Metallic bronze trim reflected soft light along dark-tan walls. Cool blue lighting ran underneath the raised command section. LCARS stations arced in a rising crescent along the rear of the bridge. Their displays of orange, purple and red were in constant flux. Three chairs sat centered on the raised shelf behind Helm and Ops. The officers of Alpha shift were just reached their fourth hour, as the clock passed noon.

The gargantuan forward viewscreen dominated the forward space as it cast its pale wash across Ensign Crismarlyn Ruiz at Helm and Lt. JG M’Row at Ops. Beyond the screen laid a blackness mottled with stars and the faint glow of a distant Breen warship. The massive hull was formed by a series of crescent-shaped arcs which radiated off of a central hull.

Captain Raku Mobra sat comfortably in his chair, dark Bajoran features focused on the screen. His ridged nose dipped low as he studied the display. “Bring us closer at one-quarter impulse,” he said. His tone held a thin thread of anticipation.

“Aye, sir,” Ruiz answered. Her auburn-highlighted hair shimmered against the room’s illumination as she shifted her posture. “Adjusting course. Closing to observation distance.” Her hands danced across the navigation controls with light, quick touches.

Lt. JG Itata sh’Zeles leaned slightly over her console on the rear platform. The young Andorian’s antennae tilted forward and flexed with her concentration. “The warship has shifted position since yesterday’s long-range reports. We estimate it is now halfway the distance between Bajor and Cardassia from the nearest Breen border zone. Their sensors haven’t noticed us yet. We’ve got a clean read.”

The distance between the two aforementioned planets was a well known measuring stick of the Nebula pod’s range. Her statement told the Captain they needed to get about that far from the border to study them well.

Raku turned, curiosity plain in his gaze. “Focus the intercept arrays. Let’s hear what they are saying.”

Itata’s hands moved across her displays. “We modified the universal translator for Breen vocal modulation two weeks ago. Accuracy has improved to ninety-three percent.” She allowed a pause as her antennae twitched. “There may be the occasional… creative interpretation.”

“That should make things entertaining,” Commander Smythe said from the XO’s chair. His deep voice carried warmth behind its practiced stoicism. Smooth mahogany skin caught the shimmer of the LCARS reflection as he leaned forward. His rectangular lips curved into the beginning of a grin.

A low, filtered chatter filled the bridge speakers. Harsh consonants echoed at first, then smoothed into words as the translator locked in.

“Convoy Cresh Four has reported their pickles at waypoint seven. Move to intercept at your earliest convenience.”

Lieutenant M’Row’s ears tilted back and to the side. His striped ginger tail curled lazily behind his chair. The Caitian’s mismatched eyes blinked with exaggerated boredom. “Pickles,” he repeated as one hand flicked at the console. “Is that the Breen war of effort today? Convoy status updates on canned vegetables.”

Raku’s lips twitched as he tried to maintain his command bearing. He looked to the Klingon tactical officer. “Lieutenant Commander M’kath. How was your time hiking Hills and Ponds Township?” He knew if he encouraged M’Row, it would only embolden him.

M’kath stood broad and imposing at Tactical. His long hair spread unrestrained over his shoulders. The Klingon’s dark eyes were fixed on the distant vessel. At the mention of his shore leave he shifted slightly as his voice rumbled low. “Quaint.” He lifted his chin. “Yet rejuvenating.”

The next Breen voice burst over the comms before Raku could reply.

“Sector detachment is to re-supply at milkfish base delta. Estimated arrival is in two hours.”

M’Row’s ears twitched forward. Their tips jerked upward in mock excitement. “Milkfish. I always wanted to know what fueled a galactic empire as devious as the Breen.” His eyes narrowed as his tail flicked again. “The ferry I took back to Cait promised better drama than this. They failed miserably to deliver too.”

Smythe chuckled quietly and turned his head toward the Caitian. “At least this show is free.”

Lieutenant T’Naagi spoke up from the Science station. Her almond-shaped eyes gleamed against her green-gold skin as she studied her scans. “Life signs are registering. Five hundred and seventy-nine aboard. Heat maps indicate clustering in three primary sections. Reactor cores are drawing crews towards the mid-level decks. If they lean too close to the border, we will know precisely where they are standing.”

M’kath’s teeth showed faintly as he smiled. Long, sandy brown hair swayed with the motion of his twisting head. “If they cross that line, Captain, I could core out their hull with a barrage of phaser strikes.” His voice carried both pride and hunger.

Commander Smythe shifted in his seat. He spoke in a measured tone opposite of the Klingon’s energy. “Perhaps, Commander. But the Cardinal is not in an advantageous position against that class of Breen warship.”

The Klingon’s shoulders flexed as he turned slightly. His beady eyes narrowed at the viewscreen. A restrained grunt carried reluctant acknowledgement.

Itata’s voice cut through the tension. “Long-range scans confirm their armament. Polaron beam arrays sit across the primary hull. Launchers are configured for transphasic torpedoes.”

M’kath let out a low growl. “We have defeated Polaron weapons before. One strike from the IKS Votaragh crushed the Vaadwaur bridge beneath Klingon fury.” His eyes glinted with the memory.

The comm speakers hissed again.

“Team Three, cargo hold two requires immediate replacement of the pillowcase conduits. All hands report to sanitation duty.”

M’Row turned in his chair just enough to glance back towards the command section as his whiskers twitched. “Pillowcase conduits. If Starfleet engineers had invented those first, perhaps we’d rule the entire quadrant.” He shook his head with wearily as his ears flattened.

Ruiz muttered under her breath. “That sounds like one of my grandmother’s chores, back in the day. She used to make us work on all kinds of stuff.”

Raku’s expression remained steady though his eyes gleamed with restrained amusement. “Keep the intercepts coming, Itata. Even mundane patterns tell us how they move.” His voice lowered slightly. “Every scrap of information matters.”

Itata’s antennae angled straight as she focused. “Yes, Captain. Adjusting filters for higher fidelity. The next pass should isolate command-level traffic. Hopefully, something more exciting will present itself.” Her lips pressed together with the faintest shadow of humor.

“Have your analysts go over this data later”, Smythe added. “I’m sure they can clarify some of these misplaced words.”

T’Naagi lifted her eyes from her console and leaned slightly toward Raku. “Captain, my scans show no deviation from their patrol pattern. This is a watchful stance, not a preparation for engagement. Whatever their chatter says, their formation matches routine.”

Raku nodded once. His gaunt Bajoran features sharpened as he considered. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He turned his head toward Ruiz. “Helm, hold position along the drift. Keep us steady in their blind arc.”

“Aye, sir.” Ruiz’s voice carried her usual impatience. Delicate, golden fingers moved with precision. “We’ll hang just outside their shadow.”

Another Breen voice filled the room.

“Maintenance division reports coolant leak in lower decks. Recommend all personnel wear pancakes until resolved.”

M’Row simply shook his head as a ripple of frustration shot visible waves along the muscles of his back. His tail flicked impatiently. The Caitian was mentally still stuck on Cait, after catching Glezorb’s Ferry Service from Janoor III.

A ripple of laughter passed between Smythe and T’Naagi. Even Ruiz’s lips twitched at Helm.

Raku let the corner of his mouth curve. His eyes never left the warship on the viewscreen. “Stay with them. If the Breen want to speak of pickles and pancakes, we will be the best listeners in the quadrant. Also, can we try to tune the food references out please?”

The Cardinal drifted silently, massive Nebula-class frame steady against the void of space. Sensors hummed with patient diligence as they peered further than the Breen could see. Every intercepted word, no matter how mundane, was another tile in the mosaic that Starfleet sought to understand.

The bridge quieted after the last burst of garbled Breen chatter. M’Row, half-stifled a yawn behind his paw and lifted one tufted ear. “Message incoming from Starfleet Command”, he announced.

Raku straightened in his chair. “Route it to my ready room.”

“Aye,” the Caitian replied. His mismatched eyes looked to his console. “It’s priority flagged, Captain. Something about the Lazio-Oorl civilian transfer.”

Raku’s brows drew together. The request had been in limbo for days. The organization’s civilian engineers and development specialists had a hand in the rapid development of Janoor III. They had the potential to reinforce the Cardinal’s civilian terraforming teams.

Captain Raku rose, gave Smythe the bridge, and stepped into the quiet of his ready room.

The door closed behind him. Soft light glinted off the Bajoran earring hanging from his lobe. He keyed the console and the message unfolded.

“Captain Raku,” came the clipped voice of a commodore. “Starfleet has concluded review of the Lazio-Oorl Foundation’s personnel transfer. Effective immediately, the team’s construction and development specialists are cleared for service aboard the USS Cardinal.”

Raku exhaled as the tension softened in his shoulders. “Finally.”

The commodore’s voice continued. “There was one delay regarding a single team member. That individual’s records required legal verification. The matter has been resolved. Charges on record were dropped over a decade ago. There are no further restrictions.”

Raku frowned. He tapped to expand the personnel files. One face stopped him cold.

The picture was newly updated since the last time he checked the file. Back then, the woman’s photo was missing. A familiar lady with sun-touched skin and silver eyes smiled at him from the screen. Her obsidian hair was brushed back. A look of relaxed confidence crested her facial features. He whispered before he could stop himself.

“Greta.”

But the name beneath was different.

Margaret Lazio.

He sat back in his chair, throat tight. The surname struck like a blow. Lazio. The Lazio-Oorl Foundation bore that very name. And yet when he’d met her at the food stalls, she had only been Greta. Charming, sharp-witted, unassuming Greta.

He skimmed her file again. Twelve years ago, she faced a racketeering charge on an Andorian moon. The charges were dropped. It still took hesitation on the part of Starfleet Command. Her work with the Federation on the nearby planet spoke in her favor.

His chest tightened. She had never told him any of this.

He tapped his commbadge. “Raku to Greta. Report to comms channel three. Priority one.”

Her voice came over the channel, smooth and calm as ever. “Captain? You sound anxious.”

“I need to talk to you. Now.”

There was a pause. “I’ll take it here.”

The screen shifted. Greta appeared against the elegant backdrop of a corporate office. Her face was composed, eyes steady on his.

“Hello, Mobra,” she said softly.

He folded his arms and fought to keep his voice level. “Margaret Lazio? Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

A small smile flickered across her lips. It faded as quickly as it appeared. “Because I didn’t plan to fall in love. Greta is short for Margaret. Can’t a gal have a nickname?”

His carefully practiced calm began to falter. “That’s not fair.” He leaned forward. “Was I just some mark? Were you using me?”

Her eyes widened with something that looked like hurt. “No. Never. I didn’t approach you with any plan, Mobra. I only wanted to see the officer Starfleet was sending. To scout, as you might say. But then, you charmed me.” She let out a faint laugh and shook her head. “You were so thoughtful. And who could resist those dark eyes of yours? You made me forget about the Foundation and forget business.”

He shook his head. “You should have told me all of this. Instead, I find out from a personnel file that you’re tied to this team, and that Starfleet had to comb through your record because of a racketeering charge. A charge you conveniently left out of our date.”

Her expression didn’t waver. It was like she had prepared for this moment. “The charge was false and it was dropped. I was young and foolish. I was just caught up in the wrong company. That’s all. It has no bearing on who I am today.”

“You let me think you were someone else entirely,” Raku said. His voice carried the weight of betrayal. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

“You already do,” she said gently. Her eyes lowered as her gaze burrowed deep into his own.

Raku clenched a fist against the desk. “Do I? Because right now, I’m not so sure.”

Her voice softened further. “Mobra. I didn’t mean to deceive you. When we met, I wasn’t Margaret Lazio, Foundation director and subject of endless scrutiny. I was just Greta. I was only a woman at a festival, trying new food and laughing with some Bajoran who made her feel alive again. Do you know how rare that is for me?”

Silence stretched between them. The hum of the ship filled the ready room.

He wanted to believe her. Prophets help him, he wanted to. But his duty pressed at his thoughts. He could not allow deception aboard his vessel, no matter how much his heart leaned toward her.

“You cannot come aboard,” he said finally, voice like cold steel. “I can’t have my judgment clouded by—”

“Wait,” she interrupted.

The words choked off tightly within his throat.

Her calm faltered at last as her hands clenched together in front of her. Her lips trembled before she spoke.

“Captain, I’m pregnant.”

The words landed like a phaser blast to his chest. His breath left him in a rush as his eyes fell to the floor.