It started with a chirp from Operations. The quiet little chirp was designed to get someone’s attention. Then another chirp shortly after. Then a handful of them.

The faux-dawn chorus spread to Tactical, with a series of chirps followed by raucous blerps and bleeps that weren’t asking for attention, but demanding it.

“Two Chel Grett cruisers and three Plesh Brek raiders.” Selu Levne’s announcement only confirmed what had already been deduced half an hour ago as the Breen ships continued to bear down on the aperture and the collection of ships present around Republic and Sagan. “Their weapons are only, but no indications of targeting systems just yet.”

“Oh, so we’re dealing with friendly Breen then,” Sidda quipped as she turned in her chair back to the centre. “Raise shields, Levne, and standby to bring weapons online just in case.”

“Lieutenant Beckman, bring us about to face our guests please,” Mac ordered after a brief nod to Sidda, the non-vocal agreement with her order. They’d mostly found their rhythm, save for recent disagreements and a few other minor incidents, and communicating understanding when he could only helped them both continue to grow their understanding of each other for the future.

“The Tzenkethi frigate and the Cardassian transport are both moving behind us, Captain,” Trid announced. “But the Tholians haven’t moved.”

“One of these days I’m actually going to request every single sociological paper on the Tholians ever written and figure out just how they work,” Mac muttered. “Hail Scout and remind them they agreed to,” he started ordering the young ensign at Communications, stopping when they turned back to the console after a series of chirps, a hand to the earpiece, listening intently to something.

“Scout of Potential Calamities has hailed, saying they’ve been target locked by one of the raiders,” the communications officer reported after listening to the full message. “They advise they aren’t going to retreat while under threat.”

The gesture passed through the ages, from anyone in a position of some authority hearing something they didn’t want to hear, came to Mac as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The problem was the Tholians couldn’t see him doing that and likely missed the cultural context and understanding to notice the disappointment such a gesture conveyed. “Of course not,” he said finally. “Remind them not to engage the Breen first and we’ll have their backs.”

“Didn’t Losgren agree with our plan just twenty minutes ago?” Sidda asked, leaning over the arm of her chair. “Specifically the ‘let Starfleet stand in front’ part of the plan?”

“Tholians.” Mac’s one-word answer was enough, as Sidda shrugged with a snort and sat back.

“Tholians,” she repeated back to him. It wasn’t an explanation at all, but a shared declaration, both of them agreeing they just didn’t know enough about Tholians to draw a conclusion on why they did one thing or another and just had to accept it for what it was.

“Right, Ensign Peri, hail the Breen and don’t stop till they answer.”

It took almost five whole minutes before the Breen finally decided to respond to their hails, Ensign Peri’s repeated attempts smartly automated after three attempts, starting off polite and friendly and becoming colder and more efficiently professional by her fourth attempt, which she then put on a loop. Mac had to appreciate the woman’s graduated attempts, balancing the sliding scale perfectly in his books.

There was no insight into what a Breen bridge looked like; the feed they received tightly zoomed in on the helmeted visage of the Breen commander. Immediately squealing, squeaking and drawn-out mechanical sounds Mac associated with ancient computers dying ensued at a volume deleterious to long-term health, but thankfully quickly turned down. The translation followed just as Peri was turning the initial source down.

“Starfleet vessels, leave immediately. We are claiming this anomaly for the Breen Confederacy. You have ten minutes.”

That they didn’t immediately end communications after delivering their threat was telling for Mac. It meant they actually wanted to hear his response. To judge what he did and didn’t say. Which told him something – they weren’t entirely sure what was going on.

“No.”

More cacophonous bleating followed, faster than before. “You are two starships. I have five. I will seize this anomaly by force if I need to. You have nine minutes.”

In a perfect display of showmanship, the doors to the conference room at the rear of the bridge hissed open and booted feet clicked across the floor as Revin walked forward and stood between the captain’s chair and the unoccupied one to Mac’s left.

“I concur with Captain MacIntyre.” Revin’s affectation was perfect, fulfilling all the expectations he had for Romulan officers up until the Deneb crisis and meeting a number of Republic officers personally. “No.”

“What?” came the response, the untranslated response having been a single sound. Or seemingly so. The universal translator was earning its keep today.

“Subcommander th’Ven, Romulan Republic.” Revin’s introduction was a step above what Mac had done, which was nothing. “You won’t be firing on these Starfleet ships today, or forcing them from this anomaly anytime soon.”

“Bold,” the Breen responded. “I could destroy all of your ships easily enough, even the cloaked ones.”

Now that was telling. And expected. They could tell there were cloaked ships, not Valkyrie starfighters pretending to be cloaked ships as best they could. But then a part of Mac’s own mind had to find the cloud in the silver lining. They could see the fighters, they could work out what was going on, and were playing along.

So on to the second string of this plan.

“That you can see and are here,” Mac said, rising to his feet. “Subcommander th’Ven’s own ship is on its way back here right now, under cloak naturally. And we’re transmitting all of our sensor readings to them as we speak. If you try something, they’ll know and they’ll tell Starfleet. And Starfleet will tell the Cardassians, the Tzenkethi and even the Tholians.” That was the collection of ships arrayed around Republic right now. “But I’m sure the Breen Confederacy is capable of handling a multi-front war started over a mere spat about an anomaly in unclaimed space.”

“At a minimum Thot,” Revin interjected, “You’d likely end up prejudicing Starfleet against the Breen in any future conflict between the Confederacy and the Union, if not outright supportive of the Union.”

Mac had offered the worst case, Revin offered the best to the Breen starting a shooting match. And neither was particularly appealing. Which left the Breen with the option to be the ones to back down, to be the ones to maintain and preserve the status quo instead.

Silence fell, the Breen officer looking away. It felt like they had muted their side to have a conversation with someone off screen. Which gave Trid a chance to speak up from Ops. “Hey Adhya, mute please,” she directed to Ensign Peri at comms, while turning to face the command chairs. “Captain, we got another problem.”

“What’s up Lieutenant?”

“Long range sensors just picked up five new contacts heading our way at high warp. Cardassian warships.”

“Captain, the Cardassians just signalled us.” Peri was again listening, then spoke once it was done. “They’ve advised us they’re on their way here at their best possible speed and when they arrive they expect us not to interfere in their operations regarding the Underspace aperture.”

“Too much to ask they sent the same to the Breen?” Mac asked.

“It looks like it,” Peri answered. “Highly probably.”

“What specifically did they say?” Sidda asked.

“They are inbound on our position and expect no interference upon their arrival with Cardassian military operations regarding the aperture.”

Sidda hummed, then smiled. “Same to the Breen?”

“Same,” Peri confirmed.

“Boss, run with it. Cardassian reinforcements are already inbound.” Sidda’s grin was properly mischievous.

“Yeah, but why are they coming here? And we’ll just have to deal with them when they get here too.”

“Yes, but we have to survive long enough to get to that problem.”

Mac shook his head. “Seriously, how many times have you gone from crisis to crisis to crisis, making up just enough confusion to keep going?”

“Too many,” both Trid and Revin answered in unison, sharing a short laugh. Sidda just offered a shrug in her own defence.

“Right, unmute us please.” Waiting, Mac took in a breath and waited for Peri to give him a wave. “By now you’ve detected our Cardassian reinforcements, yes?” He still hadn’t introduced himself, but then again, the Breen hadn’t either, so it was a wash.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Thot demanded. “This is a clear sign of aggression against the Confederacy.”

“And your attempt to bully us away wasn’t?” Mac asked. “You’re welcome to stay and watch us scan the anomaly. Welcome to even run your own scans as well. But we aren’t leaving and you can’t make us without starting a war. And if you do, I’m going to make damned sure we do enough damage to your ships that those Cardassian warships will run you down and finish the job before you get to safety. If I don’t do it myself, that is. Balls in your court. Republic out.”

Peri was fast in cutting the feed, the Breen didn’t even get a chance to lodge some sort of final protest. But immediately her console chirped, demanding attention. “Breen are hailing us, Captain.”

“Ignore them,” Mac said, then sat down. “Let them wonder what is going on for now.”

“Cloaked ships, sensor transmissions, Republic officers, Cardassian warships. A pinch of Tzenkethi and Tholians. Mix thoroughly, leave on high for a few hours.” Sidda’s joke wasn’t terribly appreciated, Mac not a huge fan of gallows humour. “That Thot is either going to be calling back home asking for instructions, or pondering if this raid is worth starting a war no one back home will ever thank him for.”

“I don’t care if he’s suddenly deciding on what to have for breakfast, as long as he doesn’t decide to fire on us.” Mac shook his head, trying to arrange the puzzle pieces in his head. “Just what the hell are Cardassian warships doing here now, of all times?”

“Well, we got a few hours to figure that out,” Sidda answered. “Want me to call through to DS47 and see if our esteemed Deputy Intelligence Director can shed any light on the matter?”

“Please,” Mac answered, and then turned to Revin. “Nicely done Crewman. Said just enough and at the right times. Though I’m afraid you’ll need to stay in that uniform a bit longer. At least until either the Breen leave, or the bluff falls apart.”

“Could I at least sit on the bridge then, sir?” Revin asked, hand settling on the back of the empty chair at her side.

“Please, please,” he answered with a wave of his hand. “After all, if I’m sending Commander Sadovu off to call Starfleet Intelligence, only fitting I have her better half on the bridge, right?”