The Lion Gate on the Odyssey was quiet and peaceful. The dim ambient lighting imitated the golden hues of a calm dusk. It bathed the space in a calming, nostalgic glow. Panels embedded along the gently curved walls gradually pulsed with a soft light, casting reflections on the polished surfaces. Outside the wide viewports, stars shimmered in stillness, scattered like seeds across the infinite blackness of space. However, the vast scene of Rakosa Five took up most of the space. Its beauty was like any other M-class world. Shipyards, stations, and various vessels all hung in orbit around it. Most of them belonged to the Rakosans, while a handful of others belonged to the races that had sent diplomatic entourages to meet with Rakosan officials and the Starfleet contingent now orbiting the planet. 

As the senior-most diplomatic officer for Starfleet in the region, Craigen Flemen had taken it upon himself to move out of his office and use the rest of his day to focus on the task at hand in a much larger and relaxing space. 

Preparing for a summit. Not just any summit, but the summit that could see many of the local governments join forces to deal with the current threat posed by the Vaadwaur. A simple task? Maybe. 

He was sitting hunched over a table in the heart of the Lion Gate, surrounded by a collection of scattered PADDs. Each contained dense repositories of information. They ranged from cultural studies, diplomatic dossiers, cross-cultural manuals, and decades, if not centuries, of fractious history. Not everything was complete, and most of it was rumours or records that were old and retrieved from whatever Voyager had gathered almost thirty years ago. 

Flemen’s eyes throbbed with fatigue, his concentration frayed at the edges. The mug of Tarkalean tea beside him had long since cooled, untouched for hours. Still, he kept reading, flicking through screen after screen with a sense of urgency edging on desperation. His bloodshot eyes darted over the same paragraph for the third time. He absently rubbed a sore spot on his neck where stress had knotted the muscle. All of this work was needed. Commodore McCallister had tasked him to begin to organise this summit. It would be one of the most significant moments in his career. If he could pull this off, then it would be momentous. However, he couldn’t shake the image of the summit erupting into chaos. The Vidiians storming out or the Talaxians shouting over decade-old insults with the Haakonians.

The summit would be the first formal sit-down between the Talaxians, Rakosans, Haarkonians, and Vidiians. The Constellation Squadron were focusing on bringing the Trabe, Kazon and possibly Pralor to the table as well. On the flip side, he was trying to remain positive. If the summit were a success, it would bring stability in the region not seen for centuries. It would lay the groundwork for a coalition that, if carefully guided, could help develop a lasting peace among the local powers. The small things were playing on his mind as well as the larger stakes at hand. Flemen had already revised the seating chart nine times. Should the Haarkonians be closer to the Talaxians or the Vidiians? Neither option inspired confidence.

This wasn’t a standard diplomatic session. This was a gathering of wounded civilisations, all with deep-seated grievances, mistrust, and collective trauma. Some of them had been enemies for generations. It was like bringing the Cardassians and Bajorans together straight after the occupation to share a meal. It wouldn’t work by throwing them in a room and expecting them to get on with it. Everything needed to be planned out carefully and be precise.

The lounge doors parted with a soft hiss, but Flemen didn’t look up. Only one person aboard the Odyssey had a habit of slipping in at odd hours without ceremony: his boss, the commanding officer of the Odyssey and his former mentor. 

Captain Max Duncan, wearing his comfortable off-duty gear, entered with his usual calm pace. His dark hair was slightly tousled from a recent jog through the ship’s vast arboretum. 

Duncan’s eyes, sharp with experience yet softened by familiarity, scanned the room and landed on Flemen amid the pile of data tablets. 

“You weren’t at the arboretum jog today,” Duncan said as he approached. “We missed your usual rant about how the magnolias are genetically inaccurate.” 

“Sorry, boss, I wanted to get a head on all of this,” Flemen replied, gesturing towards all of the information surrounding him.

Without a second thought, Duncan made his way to the replicator.

“Computer,” he said smoothly, “Tarklaean tea. Hot with extra sugar. And one Valerian root tea.”

The drinks materialised with a shimmer of energy. Duncan retrieved them and made his way to Flemen’s table, placing the replacement Tarklaean tea for Flemen gently in front of him before settling into the chair across from the diplomatic officer with ease.

“Craigen, you look like you’re about to host First Contact Day with half the quadrant.” Duncan quipped before he sipped on his drink.

Flemen chuckled weakly and reached for the mug. “It feels more like I’m defusing a cultural warhead, blindfolded while it’s ticking.”

Duncan took a measured sip of his tea, looking over Flemen carefully. “Judging by the number of PADDs, I’d say you’ve officially entered the over-preparation zone. Do you need to do all of this prep work?”

Flemen waved vaguely at the data field. “Did you know one of our potential new partners used to organise a six-course dinner before formal alliance ceremonies? As a sign of mutual trust. Meanwhile, another would hold ritual cleanliness so sacred that they consider shared meals borderline offensive. I’m trying to balance one species’ formality with another’s fear of touching a shared spoon.”

“Sounds like diplomacy at its most annoying levels,” Duncan said with a wry smile as he put his tea down.

Flemen leaned forward, his voice more serious. “This summit is critical, sir. We still don’t understand why the Vaadwaur are amassing forces in the Nacene Reach. But they’re not just poking around anymore, they’re coordinating, consolidating. If we can’t unite these species under one banner, we won’t just lose the region. We could lose everything.”

He tapped a PADD forcefully. “When the others ambushed the Constellation Squadron, they barely made it out intact. If our ships hadn’t responded as fast as we did, then who knows what we would be doing?”

“We’d probably be holding memorials instead of inter-squadron briefings,” Duncan said, his tone sobered. “But that battle was a turning point. It shocked our potential allies out of their comfort zones and showed them the value of cooperation.”

Flemen nodded, though the gesture lacked conviction. “The Vidiians have opened a line of communication. The Rakosans are happy to host as a neutral third party. The Haakonians and Talaxians, well, they agreed to sit in the same room, which is a miracle in itself. But all of them are walking in with centuries of animosity. One wrong word, one misinterpreted gesture, and this entire effort crumbles.”

Duncan leaned back, hands loosely clasped behind his head. “I remember when I appointed you as my deputy. Your first mission was to help me deal with a Nausicaan freighter captain who was unwilling to help us with a Romulan refugee convoy. You walked in, dealt with the whole situation and walked out with a smirk.”

Flemen smirked faintly. “That was different. It all came down to a drunken freighter captain and a crate of volatile stembolts.”

“Still counts,” Duncan said. “You don’t just study cultures, Craigen. You understand them. You know how to connect the dots that most people don’t even see. That’s why Commodore McCallister and I picked you for this. Not because you follow the protocol, but because you feel its shape. You know the law behind it, too.”

Flemen glanced down at one of the PADDs. “You’re both placing a lot of trust in me. Maybe more than I deserve.”

“You’re not alone in this,” Duncan said firmly. “Every ship in both squadrons is contributing. Engineering teams are working around the clock. Science officers are analysing the Vaadwaur database we pulled from that underground facility. Captain Reyas recently shared that two of her crew have cracked the first few layers of decryption. If they’re successful, we may get an extra edge, which could be used to bring everyone closer.”

Flemen nodded, the weight shifting slightly from his shoulders. “So we buy time with diplomacy until we have the intelligence to strike back strategically.”

“Exactly,” Duncan said. “You’re the bridge, Craigen. Not the foundation. The rest of us are holding it up with you.”

Flemen sipped the tea, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. “Do you ever miss it?” he asked. “Being in the diplomatic trenches?”

Duncan grinned. “Only when reports come back butchered by someone misquoting a Bajoran proverb. But no, I do not. Even as captain, it’s one area, though I’m happy to do it; it’s not something I want to go back to or deal with consistently. I believe in the next generation. In people like you.”

Flemen looked around the room. It was quiet, still, but the silence no longer felt oppressive. “This could be the start of something new, sir. An actual version of the Federation here in the Delta Quadrant.”

“Then let it start here. With you.”

Flemen gave a dry laugh. “No pressure at all.”

Duncan stood and nodded toward the door. “Get some rest. You’re going to need clarity more than caffeine tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” Flemen said. “But this is bigger than any summit I’ve ever imagined.”

“And you’re exactly the kind of person we need imagining it,” Duncan said. Then he turned and disappeared through the parting doors.

For the first time in hours, Flemen felt the knot in his chest begin to unwind. Duncan’s words weren’t just comfort; they were a reminder that this summit wasn’t his burden alone.