A bird-of-prey up to a K’t’inga-class cruiser in an afternoon. Only felt right to name it the Vondem Rose after those D’Ghor bastards blew up my Thorn.” Sidda turned her head to look at Atlantis on the viewscreen. “She’ll still be around. Captain Theodoras seems a sensible sort.”

MacIntyre barked in laughter at that, enough that more than a few people around the bridge with clearly not enough to do turned to face him briefly before getting back to their work. “Tikva? Sensible? Oh boy. Have I got stories to dissuade you of that notion.”

“Look forward to hearing them,” Sidda said. She looked down at her console next to her seat and tapped the portion of the screen with a clock in the corner. “Time.”

“Guess we should get this show on the road then,” Mac replied as he tapped a button on his armrest. “Engineering, Bridge here. Malcolm, how are my engines looking?”

“47 gave us a top-up on all fuel stocks, so we won’t need a refill for…a few years? Assuming that m…” Malcolm cut himself off, the pause long enough for Sidda to smirk at Mac. “Assuming Commander Sadovu doesn’t have us running everywhere at maximum warp all the time. Otherwise, we’re good for main engine start. Warp power can be available within fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll try and be frugal Mr Malcolm. Start shovelling coal and make ready to get underway.”

“Aye sir,” Malcolm’s response came, though the questioning tone at being asked to ‘shovel coal’ was evident. “Bringing warp drive online. Engineering out.”

“He only almost insulted you this time,” Mac shot to Sidda with a smile before turning on Trid at Operations. “Lieutenant Jenu, hail the dockmaster and ask permission to depart.”

The Bajoran woman responded with a nod before she turned back to her console and a quiet conversation later she tapped a single button for the bridge-wide comms.

“Republic, Control. Permission to depart granted. Fair winds and smooth skies, Republic. We’ll keep the lights on.” The voice was the crisp, cool and controlled monotone expected of traffic controllers the Federation over.

“Roger that 47. Republic out.” Mac signalled for Trid to cut the line and waited for her nod to say it was done. “Close all hatches, disconnect all moorings.”

“Aye,” Trid responded. A handful of taps, eyes scrutinising readouts, then another set of readouts. “Boarding tube sealed and disconnected. All umbilicals are free. We’re free to manoeuvre.”

“Fantastic.” Mac pushed himself out of the seat, tugging at his uniform tunic like any good commanding officer he’d ever seen, or done himself countless times already. “Go, no-go time folks. Science?”

Matt Lake nodded. “All systems green across the board. Science is go.”

“Helm?” Mac asked next.

“Starcharts for the Expanse are updated. 47 Control have sent us the official Cardassian starcharts and what their own telescopes have been able to confirm. Atlantis also forwarded along her latest astronavigational data.” Beckman only half-turned, hands hovering over her controls and eager to do something with the ship once more. “We’re good to go.”

“Excellent,” Mac replied and saw the young lieutenant smile at that. “Tactical?”

“All defensive systems are online and operational,” Levne replied from her station. “We have a full inventory of photon and quantum torpedoes. I also have requested the most up-to-date threat analysis of Cardassian and Breen vessels.”

“Let’s hope we don’t come to blows, yes?” Mac asked, earning a nod from his tactical officer. “Operations?” he asked, turning to Trid once more.

Trid smiled, looked briefly to Sidda, then back to Mac. “All crew accounted for Captain and all systems report green across the board.”

 Mac nodded, then turned to Sidda, who had gotten to her own feet and joined him at the front of the command platform. “XO?”

“All departments report ready. We’re good to go.” Sidda gave Mac a wink and again that easy smile. “You just need to say your thing.”

“My thing?” he asked.

“Engage, now, warp me, thataway.” Sidda tilted her head as she looked at him. “Your thing.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Mac replied, shaking his head. “Beckman, push us away from the station, one-quarter thrusters until we’re clear enough to turn, then thrusters ahead to five kilometres. Full impulse to the outer marker and then set course for Simperia.” He stopped, watching the entire bridge crew as they turned to face him, waiting, punctuated by Beckman as she finished inputting her controls but stopped sort, a finger hovering over a single button.

He shook his head, then glared at Sidda, who just smiled sweetly at him.

“Engage,” he finally uttered.

“Aye sir,” Beckman responded, turning back to her station as she actioned the commands.

“An oldie but a goodie,” Sidda said to him quietly as they both sat back down.

“So you’re the XO’s girl,” Blake stated as she sat herself down at the bar in the Pnyx directly opposite the only other person present at the time.

“She’s mine actually,” Revin answered as she finished the bit of cleaning she was doing while reading from a padd set just below the bar’s counter. The way she spoke indicated the pride she felt as she said those words, her own eyes dipping to the fanciful ring on her finger – the stylised raptor with emeralds in stunning platinum and silver. “And you,” she countered as eyes lifted to Blake, “must be Doctor Blake Pisani.”

“Guilty as charged. But call me Blake.” Blake then hefted a large glass jug onto the counter, easily containing a couple of litres of a clear solution that sloshed around slightly. “For the bar. Do not, under any circumstances, serve this to any brass that comes aboard ship.”

Revin’s quizzical look, her head moving backwards slightly was soon followed by her approaching the bottle carefully, removing the stopper and taking a sniff before recoiling in amazement. Or shock. Maybe horror. A healthy combination of all three. “What is that?”

“That is Atlantis Gin,” Blake answered. “Distilled using my own unique methods and varietals to a dangerous level, this will get you absolutely drunk in no time at all.” Blake leaned forward, smiling. “It’s medicinal. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

Revin scoffed at that but stoppered the bottle, lifted it and disappeared it from view below the counter in quick succession. She returned a small plate, a collection of small pastries upon it and set them down in front of Blake. “An exchange then.”

“Pastries for gin?” Blake asked, then picked up a miniature croissant to examine it. “I’m not sure this is equivalent trade.” At Revin’s beckoning, however, she proceeded to take a bite, moaning in delight around the pastry. “Oh gods,” she finally got out. “Definitely not equivalent. Marry me,” Blake said jokingly as she took another bite.

Revin just held up her hand, waving the ring briefly as her answer to that and earning an unhappy sound from Blake as she chewed. “Maybe the next bottle can be of a more…palatable proof?”

Hours later, after Republic had gotten underway, both Mac and Sidda entered the Pnyx together, stopping immediately at the sight of Revin and Blake at the bar. Other officers were present, a few of Republic’s departmental assistant chiefs, a couple of the senior staff, but all were giving Revin and Blake a bit of space as they chatted away.

“We’re screwed,” Sidda muttered to Mac.

“Oh?”

“Your girlfriend and my wife,” Sidda paused briefly after saying that, working her mouth as if still getting used to the idea, let alone the word. “Trust me, something is up.” Then she saw the pastries on the counter. “Oh no, not the pastries.”

“Pastries are bad?” Mac asked, urging Sidda towards the bar with him. “This is going to need some explanation, Commander.”

“Bad for you,” Sidda answered. “You don’t have my metabolism.” She waved as Revin spotted the two of them. “We best go stop them before they plan some sort of overthrow of the established order.”

“Or before Blake starts handing out bottles of her homebrew gin,” Mac countered.

“Homebrew gin and pastries to die for,” Sidda laughed. “We’ll be dead from overindulgence before we even cross the Cardassian border.”

“Oh that’s just not fair,” said one of the two masked figures as they crested onto the roof of the three-story building on the edge of the heart of the city of Krem.

“It was predicted for today after all,” the other said, quieter and calmer than the first. “But it is a few hours early.”

The subject of their discussion was the rapidly approaching wall of sand and dust, its leading edge alight with the occasional flash of lightning or failing electrical transformers as the sandstorm crashed upon the outskirts of Krem. At its current rate, it would settle onto the city centre within ten minutes, but its effects were already being felt.

The shadow of the kilometre-tall wall was already blocking out the sun, dropping the temperature in the city by a handful of degrees. Streetlights had come to life but were swallowed into the gloom as the dust poured through the streets, smothering all it came across.

“They’re on the roof!” came a shout from the street, followed by an errant phaser blast. The Cardassian security personnel, purely civilian and not related to Central Command, were just as well armed and equipped though. Moving in pairs, the second of the two turned to where his companion had fired and raised his weapon.

“Move!” the first masked figure shouted as they started to run across the roof.

Krem was an old city, founded centuries ago during Cardassia’s first major expansion wave. She featured numerous small alleys and side pathways alongside her major arterial roads. Buildings were built close to each other and cast plenty of shade on the streets below when they weren’t spaced far enough to allow troops to march in a parade for all to see. Considering the world and the location where Krem had been founded, these provided multiple advantages – fitting into elements of Cardassian architecture; providing shade and relief from the overbearing heat of the day, even for Cardassians; and finally a helpful defence against the semi-frequent sandstorms that washed over Krem.

Right now it helped in that the two figures weren’t trapped on a single roof as they sprinted for the far edge, leaping the gap to the next building with ease, their transit answered with more ascending phaser fire from below.

“How much further?” the individual in the lead shouted back at their companion.

“Two kilometres,” came the response.

A beam went past both of them – a Cardassian on the previous roof firing at them as soon as he’d made it onto the roof. He dropped prone in response to the first masked figure turning, raising the snarling mouth of a Klingon disruptor in his direction and letting loose a shot. And then a second at the guard climbing up next to him, convincing him to drop down the ladder a few steps and wait.

“We aren’t meant to hurt anyone,” the second hissed as they both continued running, leaping across another alleyway.

“I know that! I made that a requirement, remember?”

“Then why are you,” the second started before being cut off as the first ran past them.

“Shut up and run!” the first yelled.

As more guards joined the first brave ones on the roofs the amount of phaser fire increased. Some got close, but the act of chasing was compounded by the need to occasionally vault an alleyway, or ponder such a vault for some of the larger guards. And then the increasing dust and sand in the air was another factor, one which the guards weren’t prepared for at the outset, unlike their quarry.

“How much further?” the first shouted back towards their companion.

“Another kilometre to the beam out point. But this storm might be an issue.”

“Let me worry about that!”

As the storm truly settled in, visibility dropping to a mere handful of meters, both masked individuals had to stop running, lest they find an alleyway without any warning. Their pursuers had given up, retreating to the streets below and likely inside as quickly as they could, looking for shelter from the storm. Dropping from rooftops to the streets themselves, both masked individuals stopped for a moment, breathing heavily before the taller of the two pointed silently in one direction and they both continued once more.

“They’re around here somewhere,” a deep Cardassian voice bellowed out. “Find them!”

“Seriously?” the first hissed before walking gave way to sprinting. “I get being persistent, but out in this weather?”

“It is their planet, some of them must be prepared to be out in this at all times,” the other answered.

It was only a few minutes before they cut down into an even tighter alleyway, and then stopped. “This is the spot,” the second said before producing an old banged-up communicator, only a century out of date but still a functional piece that flicked open with a quick wrist motion. “Levne to,” they stopped momentarily, then resumed, “home base. Ready for beam out.”

“Negative on that,” came the response. “Dust storm is kicking up a heck of a lot of interference on top of those overlapping inhibitors the Cardies got running.”

The first masked individual stopped by a crate against the alley’s wall and opened the lid, reaching in and pulling out a black carry bag, clearly ladened with goods. Set down and opened, the cylindrical device was produced and offered to the other individual in quick order.

“You brought transporter enhancers and didn’t inform me?”

“Hey, look, I brought transporter enhancers.” The tone of voice was definitely unhelpful. “I beamed down an hour after you. We’ve been busy, it didn’t come up. Now set it up already.”

There wasn’t much space in the alleyway to set them up, leaving just enough space between the three devices for one of them at a time. “Go,” the first ordered as they turned to face the open end of the alley, where shouting voices could be heard approaching. Furst whirled in the air but it was so much less dense here unlike the rooftops, the repeated breaking up of pathways between buildings blunting the severity of the storm.

“You should go you’re the,” and they were cut off once more by the first.

“Go, that’s an order.”

No counterargument came this time, just a chirp of a communicator, a spoken phrase, an acknowledgement of a good signal and the hum of a transporter whisking one of the two away.

“Transporter signal over this way!” came a shout!

“Only one alien life sign now!”

“Hurry up and catch them!”

The first then stepped backwards until they were between the three enhancers, disruptor raised to cover the alley entrance. “Come on,” they muttered. “Now would be good.”

A Cardassian guard turned the corner, their weapon raised. They dove to cover quickly as the sickly green bolt went over their head. They stayed there because of the handful more that followed.

“Disruptor fire!” came a shout.

“This way!” another confirmed.

“Any minute now,” the masked individual muttered again.

Just as another Cardassian guard arrived, braver than the first, the lights on the enhancers flared to life. As the world filled with light around the masked individual, they gave a cheeky salute to the guard, the return phaser beam passing through empty air.

And then the transporter enhancers flared even brighter before exploding in a shower of sparks, destroying themselves.

“Goddesses that was close!” Sidda Sadovu exclaimed as she stepped down off the transporter pad, stripping off the filter mask and goggles she’d been wearing. Her hair was caked in sand and dust but her face was clean, though covered in a sheen of sweat from where the mask and goggles had trapped moisture. “Nice work Chief Kruck,” she said, throwing the Tellarite behind the transporter controls a compliment, which seemed to have gone down like a lead balloon with them.

“Well?” asked Captain MacIntyre as soon as the doors leading from the corridor outside parted for him. He’d barely stepped in, barely gotten his one-word question out before Sidda’s had was raised, two Cardassian isolinear rods clutched in her gloved hands.

The other masked individual, a similarly dishevelled Lieutenant Selu Levne, produced an isolinear rod as well, but instead of the standard ruddy brown, this one was dark emerald green in colour.

“Not a single hitch,” Sidda offered with a smile.

“Aside from alerting the facility security, a chase across rooftops and being the talk of the entire planetary security communication sub-net as a request for any information about you has gone planetwide,” MacIntyre replied as he accepted all three rods from the two Orion women. “Gul Lemec is already working to quash the security alerts but Central Command can only do so much about local security.”

“Before or after we beamed out?” Sidda asked. “The alert that is.”

Mac looked at Sidda, eyes narrowing for a moment. “After,” he finally admitted.

Sidda barely restrained herself from barking out a laugh. “Gul Lemec owes me a bottle of kanar.”

“Of course he does,” Mac muttered, shaking his head as he turned to leave. “Clean yourselves up, and have something to eat. Staff meeting in two hours.”

“You made a bet with our Cardassian liaison before we went on this mission?” Selu asked as she settled into stride next to Sidda as they wandered down the halls of Republic.

“One bottle of kanar against one bottle of Avalon whiskey,” Sidda clarified.

“Not what I would call standard operating procedure.”

“That’s me.”

As they parted, Sidda made her way not to her quarters, but to the Pnyx, the doors sliding open at her approach. Only a few of Republic’s more elevated officers were present, those recently off duty, or not long before going on duty. But one in particular was present, the most junior officer by far in the room, stationed behind the bar.

“Hello gorgeous,” Sidda said as she settled upon a barstool opposite Revin, who’d been busy cleaning while reading from a padd on the bar top.

No words were said as Revin produced a plate and a glass from behind the bar and settled it in front of Sidda in quick order. “Cream cheese bagel and orange juice,” she said, then looked up, eyes firm and not lacking in resolve. “What have I said about missing breakfast?”

“Most important meal of the day,” Sidda answered, playing the chastised little girl.

“Good answer,” the Romulan woman said, then leaned herself over the bar counter, hands on the bar to support her as she planted a quick kiss on Sidda’s lips. “You need a shower,” she said after just a moment.

“I’ve got just under two hours,” Sidda answered with a wink as she picked up the bagel. “Join me?”

“Well don’t you just look…glowing,” Blake Pisani quipped as she stepped into the turbolift, hands stuffed into the pockets of her medical jacket.

Racking her brain, Sidda struggled to think of a time she hadn’t seen Blake wearing the light blue labcoat. The doctor had taken the optional part of her uniform and made it a regular item. Though, the extra pockets she was jealous of.

“Successful mission,” Sidda answered as the lift doors closed. “Can’t complain.”

The lift had barely started before Blake guffawed at the comment. “Successful mission huh?” She turned to face Sidda, a hand raising from one of those coat pockets, a finger pointing accusatorially. “I’ve worked with enough Orions to recognise flushed cheeks. And,” Blake squinted, “slightly dilated pupils.”

“I keep my quarters dark and warm,” Sidda protested.

“Uh huh,” Blake replied, her tone indicating her disbelief. “Gul Lemec,” she spat out, bringing the conversation from the personal to the professional with the mere utterance of a name, “right bastard, am I right?”

“Let’s be specific – Cardassian bastard,” Sidda said with a smile and a raised finger. “It’s a very specific type of bastard. And one I’m happily playing.”

“Playing?”

“Playing,” Sidda repeated. “Selu and I won us a nice bottle of kanar, if Lemec is man enough to admit defeat.”

“Kanar?” Blake rolled her eyes. “Vile stuff.”

“Oh totally. But we put it aside, let it age for a bit, then use it in a trade of our own down the line.” Sidda rubbed at her face briefly, checking her palms afterwards. “Going into that briefing, listening to everything, come up with a plan for how we go forward and then make some ridiculous bet with Lemec and I bet I can score us a cask this time.”

“Wait!” Blake snapped out, grabbing Sidda’s wrist and pulling her hand up, palm upwards. “You’re not blushing? Your wearing makeup?”

“Just a touch. Enough to enhance a natural glow,” Sidda answered as Blake let her wrist go free. “Wanted it to be bloody obvious for the good Gul.” As the turbolift slowed, the doors parting on the short hallway that would lead to the conference room, she gave Blake a wink. “After all, if I wanted to walk here, I had to fight Revin off a while ago.”

“And how is my pastry chef?” Blake asked, jogging to catch up with Sidda. “You better not melt her brain. I need those croissants of hers.”

“Goddesses, don’t we all?”

“I have to hand it to you, Commander,” Gul Lemec said, boisterous voice filling the conference room. “You made a scene down there, but you got the data. Central Command is still decrypting it, but I’ve been told what they have should help us put away Administrator Helcta for quite some time.”

“I still don’t like this, or how we went about it,” Captain Charles MacIntyre said from his seat at the head of the conference table. And currently the only person in the room still seated after Lemec had stood when Sidda and Blake had entered. “Surely your civil order people and justice department were working on this already, yes?”

“Come now captain,” Lemec turned on Mac, smiling. “How is the human saying, you scratch my back, I scratch your back?” He waited long enough for Mac to nod in concession. “We know the Helcta Institute had hired this Doctor Shreln, but we don’t where, or what she was working on. And we know the Institute is working with criminal elements, including a tendril of the Orion Syndicate.”

“For shame,” Sidda said in a mocking manner as she walked around, taking a seat to Mac’s left, leaving the seat to his right for Blake. “But lo, an anonymous source has delivered all the secure data records from Helcta’s private terminal and office safe to Central Command.”

“Yes, anonymous,” Lemec said, actually smiling as he stared at Sidda. “I honestly thought your plan was a little…unorthodox for Starfleet.”

“So did I,” Mac half-hissed through gritted teeth. “But when in Rome.”

“Rome?” Lemec asked, pacing slightly. Staying on his feet afforded him a height advantage, which played well with Cardassian superiority complexes and therefore something all of the Starfleet officers were willing to concede to him at this time.

“It’s a human saying,” Mac answered. “And not important. When can we expect a full decryption?”

“Oh, sometime in the next two hours,” Lemec answered as he made his way to the windows, looking out back between the ship’s nacelles. “Which is about how long it’s going to take my yeoman to secure a decent bottle of kanar.” He turned, smiling. “I didn’t forget Commander, just figured I should get a good bottle for my favourite Orion.”

“The sentiment is appreciated,” Sidda answered, offering the sincerest fake smile she could. “But Gul, I’ll take a crappy bottle of kanar if it gets us that data on Shreln even five minutes faster.”

“From everything you shared with me about her and everything that my government was able to corroborate with yours, I’m just as inclined.” Lemec turned full to face them all now. “The woman is a menace and a terrorist.” His tone shifted from his usually jovial ‘gracious host’ routine he’d put on since they arrived in orbit to a much more serious tone. “I want your Starfleet to find her and get her out of Cardassian space as quickly as possible.”

Mac leaned forward, clasping his hands as he turned his head slightly sideways, a question forming, then uttered. “Andryn, is there something you want to tell me?”

“There are elements, old elements of Central Command, who would attempt to weaponise this Doctor Shreln, just based on hearsay. On the evidence you have provided,” Lemec trailed off, then shrugged his shoulders. “A shame we never found her, so sad. Oh, by the way, we had nothing to do with the deaths of thousands or millions of Breen.”

“Or Federation citizens. Must be a Romulan plot,” Blake interjected, sarcasm layered on so thick unfortunate souls a deck below likely drowned in it.

“That is old Cardassia,” Lemec continued. “I want a world with honour in it. So, you will have your information as soon as it’s decoded. And I will delay sending anything further up my chain of command for as long as I can to buy you as much time as possible.”

It was only a few minutes later, Gul Lemec having departed, leaving the conference room with just Mac, Sidda and Blake. “Are we buying this?” Mac asked as he leaned back into his chair.

“No,” Blake spat out instantly.

“I’m inclined too,” Sidda answered, drawing a slow look from Mac but an instant glare from Blake. “Ever seen Cardassian theatre? It’s horrible. Oh, they think they’re all that and the greatest drama writers in the galaxy, but I haven’t met a Cardassian yet that could act their way out of an open airlock.”

That mental image apparently pushed through Blake’s disbelief and drew a single snorting laugh. “Fuck, don’t do that,” she said.

“Make you laugh?” Sidda asked.

“Bitch,” Blake responded with a shake of her head. “Dammit, she’s right. He sounded goddamn sincere.”

“So, he’s a pompous ass, but he’s an honourable pompous ass?” Mac queried, getting a shrug and nod from his first officer. “Trust, but verify. He gives us the decryption, we’ll find what we’re looking for and we get moving. But we verify with Intelligence.”

“The Commodore should have the copied data by now. Give her a few hours to decrypt and get back to us.” Sidda shrugged. “We’ll be underway but not too far to turn around if we have to.”

“Assuming she has the right decryption keys,” Blake added.

“Oh please, she works for that Admiral Beckett spook. She’ll have up-to-date decryption keys for all Cardassian systems. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if her’s aren’t better than the ones Gul Andryn Lemec has.” Mac shook his head. “Probably better gear tucked into the walls of DS47 too.”

“Tucked in the walls, the coffee machines, the plants in the galleria.” Sidda once more got a snort from Blake. “But you’re not wrong boss,” she said to Mac. “We’ll get our own version of the data a few hours after at most, accounting for subspace transmission times. Then we’ll know if Lemec is on the up and up.”

“That we will,” Mac said. “Make preparations to get us underway Commander Sadovu.”

He waited for Sidda to stand, a short exchange of pleasantries between her and Blake, then depart, before turning to face Blake. “Problem with Cardassians hun?” he asked.

“No, just Cardassian military types.”

“So…Cardassians,” he reiterated.

“Now who’s stereotyping,” she shot back, then immediately grimaced and shook her head. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair. I know you were teasing.”

“Only just.”

“And it’s really more a problem with paternalistic, patronising, patriarchal bastards.” She stood from her seat and moved over to Mac, waiting for him to push back from the table before sitting in his lap. “This new Cardassia…still looks a lot like Old Cardassia.”

“Just softer and a bit cuddlier.” Mac took the light punch in his arm from Blake in stride. “At least Lemec is working with us, and not against us like Gul Mervek was.”

“Oh not Mervek,” Blake protested. “I think we could blow his ship up and Central Command would actually thank us.”

“You might be right.” He gave her a squeeze around the waist. “Free for lunch?”

“We best hit the Agora.” Blake’s suggestion an answer in itself. “Everyone’s favourite chef went off duty a few hours ago and I suspect your XO hasn’t left her in a fit state for anything. And you need to show your face down there anyway.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mac sighed in mock protest as Blake eventually dragged him to his feet. “Even my downtime is work now.”

“Oh pish! You complain about all this, but you’d happily take it doubled if it was the only way to have your own command.”

“Damn straight,” he answered as they left. “Damn. Straight.”

“Krem Orbital Control has just sent us another orbital correction,” announced Lieutenant Jenu Trid from her station to the front left of the bridge. “Cardassians being Cardassians I guess.”

“And just what is that meant to mean, Lieutenant?” asked Lieutenant Command Matt Lake, currently seated in the centre seat and still nose-deep into a report he’d been reading, or trying to, for the last hour.

“That they still like to give out pointless orders for the sake of seeing people jump to,” Trid shot out without any hesitation, then winced straight away as what she had said registered. “What I meant sir was –“

“What you meant was what you said Lieutenant,” Matt interrupted her, setting the padd in hand down and looking to the young Bajoran woman as she turned to face him. “And I get that Bajoran cultural views of Cardassians are…negative at best?” He waited a moment, getting an agreeing nod from Trid before he continued. “But ten corrections in the last three hours is getting beyond a joke.” He broke into a smile and offered her a wink, the lesson given and softened with situational understanding.

“Should I make the adjustments then?” asked Willow Beckman at the helm, who’d been sitting there half-bored to death her whole shift, save for the momentary respite of changing the ship’s orbit to comply with the whims and fancy of orbital directors planetside.

“Get us to the orbit they want us in, but do it nice and slow like Lieutenant,” Matt answered after a moment of thought. “Lazy-like and with style,” he added with a wave of his hand.

“Aye sir,” Beckman replied, a touch of hesitation to her words and dragging them out as she turned back to her controls.

“Not to add to the list of issues Commander,” came a half-squeak from Comms, a young Ensign Bartlett responding to a series of demanding beeps from their console. “But I’ve got a priority message from Deep Space 47. For Commander Sadovu.”

“Don’t let me stand in the way of ceremony Ensign,” Matt said, returning to his padd. “She’s no doubt expecting it anyway.”

“Aye sir,” the ensign responded, a short series of key taps forwarding the message along.

“Now, who wants to hear about the latest in post-radiation genetic repair therapies?” Matt asked, his question bringing with it utter silence on the bridge. “Just me? You’re all missing out.”

Sidda and Revin’s shared quarters were only just a sliver above pitch black as she crept out of the bedroom, tugging the dressing gown tight as she slipped out into the common area. With a faint hiss, the door closed and she finally spoke, having been silent since the accursed bleeping of a priority message had woken her.

Someone, somewhere had sold their soul and the souls of all their descendants to master the one sound designed to interrupt an officer’s sleep. And then thought it funny to let others control that sound. Usually some ensign, disturbing the sleep of their seniors.

“Display message,” she’d whispered as she sat down on the cushion at the low table that housed her ‘home computer’. Just like on the Vondem Rose she’d replaced all the furniture with low sitting makes, chairs and couches with a variety of cushions and rugs and blankets. All of it a taste of her upbringing on Vondem.

And thanks to Revin, all of it a glorious and horrific mishmash of styles and colours, but an absolute riot of textures and feels, harkening to the young Romulan woman’s own youth of blindness.

Which also explained why the room was so dark, besides it being nighttime for the couple. Sidda preferred it that way, so that at home she had been more akin to Revin in sense, but then had simply acclimatised to it. Besides, the rest of the day she spent in brightly lit spaces, the difference helped put her mind someplace else.

“Authorisation code required,” the computer unhelpfully announced, its volume way too high for Sidda’s likening and eliciting a flinch from her. No one liked being shouted at when they were still waking up.

“Sidda-Rose-Seven-Six-Baker-Tallyho.”

The computer paused for a few seconds, a mere progress bar coming up on screen as it contemplated her code and then decrypted the message. What started as a crawl leapt to completion in the blink of an eye before disappearing, leaving only a series of numbers on screen punctuated by periods and a couple of colons.

“Queen bitch,” Sidda hissed.

“Seriously?” Mac asked as he looked over the padd he’d just been handed. His ready room had been an island of calm serenity and paperwork, never-ending though it was, then interrupted by the arrival of his XO bearing news.

“Seriously,” Sidda answered. “I got this just a few minutes ago.” A statement corroborated by the fact she was standing before him wearing a silk dressing gown that was in his opinion a little short for running around the ship in. The little art-style starships doing battle all over it though was something that brought a smile to him though.

“Lemec still hasn’t gotten back to us, despite telling us it would only be a few hours.” A few hours that had dragged into most of a day now. “Still think he’s dragging us along?”

“I’m starting to rethink my earlier position, save that a little math tells me the Commodore likely only had our transmission for about fifteen minutes before she sent that gem along.” Sidda moved to take a seat, settling herself down, and readjusting her dressing gown briefly. “Lemec is running decryption, she had a key.”

“How the hell does Starfleet Intelligence have a decryption key for a Cardassian medical research institute?” He waved any attempt at an answer away before it could be given. There wasn’t a soul aboard the ship that would likely be able to guess anywhere near the right answer. “These coordinates, aren’t they…” he trailed off as he tried to mentally place them, drawing a blank.

“In the middle of nowhere,” Sidda finished the sentence for him. “Literal nowhere. Nothing out there at all. But, if you remove forty-seven degrees from each set, you actually do get something.” She smiled at him, a whole-face affair, before continuing. “System CX-489-D in the Cardassian cartography catalogue we have. A mere seventeen lightyears away.”

“Forty-seven?” he asked, feeling his own eyebrow raise.

“Regulation 46A. And to be fair I first looked up those exact coordinates and was highly confused by the total lack of anything. But rotation cyphers are some of the first and most primitive encryption one can come up with.”

“Still haven’t explained how you got to forty-seven as the answer though,” he continued.

“Task Force Forty-Seven.” She shrugged. “Second number I tried. Right there on my desktop screen.”

It was only a few moments after that the two of them entered the bridge, Matt Lake quickly rising from the centre seat as they did so, his gaze quickly going over the XO in her current state of dress before flashing back to him. “Captain, hope nothing is wrong.”

“No, nothing,” he answered. “Engineering hasn’t stood down have they?”

“No, though Evan has asked twice now if we’re actually going to be going somewhere, or if we’re just keeping the engines hot for fun.” Matt’s delivery of that was likely far more polite and softer than the engineer’s question would have been directly from him.

“Oh, we’re going somewhere alright,” Sidda said as she walked barefoot across the bridge, handing the padd, with adjusted coordinates on it this time, over to Lieutenant Beckman, who merely glanced at it before entering them into her station, bringing up star charts, checking sensors and plotting a course. “Got it, Lieutenant?”

“Aye, ma’am. Seventeen point one lightyears,” Beckman answered.

“Good,” Mac said. “Break orbit and take us there at maximum warp. And don’t ask permission to depart, just do it.” He turned back to the turbolift, Sidda already heading back herself. “And if Gul Lemec hails, take a message.”

With a round of ‘Aye sir’ he stepped into the turbolift, the doors closing on him and Sidda. “And as for you XO, go back to bed. I can do math and it’s still going to take us just under nineteen hours.”

“Same to you then Boss,” she shot back. “But yes, I plan on going right back to bed. And then getting ready to raid whatever deathtrap Shreln has left behind.”

“That dressing gown was a bit interesting,” Matt said after the captain and commander had left. The stars on the viewscreen slid away to one side as Beckman broke the ship from orbit promptly.

“Oh?” Trid asked, turning to face him. “Find something you like about it?” she continued, teasing tone to her voice.

“It was covered in lots of little starships,” he answered as he sat back down, crossing his arms. “I have the utmost respect for the XO after all.”

“Oh, that old thing,” Trid commented, turning back to her station. “More surprised she was wearing a dressing gown. Honestly, you haven’t worked for her until you’ve fought off raiders with her standing in the middle of the bridge shouting orders while clutching a bedsheet around herself for modesty.”

“That really happened?” Beckman asked incredulously. “Seriously?”

“She was more pissed off they had interrupted her sleep than that they were shooting at her ship,” Trid said with a wink. “I’ll tell you about it later. Heck, she’ll tell you about it if you buy her a drink.”

“Alright ladies,” Matt chimed in. “Lieutenant Beckman, if you please, could you kindly make all classical physicists cry and take us to warp?”

“How long have they been out there?” Mac asked, swivelling his command chair to face the secondary ops station. He had to keep the smile off his face as he did that, a freedom he knew his former captain would be jealous of but was all his right now.

“Couple of hours,” came the easy response from Lieutenant Catalina Saez as she turned to face him with what he had learned was a trademark near-permanent smirk on her face. “And we did tell them to be sneaky gits so they aren’t going to call back until they’re fairly certain they won’t give the game away.”

“Sneaky gits?” he challenged, watching Catalina’s smirk grow, touching her eyes.

“Follow emission control protocols and remain undetected while undertaking initial scouting of the facility,” Catalina corrected.

“Oh, no, we definitely said to be sneaky gits,” came a follow-up from the rightmost command chair and he caught Sidda winking at Catalina, who shook her head in response. “But we also did say all that other stuff,” Sidda continued as she waved at imaginary smoke, attempting to dismiss any complaints.

“Ladies, please,” Mac found himself saying, trying to bring order to the chaos that was his bridge. His bridge. He’d take the banter and easy attitude if it meant it was on his bridge. And as he’d found over the last few weeks, it was a veneer over robust professionalism.

Catalina, most of her flight of Night Witches even, gave the comfortable, relaxed but competent vibe that he expected of pilots while avoiding any bold and brash overconfidence. And then he had his XO, Sidda Sadovu, who tried her best to radiate charm and approachability with the crew, but she was more focused in private or with the senior officers. She was by far the hardest and easiest for him to read at the same time.

“Sorry Captain,” Catalina answered. “Blunt and Crash know what they’re doing. They should be, by the mission profile, observing the facility right now and should start making their way back here in,” she turned back to her station, checking a clock he couldn’t quite make out across the distance, “sixteen minutes. Two hours to get back to the barn and then we’ll know what the lay of the land is.”

“Assuming no surprises,” Sidda added, playing devil’s advocate.

“Murphy willing,” Catalina pleaded with the unseen chaos deity that plagued all good plans.

Two Valkyrie-class fighters from the USS Republic hung in space a million kilometres from their prey. Over two and a half times the distance between Earth and Luna, but with the right equipment a mere inconvenience of distance. The small dwarf planet that their intelligence had hinted at was barely even that; more an asteroid with pretensions of glory, its gravity not quite enough to round the mass into a sphere but an exaggerated oblate sphere. It had however cleared a decent chunk of its orbital path and area, either absorbing smaller masses into its own or winning the gravitational game and flinging the offending masses onto new orbits far away.

All this meant that space for a handful of millions of kilometres in every direction was as devoid of places to hide as the overwhelming majority of the cosmos. Unless of course you brought a place to hide with you, or if not a place to hide, did everything you possibly could to make yourself as difficult to detect as you could.

The Valkyrie-class A/R fighters were meant for this exact purpose – observing a target while remaining undetected. Advanced, but narrow-focused sensors could pick out exacting details across vast distances with a clarity only matched by dedicated starship sensors. But while a starship could do what they could, better even, it was vastly harder to hide a starship and much, much easier for the wizards of the Corp of Engineers to come up with ways to hide a fighter in plain sight.

As a mission timer finally rolled over the two pilots looked at each other, their craft separated by a handful of metres of hard vacuum. Their ECM systems negated the vast majority of subspace or radio emissions the craft might attempt, forcing them to purely visual forms of communication and comms lasers they had both agreed they wouldn’t use unless absolutely required. There was no point in a stray laser giving their mission away if they could avoid it.

Heads nodded in recognition, a wave between them signalled both knew what the time was, their mission of observation complete. As one, both craft turned away from facing the dwarf planet they had been sent to spy on, far beyond their pilot’s ability to make out against the inky blackness. A careful firing up of their engines and they pulled away, preparing to make the slow and careful jaunt back to where Republic was hiding in the shadow of the system’s most energetic gas giant.

“Nothing,” Lieutenant Sonhi Nagnax, Crash, said as she and T’Kenn made their way into the conference room, escorted by their squadron leader who had received them upon their return.

“That is not entirely correct,” the Vulcan corrected as he followed in the shorter Trill woman’s wake. “We did compare our scans while in transit and it is safe to say that there is something on the surface of the dwarf planet, large enough to hold the purported research facility and staff, but we didn’t detect any activity.”

“So, nothing,” Sonhi reiterated as she sat herself down in a chair. She and T’Kenn both were still in their flight suits, having barely landed before being dragged before the ship’s command staff.

Cat stepped up behind the woman, resting a single hand on her shoulder and Sonhi stiffened, then her shoulders slumped slightly. “Sorry, long day,” she said towards Mac and Sidda. The message from her superior, Be a bit more professional, had been received.

“Quiet alright Lieutenant,” Mac replied. “But let’s work on it, yes?” He waited for her to nod in understanding, accepting she wasn’t being obliterated by a ship’s captain for her attitude, just merely told to try harder, then continued himself. “No activity at all?”

“No subspace signals, no active sensors, no traffic in or around the dwarf planet or facility. We would have detected anyone outside on a space walk.” T’Kenn had remained standing, settling into a relaxed stance for a Vulcan which wouldn’t have looked out of a place on a parade ground receiving a high dignitary or some other notable visitor.

“Well that makes our job easier,” Sidda spoke up, sitting up from her comfortable slouch in her chair and leaning over the table, her smile growing predatory in nature. “Get Republic in nice and close, cutting out course to use the dwarf planet as cover until we come over the horizon for them and by the time they can see us we’ll be literally the only thing in their skies.”

“Cardassian space and we’re not the police,” Mac objected immediately.

Sidda looked like she wanted to object, and would have most likely, if not for the junior officers in the room. But then she took in a breath and settled herself. “What about a friendly visit from a visiting Starfleet crew then? We look about, see if we can’t find anything that might indicate if she’s actually been here or not. And if we find anything, we liaise with Gul Lemec to sort out jurisdictional issues.”

“It’s pushing the boundaries,” Mac replied but cut off any protest with a raised finger. “Pushing, not crossing. Four-person away team and you’re taking Dr Pisani with you.” He saw the question on Sidda’s face. “Medical facility. Be weird not to bring a doctor with you on a surprise visit and she’s best placed to possibly spot anything truly out of place.”

“Levne and Beckman then,” Sidda answered. The chief of security and their helmswoman. A lot of seniority on one team. But Starfleet seemed intent on reverting to patterns of yesteryear, who was he to object to the same in away team protocol? If only Sidda hadn’t read him the regulations about captain’s going on away missions directly from the books, a tactic he knew she’d used to cement her role at the head of such excursions.

Something he’d have to talk to Tikva about. He was never like that as her XO. Never.

Because he’d had Commander Gantzmann to pull such regulations out for him.

He nodded in acquiescence and then looked to his two returned pilots. “Look forward to seeing your sensor logs Lieutenants. Good work out there. I’ll let you return to Lieutenant Saez’s mercies.”

“Shower you two,” Cat said straight away. “Then meet me in the Pnyx for a working dinner and debrief.”

As Sonhi stood, she looked not to Cat, but to Sidda. “Is she working there tonight?” And suddenly all attention turned to Sidda. Was Revin working? Were there going to be baked delights waiting for them?

“Yes and no,” she answered. “She’s not done any baking. She’s practising making cocktails. Dr Pisani is assisting.”

“We’re all going to die,” Mac blurted out, looking defeated. “Liver failure, the whole crew. Even the non-drinkers.” Then he shook his head and waved the fighter pilots out of the conference room. “Get us to that facility Commander and get over there. We could have a Cardassian ship on us at any moment after all and best we make sure Shreln doesn’t get disappeared if we can avoid it.”

“Damn right.” Sidda pushed herself to her feet, that predatory smile growing just a touch. “Small warp jump.”

“No,” he answered.

“Just a tiny one,” she shot back as she walked around the table and toward the door to the bridge. She held up her right hand, finger and thumb held together to emphasise her point.

“Commander,” he said flatly, the single word enough.

“Full impulse, careful course,” she said, utterly serious as the doors opened. “We’ll be there as fast as Beckman can cut that course I suggested.”

“Still no response to hails,” Selu informed everyone aboard the runabout Paralus as she closed the hatch behind them. “But more worrisome is that Commander Lake is reporting no life signs inside the facility either.”

“Okay, I don’t think I like that,” Blake Pisani said as she sat herself down at the rearmost station of the Delta-class runabout’s command space. “No, actually, I most certainly don’t like that.”

“Uh, if they haven’t responded to hails and there’s no one down there, couldn’t we just beam down?” Willow Beckman, the most junior officer amongst the away team, asked while going through the routine of bringing Paralus to life. “No one down there to object, right?”

“We’re better off with the runabout,” Sidda said as she sat down at the station to the left of the ramp down to the pilot’s station. “Especially if we have to isolate from the crew for a while.”

“We what?” Blake asked, an element of concern in her voice. “Mind answering that before we leave?”

“Shreln’s a bioterrorist?” Sidda asked, as if that was obvious, an eyebrow raising as she turned to face Blake. “Thought that was obvious.”

“Oh yeah, that.” Blake shook her head, rolling her eyes as she turned to her console. “Hey Blake, go on an away mission would you? Chase down the bioterrorist we’re after, would you? Cheers Blake.”

“Cheers Blake,” Sidda repeated, with far more pep to her comment and way, way less sass than Blake had used. “It’ll be fine. We’re bringing the best doctor in the sector with us.”

“Best doctor this side of DS47 thank you,” Blake shot back with no hesitation. “I’ll fight that three-armed freak Terax any day of the week.”

“Three-armed?” Willow asked as the Paralus’ engines hummed to life and the runabout lifted from the deck as the doors built into the bay’s roof separated. Bays 1 and 2 nominally had elevators for arrivals and departures, the main bay having been surrendered to the Republic’s complement of Valkyrie fighters. But Willow had given the bay chief distinct instructions to just open the doors. She wasn’t some barely capable shuttle pilot who needed a guiding hand, just everyone getting out of her way.

“Doctor Terax of the USS Atlantis is an Edosian,” Selu provided, her volume once more dropping to a razor above a whisper. “And perhaps we can keep the threats of violence to a minimum, yes?”

“It was a joke Levne,” Blake shot at her, glaring momentarily to emphasise the point.

“Alright, alright, settle down folks. Willow, get us on the ground in one piece, would you. Then we’ll all suit up and go take a look.” Sidda tapped at her console, then sat back, crossing her arms. “Shouldn’t be a long trip, but we need some music and Kolar Blight, I love to announce, dropped a new album.”

As the inner airlock door cycled and began to open, a hand was shoved through the widening gap, thrusting a tricorder into the air of the base. It beeped and hummed as it sampled the air, conducted a myriad of scans and then dutifully reported its findings to the four enclosed individuals who walked through when the door was finally wide enough to admit them.

“Honestly, think I’m a little insulted there isn’t a welcoming party to meet us,” Sidda said, her tone of voice oddly flat before suit comms did their trick of stripping some emotion from what was said.

“Helmets stay on,” Blake reiterated, slapping Willow’s upper arm with the back of her free hand as noticed the junior officer reaching for the latchings. “Tricorder is picking up something in the air it can’t identify.”

“As in unknown-unknown or just unknown?” Sidda asked.

“Can rattle off what it’s made of, but the structure is…unique,” Blake answered as she tapped at her tricorder. “Sending the details up to the ship, let my people and Lake’s look it over while we scrounge around.” She looked up, orientated herself with the hallway markings dutifully laid out under the sign that read Helcta Institute in Cardassian and then started marching after consulting her tricorder once more. “This way kiddies to the command centre.”

The first Cardassian they did find on their way was missed by Blake as she consulted her tricorder but elicited a shocked gasp from Willow. The woman, only a few years older than Willow herself, was on the floor straddling a door frame, one arm stretched out ahead of her as if reaching for something. It only took Blake two seconds for her pronouncement. “Dead. And with this level of decomp, I’d need to do a full autopsy for a jab at cause.”

“How long has she been dead?” Selu asked, brooding over Sidda and Blake as they inspected the dead Cardassian woman and shielding Willow who had started to pale at the sight and had made herself a bit scarce.

“Couple of days,” Blake answered after another scan, her medical tricorders auxiliary scanner waved over the body while she read from the screen. “I’d wager something cardiac or respiratory though.”

And then her tricorder blared at her angrily, demanding her full attention to flick through a series of prompts and notifications. “Willow, if you’re going to be sick, you can open your helmet,” she announced after a few moments, then looked up at the two daughters of Orion with her. “Not you two though, unless you feel like suffering from the worst hayfever you’ve ever experienced in your life.”

“I’ll pass,” Sidda answered.

“Agreed,” Selu answered as she turned to check on Willow who was doing as she’d just been allowed.

“Lake just got back to me.” Blake waved her tricorder slightly. “The unknown substance is a bioagent that the life support seems to be circulating. Deadly to Cardassians, massively irritating to Orions, harmless to Humans, Andorians, Vulcans, Tellarites…”

Sidda cut Blake off with a raced hand and a wry look. “Long-standing Federation species?”

“A genius to put something like this together.” Blake looked at her tricorder again. “Correction, it looks like it might be irritating to Vulcans after all. Not as bad as Orions, but close enough for me to say no Vulcans can come down here.”

“We should continue to the command centre,” Selu declared as she returned with Willow at her side, the young lieutenant looking pointedly away from the dead body and still pale as she held her EV suit helmet under one arm. “Perhaps there we can determine who deployed his agent.”

Sidda stood, her easy manner gone as she shook her head in agreement, offering a hand to help Blake up to her feet. “We need to know what happened here and why and we need to know before someone catches up with us and tries to blame all of this on us.”

“Would they though?” Willow squeaked out, her eyes turning to the body at their feet briefly before she paled once more and then looked sharply to the ceiling.

“First order reaction from Cardassians – blame the outsiders.” Sidda’s comment got a noncommittal shoulder shrug from Selu. “They’d investigate once the politicians got involved, but let’s have facts ready for when this goes sideways.”

By the time they got to the control room they’d counted two more bodies, one slumped over at a table in an otherwise empty breakroom, the other much like the first. The control room of the Helcta Institute’s hidden-away research facility increased their body count from three to twelve. Bodies at their stations, others clearly heading for doors and one unfortunate individual who had figured something out and had cracked open an emergency rebreather kit, but succumbed before donning the mask they had liberated.

A console bleeped for attention incessantly, advising the dead operator of the Republic’s presence in orbit, another of intruders within the facility, now really angry they had walked into the control room. And one other spoke to the new arrivals occasionally. “Helcta Institute facility, this is the USS Republic, please respond.”

“Lieutenant Jenu, Doctor Pisani here,” Blake answered as she set her own helmet down on the comms console, having found herself the closest when Republic’s ops officer tried once more to get their attention. “We just got to the control centre. No survivors.”

“Report Doctor,” Mac’s voice came over the comms.

“Either a breach in containment or mass murder.” Blake turned to face the others and the silent tomb that was the command centre. “Though the agent responsible has Doctor Shreln written all over it.”

“Have to agree with Doctor Pisani,” Sidda chipped in. “Damn, this is looking like Intelligence’s writeup of what Shreln would do.”

“Need any other help down there, Commander?” Mac asked immediately.

“Not until we figure out just what happened,” Sidda answered. “We’ll keep you in the loop sir.”

“See that you do. Republic out.”

Sidda nodded her head a few times as the comm line went dead, then looked at her fellow Orion with a neutral expression. “Right, let’s consider this a crime scene then. Lieutenant Levne, you’re our security specialist, lead the way.”

“Lieutenant, sit down before you fall down,” Sidda said as she passed Willow, pointing towards a chair somewhat removed from the collection of dead bodies in the command centre.

“I’m fine ma’am.”

“Lieutenant, when I tell people to sit down, it’s not a suggestion, it’s an order.”

Willow looked like she was going to protest, but opted not to and a second later was retreating from the console she’d been working at to make a much-needed and now mandatory break. As she settled down though she found Lieutenant Levne looming over her, a water bottle outstretched for her. A second, a pondering and then she accepted the bottle for a sip. She and Doctor Pisani had ditched their helmets, but Levne and the Commander were still sporting theirs, now nearly an hour into their investigation of the Cardassian research facility.

“Is this your first time seeing a dead body?” Levne asked, stepping back a half-step.

“No…just…bringing up some bad memories.” Willow’s gaze turned downwards towards the deck. “I mean, honestly, who the fuck does something like this? Just gasses an entire outpost.”

“A sick and twisted individual,” Levne responded. “Or suitably desperate.”

“Or both.” Willow looked up at the security officer, eyes tight. “This is messed up.”

“It is why the Commander is tasked with bringing this Doctor Shreln in after all.” Levne turned to look at the other two in the compartment, then back to Willow. “Sit, take your time. With the computer link to the Republic set up, Lieutenant Commander Lake is likely best suited to finding anything helpful.”

“Anything?” Mac asked as he paced along the back of the bridge, which occasionally granted him the chance to check in on his chief science officer as he trawled through the databases of the Helcta Institute’s clandestine research facility.

“Not since the last time you asked, sir,” Matt Lake responded, with cheer in his voice. It was apparently going to take more than asking five times to start grating on his nerves. “Not to be rude Matt, but you’ve had an hour.”

“And there is a lot of information, as well as some pretty decent encryption on it.” Matt turned, smiling. “And it would go quicker if I wasn’t being interrupted so often.”

“You’re right,” Mac conceded, holding up his hands in surrender as he backstepped, turned and continued his pacing.

He wasn’t enjoying this part – the waiting while others did something. Not but a few months ago it would have been him down there, poking around, fielding calls from Tikva asking him how things were going. He was a doer he’d realised, having been shaken from his rut by Tikva’s appearance in his life a few years ago.

It had been a short command relationship but had changed his life. But he’d never had the chance to learn to sit back and wait. How Tikva had been able to do it, or at least look so calm while doing it, he’d not figured out. Something to remember to ask her next they spoke.

“Jigs up.”

The announcement from the helm had Mac’s attention, the pacing stopping as he stepped between the command seats. Something, anything to break up the monotony of waiting for something to happen. “What’s up Cat?”

The head of the Night Witches, the fighter squadron he’d managed to snag for Republic, had assumed the helm in Beckman’s absence. To get some starship helm time, she’d reasoned with him, to which he couldn’t object, even if it was just flying the ship lazily around an asteroid in the middle of nowhere.

“Galor-class starship just appeared on long-range passives. He’s running fast and true right here at warp nine.” Cat consulted her console for just a moment more. “Give it a few hours before he’s on us.”

“Either someone is coming to check up on us, all the way out here, or Lemec has cracked the database we recovered for him and found these coordinates.” Mac found himself rubbing at the bridge of his nose in quick order. “We’re all friends here.”

“At least until they find us hovering over an outpost of dead Cardassians,” Cat followed up, then shrugged her shoulders at his glare. “Shoot first, ask questions later.”

“And Lemec’s ship has had a recent refit, so could give us a run.” Now came the thinking period, followed by the decision. The Decision. This, this was something he could do. This was something Tikva had let him do and guided him on as well. He dropped his hand from his face. “Get your people ready to launch, but that’s it. We’re guests in the Union, we’ll try talking it out first.”

“Aye sir,” Cat answered, shooting to her feet and the turbolift in quick order.

And then his attention turned to Matt once more. “Anything?”

“No, but still working on it. And yes, I know, before the Cardassians arrive.”

It was an angry-sounding ‘blurp’ from the environmental controls that broke the silence that had settled over the facility’s control room. Shuffling boots followed as Blake checked the screens, then sighed. “Welp, that’s some good news. Scrubbers have finished. You and Levne should be fine now.”

“Goddesses and gods, thank you,” Sidda half-cursed as she broke the seals on her helmet and removed the cumbersome article. “Oh hell, what is that smell?” she immediately asked after taking in a breath.

“Life support only does so much for masking the smell of putrefaction.” Blake didn’t even look up at that, just went back to what she was doing as her part of attempting to get at the truth of what happened here. “Some of this work is straight-up genius. The rest is just…madness.”

“How so?” Sidda asked, pondering putting her helmet back on for a moment before setting it down and stepping up beside Blake, closer than most would have felt comfortable but to which Blake just didn’t notice or care about.

“They’re making great strides on a vaccine for Talorkin Fever. They’ve increased the effectiveness of drug regimes against Grelm Syndrome. But then they’ve been chasing down rabbit holes on a dozen different things for years with no luck.” Blake’s hands pecked at the Cardassian interface, fingers tracing under the wording before tapping certain keys. “Ah, here we go, something from your good doctor.”

“What?” Sidda asked, pressing forward against Blake to get closer to the screen, impatience in her voice.

“It’s just a video. There’s nothing else.” Blake highlighted the total lack of anything else in Shreln’s file repository of the datacore. “We need someone with better computer expertise, but I’d wager she wiped everything and left just this. Hell, it’s not even encrypted, just buried deep.”

“Play it.”

“Yeah yeah, just give me some room,” Blake said, pushing at Sidda with her shoulder as she attempted to do as she’d been asked. “Big screen.”

The large broken curves hanging from the ceiling that framed Cardassian holographic monitors hummed to life, forming a near-mirror of the very compartment. The only thing missing were the current Starfleet officers and what was present on the monitor, including the dead Cardassians, was a somewhat shorter than average and past her prime Andorian woman and a single human-looking man in the background.

“Fuck me,” Sidda hissed just before the video started.

“To whoever is listening to this, you should stop chasing after me,” Doctor T’Halla Shreln said, looking straight at the recorder and now straight at the occupants of the room she’d vacated. “Let what happened here serve as my warning. If you continue to pursue me, if you continue to harass me and impede my work, then I will repeat this on a much larger scale. I don’t want to, but you’re not leaving me a lot of choice.”

Shreln stepped forward, her eyes tightening, emphasising the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Sidda, I know you’re chasing me. Hear you’ve got a promotion now too. Take your prize and leave. Your lover is a scion of one of the families that let innocent Romulans burn. It would be a shame if anything was to happen to her. Stop chasing me.”

And with that, Shreln turned and walked out of frame, leaving just the human male in shot, who stepped forward. He was wearing a long coat, dark in colour, paired with a matching hat that he’d pulled to hide his features. But as he approached the recorder, he pushed it upwards, looking straight at the camera as a slight smile pulled at one side of his face.

“Best be doing as the doc says,” Manfred said with the same easy drawl Sidda had last heard from him the day she’d shot him with a disruptor set way higher than even the Klingons liked. “Wouldn’t want anything untoward to be happening now, would we?”

And then finally the video stopped.

“Okay, so just who was –“ Blake started to ask before being interrupted.

“Fucking Manfred,” Sidda growled the answer out as she grabbed up her EV helmet and stalked out of the room. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Best be doing as the doc says,” Manfred drawled, the video repeated for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “Wouldn’t want anything untoward to be happening now, would we?”

“Who is that man?” Gul Lemec demanded as soon as the video ended, the screen in the conference room switching to the crest of Starfleet Command. Lemec’s previously genial if patronising tone was gone, replaced with a demanded tone. He’d camped himself down the far end of the table, directly opposite Captain MacIntyre, flanked either side by officers he’d brought with him this time and whose expressions currently mirrored his own – contempt at being on a Federation starship inside Cardassian space.

“That would be the bounty hunter Manfred. Well known in certain circles along the Federation-Klingon border, stretching up into Romulan space.” Mac had opted to answer all the questions from Lemec so far, letting Sidda sit to his left in silence. It was a twofold tactic – reminding Lemec of just who was in charge of Republic and helping Sidda keep from saying anything that might just be diplomatically inconvenient. “And from some of the reports I have read,” and Mac couldn’t help but look at Sidda as he said that, “he has a tendency to survive reported fatal incidents.”

“What does that mean?” the Cardassian to Lemec’s left asked with a half-growl.

“It means I happen to know someone who shot him in the chest with a disruptor set to vaporise a few months back,” Mac answered, a motion from his hand cutting Sidda off just before she’d gone to answer. “And Starfleet Intelligence provided me with a number of reports saying that this Manfred character has been reported killed no less than seven times over the last five decades.”

“Starfleet Intelligence,” the Cardassian to Lemec’s right scoffed. “You must think us fools to believe anything that comes out of that house of failures you call Starfleet Intelligence.”

“Excuse me?” Mac countered, sitting forward in his seat, eyes squinting inquisitorially at the officer.

“You want us to believe reports from Starfleet Intelligence when the whole galaxy knows about its rather massive and spectacular failures of late?” The Cardassian practically spat the question down the table. A challenge made about the competency of Starfleet, all the justification Central Command would need to end the relationship that was letting Republic move about Union space in their pursuit of Doctor Shreln.

But before another word could be said, Gul Lemec reached out to pull his subordinate back, to signal he was going to speak, once he’d established a moment of calm, which Mac let him. “Captain MacIntyre, my junior officer has a fair point. You give me a story of a man who survives being killed and then say your Intelligence people back that claim up, but the galaxy knows how incompetent and compromised Starfleet Intelligence really is.” Lemec raised a hand to stop an interruption. “Don’t deny it, Captain. High-ranking officers were replaced by Changelings, conspiracy at all levels, vaunted heroes stealing starships and then being pardoned. You will pardon me if the Union doesn’t trust a word that comes out of Starfleet Intelligence.”

“It was me,” Sidda said finally, speaking up for the first time in the meeting. “I shot Manfred. I’ve also heard rumours for years he’s survived multiple attempts on his life. You want to doubt my word on that?” It was one thing to cast doubt on the word of faceless reports and analysts hiding away somewhere, another to cast doubt on someone in the same room.

“So this is a lookalike then,” one of Lemec’s officers commented. He obviously wasn’t keen to take up challenging Sidda’s word.

“Yes and no,” Sidda answered. “I don’t know how he does it, but he does. Someone kills him and then a few months or a year later he pops back up, same as always, as if nothing ever happened. Hell, he made a play on a Klingon general once, died in the first attempt, and succeeded a few years later. The man’s a psychotic killer who is now working for another psychotic killer..”

“One who has killed Cardassian citizens now,” Lemec said. “When caught she’ll be found guilty on all charges and summarily executed for her crimes.” He sat forward, palms on the table as he pushed himself to his feet. “She killed everyone on that outpost. She will pay, mark my word.”

Mac was standing up himself, refusing to let Lemec seize some sort of self-perceived high ground. “Hang on a minute, we have an agreement that Doctor Shreln is to be handed over to the Federation for trial and incarceration.”

“When she was just a criminal in the eyes of the Federation operating in Cardassian space, perhaps.” Lemec stepped back, his officers rising to their own feet now. “She’s now a criminal in the eyes of Cardassian law and has made this an internal matter. Your assistance in bringing this to light is…recognised but no longer required.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Mac asked.

“It means your presence within Cardassian space is no longer required or permitted at this time Captain.” Lemec straightened his posture, rising to his full and rather imposing height, noticeably taller than his junior officers. A striking figure if not for the look of contempt and arrogance he wasn’t even trying to hide any more. “Republic is to vacate our space immediately, without pause. Any deviation from the shortest direct path out of Cardassian space will be considered a hostile act.”

“Hang on a minute,” Mac stared, only for Lemec to cut him off.

“There is nothing more to discuss Captain.” Lemec’s final words were the cue for his juniors to start for the door, the security officer present opening it, the one on the other side already with an extended arm to direct them towards the nearest turbolift. With the juniors just past the door, Lemec’s demeanour changed just slightly. “For what it is worth Captain, I did enjoy working with you these last few weeks pursuing this matter. But Doctor Shreln has struck at Cardassia now. Let this become a purely Cardassian matter before someone tries to make this into some sort of Federation attack on my people.”

As the door to the conference room closed on Lemec’s departure, Mac sat back down and turned to face Sidda. “Lake verified that message was recorded a week ago. You’re positively certain that was this Manfred character with Shreln?”

“Yes,” Sidda answered.

“Have to say, Commander, you’re normally a bit more…verbose.”

“Yes.”

“Commander, it’s either talk to me now, or I mandate daily counselling sessions.”

As she finally looked at him, head tilting to the side and giving him a look that said “Really?”, the ice was broken. “I don’t fuck up.”

“Your record, your actual record, says otherwise Sidda.” He smiled at her. “But I get your meaning. At least I think I do. You shot him, killed him, and there he is, telling you to listen to the woman who just threatened your wife.”

“A woman who is making me choose between Revin and countless Cardassians.” Sidda shot to her feet and turned to the windows looking back along the ship and coincidentally where the Cardassian ship was hanging directly astern. “I chase after her, she might go after Revin somehow. I don’t, then some Cardassian jackboot fucks it up and she punishes them instead in a language they understand.”

“Not your call to make,” Mac countered. “The Cardassians are aware of the threat and they’re ordering us to back off.”

“Screw that.” She turned on him, glaring. “This is our job. We’re supposed to protect innocent people. This is fucking Romulus all over again.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a threat here and we can do something about it. But politics and self-imagine are more important than getting the job done.”

Mac sat there for a few moments, then stretched out longer and longer as he stared at his XO, then turned to look out the window. “I wish I could say you’re wrong. But we’re just one ship.” It was his turn to stop an interruption with a raised hand. “For now.” That hand turned into an invitation to sit back down. “We’ve shown Lemec the warning from Shreln. We’ve given them everything we know, that we can share at least. We’ll leave them with an invitation to call us if they need us but right now we’ve worn out our welcome.”

“They’ll never call. They’re too obsessed with self-imagine and perception to even consider it.” Sidda threw herself back into her seat. “This whole proper procedure thing is bullshit. We can help them but they’re too…”

“Cardassian?”

“Yes, too Cardassian to let us,” she finished.

“Welcome to Starfleet. Shouldn’t have signed up if you can’t take a joke.” He shrugged his shoulders in resignation at the situation. “We can’t swan around their space, they’ll just start shooting at us. Then how much help would we be then?”

Sidda shrugged, nodding her head in acceptance.

“This Shreln issue is too close to you right now I think. I want to see this done as well Commander, but maybe some space is what we need.” He stood once more, tugging on his tunic. “Let’s get this boat underway for now and then figure out how we’re going to track down and bring Shreln in before some Cardassian officer somewhere forces her hand.”

They both barely stepped out onto the bridge before Jenu Trid swivelled quickly on her chair, the action drawing both of their attention. “Captain, Commander, I was just about to come and see you. We’ve just picked up a long-range distress call from the Atlantis.”

“What?” Mac blurted out as he crossed the distance to Ops in a hurry.

“It’s old sir, and not a priority call either,” Trid answered in an attempt to relieve Mac’s obvious worry.

“How old Trid?” Sidda asked in Mac’s wake.

“About two weeks boss,” the Bajoran woman answered, then tapped at a key, bringing the message to life over the bridge speakers, getting ahead of her captain’s next request.

The static that crackled to life immediately gave testament to the true distance the signal had crossed to get to them. There was no visual, just audio, but it was messy and one had to focus to hear the whole message.

“This is the USS Atlantis to any Starfleet vessel that can hear this message. We have suffered a severe warp drive malfunction and have been forced to eject our warp core. We are without warp drive and require assistance. Ship and crew are well and safe for now. Coordinates attached. Forward this message to Deep Space 47 immediately.”

A number of the bridge officers turned to look at Mac, who just looked back, a little dumbfounded for a moment before shaking his head and coming back to reality. “Trid, forward that along to DS47 and ask them for advice. Beckman, plot the quickest and shortest course out of Cardassian space and get ready to hightail it out of here.”

As he sat down in his seat he smiled to Sidda as she settled into her own. “Maybe a good old rescue mission?”

“At least Atlantis will want us to save them,” she shot back.

“That’s the spirit.” He faced forward. “Right Beckman, punch it.”