((Blythe, Bridge))

Danny Wong was about to ask the helmsman about their eta to SB 400, when he heard the tactical console begin beeping several different notifications. Vaughn was already quickly tapping away at the console and said “Sir, priority 1 distress call coming in from Tholian border, its badly garbled sir. Its definitely a Starfleet signal.”

“Try and clean it up, bring the ship to yellow alert Mr. Ingram, Captain Tyler to the bridge, please.” Wong commanded. The Tholian border? Things had been quiet there for several years. Wong had read some intel reports about a Federation patrol catching a skirmish occuring between the Shelliak and the Tholians on their sensors a few weeks ago. But there had been nothing to suggest any aggression towards the Federation though.

“Eta to starbase 400 Lasalle” Wong tugged on his tunic and walked over to the helm console

“Twelf howers mon commandant” said LaSalle in his thick accent that seemed to be getting worse and not better regardless of the UT.

“Increase speed to warp 8. Inform engineering we will need max speed for the next several hours if she can manage.”

‘Oui out ser’ LaSalle sang.

Just then, LCdr Mee IH swam up and popped his head head up from the 7 foot diameter water pipe a few metres to the right of the helm console. “Hey yall, sup with the yellow alert? Lt. Dish from medical was gonna come skinny dipping, but not now for fuck sake…figure I might as well come give you a hand.” The old Beluga squeeked before letting out a burping sound from his blow hole.

“Sorry that ships business is interfering with your social life Commander. Try and help comms clean up that distress call if you can please.” Wong chuckled.

“On it boss” the Beluga slipped under the water’s surface and began waving his head around as he was operating his new vr holo headset. Lt Tesa had replicated and assembled the newest model of headset for each of the cetaceans, giving them greater ability to interact with the ships systems. In return the cetaceans had offered Tesa ‘open bar’ privileges in cetacean ops, meaning she could drink as much iced Malibu as she wanted

USS Farragut, Main Bridge

Several hours into the voyage, the bridge lights had dimmed to the softer tones of alpha watch winding down. The Farragut thrummed contentedly at warp six, the stars on the viewer streaking past in silver ribbons. Parr sat in the command chair, posture erect despite the faint stiffness in her newly mended arm. She wore the seat differently than Ayres. Where the Captain seemed to settle into it like it was built for him, Parr found herself sitting forward ever-so-slightly, poised for something.

The bridge was quiet save for the low murmur of occasional reports. The crew monitored their consoles, a steady stream of subspace traffic scrolling across their displays – commercial convoys, routine patrol reports, some diplomatic traffic. Noise in every direction.

“Commander,” the young communications officer said, glancing back. “We’re seeing an uptick in chatter across the border with the Tholians. Nothing flagged urgent, but it’s heavier than baseline.”

“Define heavier.”

Science leaned in, antennae twitching as he overlaid feeds on the main display. “Volume has doubled in the last hour, sir. Mostly encrypted Tholian bursts – expected, but the rate is unusual. And there’s something else.”

“Go on.”

“We’ve logged a narrow-band transmission on Federation frequencies. It’s faint, degraded. Could be a distress call, or just scatter.”

The bridge crew stiffened subtly. Distress calls, even uncertain ones, meant decisions. Before Parr could reply, the comm chirped.

“Fusion Centre to bridge,” came the voice of Aloran, the Vulcan task force commander. Calm, precise, but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

Parr tapped the armrest. “Bridge. Go ahead, commander.”

Aloran’s voice filled the air. “We’ve completed cross-spectrum analysis of the communication you are seeing. Correlation suggests unusual Tholian fleet activity near grid 487 by the border. The faint transmission, we believe it originated near that same sector.”

Parr’s jaw tightened. “Your recommendation?”

“Redirect course,” Aloran replied without hesitation. “If it is a distress call, it will be drowned out completely within the next cycle. If it is not, then we may still learn why the Tholians are massing traffic. Either way, the fusion centre is confident the signal warrants investigation.”

Parr leaned further forward in the chair, eyes on the starfield rushing past. She could feel the weight of command pressing into her, a responsibility sharpened by the sting in her arm, by the image of Ayres falling in the bar, by the fact that this decision was hers to make. She exhaled slowly. “Helm, prepare to alter course. Keep us at warp six until further orders. I’ll tell the captain”

“Aye, sir.”

The bridge came alive, officers shifting, consoles lighting with new trajectories and recalibrations. On the viewer, the silver lines of warp stretched differently now, the subtle shift in perspective that told seasoned officers they were cutting toward a new direction.

USS Blythe, Main Bridge

About 3 hours later, the call came in to the Blythe from the local sector commander at starbase 420. A small task force of Tholian ships had in fact intercepted a Starfleet border patrol flotilla of 3 ships right along the border between the 2, and not far from the ‘other Tri Border” area. It was the junction between the territories of the Shelliak, the Tholians and the Federation.

The Blythe and several other ships in the area that weren’t on priority or urgent missions were being attached temporarily to the sector commander in that often simmering area. They were ordered to head to the Tri Border sector HQ at Starbase 420(which was halfway between Starbase 400 and the border).

Since they were both so close to 420 already, the Blythe was ordered to travel in convoy with another Cali class ship called the Culver City, that would rendevous with them en route. but first they would make a quick pitstop at 400 and take on supplies which included several industrial replicators loaded into 2 of their shuttle bays and a large amount of small prefabricated long range sensors relays.

Wong and the logistics Chief Ford had quickly assumed the types of missions they would probably be taking part in when they got to the border based on the inventory they had onboarded. Support and secondary roles, like a good Cali class should. Within 72 they would both be rudely dispelled of those false assumptions.