Commodore Geronimo Fontana sat in the command chair in the Squadron Command Room on the USS Justice. Consoles lined the walls of the room, and a master situation table lay set in a lower pit in the center of the room. The command chair sat on the south side of the round room, PADD in hand and a small console and screen just to the right of the chair. The various positions of the squadron’s ships were outlined on the flat table, while a holographic display rotated through updates. Two senior officers stood around the table, earpieces in their ears as they communicated with officers in the room and beyond. The situation at Chico Colony had markedly improved in the last few weeks, and the work of the Justice, Perseverance and Relentless had made the difference.
The problem was now at the Edwards Colony. A scathing attack on the Mucker Colony had left them all tasting bitter, and Geronimo with a challenge. They’d split the squadron and sent the heavy-lifting Yorktown-class with the intrepid Pathfinder and sleek Defiant-class starships to make a statement in the backyard of Deep Space 47. The word had spread of the Justice and her group’s arrival. The list of visits, operational and diplomatic, had grown. He’d wrestled through the night, debating with himself whether bringing the hammer back to Montana and the rimward was worth it. He sipped his coffee, relishing the feeling of life seeping back into his muscles. Glancing at his chronometer, he pushed himself out of the chair and walked to his second in command, Commander Leroy Mason. All of thirty-five, the southern gentleman had a proven track record in overall command, and had a knack for keeping the crowded squadron board in something that resembled order. Or, as he called it, “Recognizable Chaos.”
Fontana stepped behind his station, coffee still in hand. “Commander Mason, report.”
Mason tapped the console and turned toward the MST as he practically jumped from his chair, and Fontana followed, amused. The commander spoke as he trotted down the short stairs into the pit. “Olympic deployed their security team three days ago. They found the outliers pretty quickly and have them in custody. They had enough supplies to last more than a month.” He scoffed as he switched the table and the holographic display. “Selene Voss isn’t a fool, but some of the fools she’s attracted are making it easy to clean up her mess. The interrogations have identified a few strongholds, all behind the Mucker Line.”
Fontana caught his glance as if asking, and the commodore replied with a quiet nod. The Mucker Line was what they’d been calling it operationally since that hellish event had left an open wound in Colonial Operations. No reason to invent a new one. Mason kept going. “Denver and Mackenzie are moving in opposite directions, spinward with sensors loud, trying to see what they can see. Nothing beyond the line, but plenty of hints at something circling out there.” Here, the commander tapped the console again. “Montana’s sensor suite has picked up something in the rimward sectors. Nothing concrete, but plenty of movement. Hasara and his team are working their contacts.”
Fontana pointed at the grouping on the other side of the galaxy map. “And here we are. She got to us out here with her convoy of empty ships and files. And not a word since.”
Mason grumbled. That line of questioning had frustrated him. “A work in progress. She’s grown The Network fast, and some of us are wondering if she’s built it too fast without the stabilizing work needed.” Fontana frowned, and the commander caught it. “Any kind of group – Orions, mercenaries, rebel Klingon houses – they need stability to keep things from drifting apart. It’s like a binding agent in cooking or an unstable chemical formula.”
Geronimo smiled as he chuckled lightly. “Didn’t have you as a baker or a chemist, Commander Mason.”
“Hobbies help keep the universe in order, Commodore. Balance in all things.” He pushed on, “The point is that we might have a chance at making a hole or two in her organization. Maybe prop a door open or something that’ll pay off long-term. The security and intel teams on Montana are working on that now.”
It was Fontana’s turn to scoff lightly, just enough for Mason to be the only one to hear it. “Captain Ki and Commander Thasaz. That is a meeting I would not want to be anywhere near.”
Mason replied, “I’m aware of their dossiers. That’s enough for me, sir.”
“Well, working in this room will bring you close to either or both of them someday soon, so ready yourself.” He held up his PADD. “Did you get the calendar and its chaos to cooperate?”
Commander Mason grinned. “Two hours ago. Requests keep coming in, so it’s become a moving target. Most of them have agreed to come to you, and a few expressed the need to have a Yorktown-class starship make an appearance. One asked if the Perseverance could do a landing outside the colony. I told them I would relay the message.”
Fontana gritted his teeth, but it was a quiet smile that eventually relaxed his lips. “Diplomacy. My favorite. Let’s get the conference rooms set up tonight and brief the hospitality and diplomatic teams.” Mason held at the table, and Fontana asked, “There’s one more thing, isn’t there?”
The commander’s smile was terse and tight. “Captain Dread is asking for your help with her two executive officers. There’s been some…issues that she’s tried to resolve with little luck.”
The annoyance filtered back into Fontan’s voice. “I warned her to get a third XO.”
Mason asked, his eyes both bright and cautious. “Does she accept ‘I told you so’ well?”
Geronimo gave him a withering look. “That’ll be the day. Have her meet me in my ready room in five minutes. And interrupt me in twenty.”
“You need someone to check on you, sir? You don’t seem like one who would lose control.”
Fontana stepped back from the table and headed for the room’s exit. “It’s not me I’m worried about, Commander.”
