“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t find my field…” Captain MacIntyre’s sentence trailed off as he stepped through the door into the transporter room, coming to a stop just as his words had. “Did I miss a memo about not civilian attire?”

“Nope, not at all,” Sidda responded. She’d ditched her uniform for something a bit more fitting to her previous life, more fitting to what so many people at their intended destination would be expecting, if they hadn’t heard otherwise already. Gone was the uniform tunic, replaced with a dark purple shirt and leather jacket with more than a few scuff marks on it. Her old holster was strapped to her thigh, sans a weapon as per Kyban’s laws.

“Do we need to have that conversation about communication again, Commander?” MacIntyre asked, his head tilting slightly to one side.

“Don’t think so,” Sidda answered. “I used to visit Ardot’s a lot whenever we were at Kyban. Lots of interesting characters there. More than a few likely don’t know I’ve rejoined Starfleet, and I thought why advertise that fact just yet.”

“So you’re just going to walk in with a Starfleet captain instead?” MacIntyre’s tone conveyed his disbelief in this particular plan.

“Sure, why not.” Sidda smiled at Mac. That smile that said something was up. “But first, we need to change up the good Starfleet boy look.” And just then the door behind him hissed open. “Fantastic timing!” Sidda’s attention went right past him and he noticed the smile grow on her face. Which meant only one thing.

“Always,” Revin answered as she stepped up beside Mac, his field jacket in her hands and offered to him. “Your jacket, Captain MacIntyre.”

“Do I want to know how you got this, Crewman?” Mac asked.

“Do you want an answer to that question, sir?” Revin countered. But she only waited a heartbeat before continuing. “I merely asked an accomplice to get it for me.”

“You know, it’s traditional that the captain of a starship is actually the captain.” Mac accepted the jacket from Revin and examined it briefly, to see just what had been done. Gone was the pristine and new looking jacket, rarely worn thanks to his promotion and pesky regulations. This one looked like it had been through a ringer recently. The material looked worn, scuff marks on the elbows and shoulders. The rank pips even looked scratched slightly, enough to remove the lustre from them.

“See, now you don’t look like some glamourous captain, but more like a down on their luck officer who’s reaching out to less than scrupulous people.” Sidda chuckled slightly to herself. “Wouldn’t be the first time at Ardot’s.”

“What did you do to my jacket?” MacIntyre asked Revin.

“I found some willing volunteers to help stress it,” the young Romulan woman answered. “Some crawling through Jefferies tubes, an hour under a powerful UV lamp and even worn for an entire duty shift by a few engineers, possible with Commander Malcolm being away.” She looked positively pleased with herself for having arranged all of that, likely having enjoyed whatever favour trading had to be done.

MacIntyre checked his jacket some more, even sniffing it to make sure it didn’t smell, before shaking his head in defeat and donning it. “You could have just asked,” he said to Sidda.

“Would you have allowed us to stress your jacket?”

“Once explained, yes.” He shook his head again. “Communication.”

“Is key,” Sidda responded. “Shake out your hair, then let’s go.”

Soon the two of them were planetside at a transport hub not far from Ardot’s Café. Clear blue skies and a cool breeze made the morning pleasant enough as they walked. No one looked at them more than once as they proceeded, giving no thought to a Starfleet captain walking down the street with what was plain to see an Orion spacer.

“Seriously think people in your old circles won’t know you’re Starfleet now?” MacIntyre asked.

“Ardot said he wasn’t going to tell anyone anything. So, if people know, it’ll be because of either the New Maquis blabbing all the way across the Federation, or someone in Starfleet Intelligence leaking.”

“So, a non-zero chance, then.” MacIntyre caught Sidda’s shrug. “Right then, Captain Sidda, lead the way.”

Ardot’s Café wasn’t what Mac had built in his head. He’d imagined some small place, cramped, with shady customers discussing matters in close quarters, weary of new comers. Too many spy stories and holodeck adventures had likely spoiled him. What he got instead was a well-lit, open and welcoming establishment. Natural light poured in from skylights and expansive windows fronting the street, open to let the fresh breeze in and blending the outdoor and indoor seating together. Tables abounded and the place looked packed, even mid-morning as it was.

“Morning, morning!” a bubbly Andorian man declared as he greeted them just inside the door, a crisp white shirt with a name badge identifying him as Chven. “Table for two?”

“Chef’s table, if it’s free,” Sidda answered.

“Oh, um, one moment.” He looked over the interior of the café before giving an awkward smile. “Wait here.” And with that, he shot off, leaving Mac and Sidda amongst a crowd of people enjoying meals and good company.

“I was expecting a hive of scum and villainy,” Mac whispered.

“There’s a cantina by the starport with a tagline like that,” Sidda replied. “We can go there if you want, but we’d need to hit sickbay afterwards.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes?” Sidda answered, confused by Mac’s question. “Place is absolutely disgusting.”

“Right this way!” Chven announced upon his return, leading them through the café to a small table near the back, not far from the doors to the kitchen. “Ardot will be with you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?”

Shortly turned out to be after Chven returned with their drinks, then some light pastries ‘curtesy of the chef’ and even a second round of coffee. Both officer’s patience was wearing thin before a large Bolian man, sauntering down the back slope of middle-age, barged out of the kitchen backwards, dragging a spare chair with one hand and holding a serving tray with another. He never turned around as he made his way over to Sidda and Mac, setting the tray down without a word, adjusting the chair and then sitting himself down with a smile that dared anyone to not smile in return.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ardot finally said. “But fresh spinach deserved my attention.” He waved at the try before them, freshly baked pastry puffs abound, savoury scents filling the air around them. “Of course, if someone had brought my favourite with them, I would have been out sooner.” He then leaned in towards Sidda. “Why didn’t you bring your lovely better half?”

“Because I’m on the job and you know I don’t bring Revin while I’m on the job,” Sidda whispered back at Ardot, forcing a grin.

“Captain Sidda doesn’t,” Ardot responded. “But what about Commander Sadovu?” He then turned to Mac. “Ardot, pleasure to meet you Captain MacIntyre.” A hand was extended over the table, a firm grip, but not crushing.

“You know who I am?” Mac asked, shaking the feeling back into his hand, from Ardot’s grip and his own responding in kind.

“I know everyone who is worth knowing, Captain. And you, Sidda’s captain, are worth knowing. Such a sterling, if until recently boring career. Then you escape your rut, make friends with some interesting people, fight with time itself, then get your own command. And a tasty one if I am to understand Republic properly.” Ardot’s smile firmly falls into the cheeky category as he sits back and collects a pastry for himself. “But you didn’t come here to talk about yourself, or modest little old me. So, what can Ardot do for one of his favourites?” And then he bit into the pastry and savoury cheese and spinach filled the air.

“The Last Pirate King,” Sidda said, eyeing Ardot intensely. “Rumour has it someone is running around using that title again.”

“Ah, so you want a trifecta, is it?” Ardot teased. “I’ve heard similar rumblings. But what I’ve heard also fills me with a little bit of concern, if you will.” He waved the bit of pastry in his hand like a wand. “This new pretender to the throne seems to have significantly less animosity with the Syndicate. May even be making some deals with them in the future.”

“What type of deals?” Mac asked, leaning forward, joining the conspiratorial whispering of his colleague.

“Weapons, plunder, starships, the usual things pirates trade for.” Ardot looked bored. “Nothing fancy or practical that could give rise to the romantic notions of ages that never were.” He smiled at Sidda. “Like stealing atmospheric processors and water reclaimers that would eventually find themselves to hard done by colonies. Or overthrowing corrupt colonial governments.”

“Okay, that last one I only did twice, and both times they were trying to kill me first.” Sidda shook her head, stopping herself from the rabbit hole and back on track. “What type of weapons and starships we talking about here? And where are these deals going down?”

“My dear, if I knew, you’d know.” Ardot sounded sincere. “I have nothing definitive, but I have heard the word Daystrom mentioned a few times. Which makes little sense to me, as aren’t they just a research organisation?” And then he winked with such exaggeration that there was no mistaking it. He knew about the depths of the Daystrom Institute’s research, or had a very good idea about it at least.

“We need to know who this new Pirate King is,” Mac said. “And where we might find him? Before something happens.”

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more,” Ardot said. “After all, who do you think let little tidbits fall into Starfleet’s hands? But someone somewhere had the foresight to then call in the best pirate king hunter in the galaxy. I honestly can’t say I was expecting that.”

“Ardot,” Sidda half-growled. “Information.”

“Stop being such a grump,” Ardot shot back. “I’ll ask around now I know someone is actually going to do something about it. So, sit, enjoy these pastries, take one to sweet Revin, then commence pacing and worrying and waiting until I get back to you.” Ardot rose slowly from his seat, not a small feat considering his size. “Captain MacIntyre, a pleasure. Perhaps next time you’ll bring some other company and I’ll ensure you have a lovely meal.”

“Pleasure was all mine, Mr Ardot,” Mac replied.

“No, no. Just Ardot,” Ardot corrected, then picked up another pastry before departing. “These are so good!” he exclaimed as he walked away.

“I honestly think I’d kill him if his cooking wasn’t so good,” Sidda said around a pastry she was now trying to devour while talking. “Oh goddess, this is good. Try one.”

“Best take one back for Blake as well then,” Mac said. If he was going to ruin his imposed diet, he best have justification for it.

He’d barely bitten into one himself when Ardot barged back out of the kitchen, headed straight for them and then leaned in. “A friend just gave me one word in regards to the Last Pirate King before telling me not to call them again until this is all resolved.”

“And that is?” Mac asked.

Ardot leaned in over the table, hands pressing down and shifting the table’s balance before whispering.

“Genesis.”