“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Captain Helena Dread groused, standing on the bridge of the USS Justice, hands on hips. “They just…left?” Eyes wide and face flushed with confusion.

Commodore Geronimo Fontana wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the viewscreen, his eyebrows steeped in concern. He was hard to read, and Dread was thankful for his stone-faced quality, given his high rank. However, in the moments when she needed to know what was going on in his head, it was frustrating. If there was an emotion Dread was going to assign to the man’s face, anger might be the closest one. He shook his head, the emotion closer to annoyance. “Starfleet Security has taken custody of Tougun within the last hour. He is no longer on Montana Station. Selene Voss wants the Orion dead. I’ve warned Starfleet Security what she’s up to, but they seem to think they have it under control. And no, I do not know what branch, department, or operational group is involved. Captain Ki has that bone.” Dread caught a flash of fury just beneath the surface before his face snapped back into place. He turned towards her, his eyes unable to hide the fire. “We’re being ordered to make our way back to Montana Station. They’ve placed the task force assets with support and clean-up duty.”

Helena felt her eyebrows reflexively tighten. “None of those assets are Yorktown-class starships.” She walked closer to Fontana, her voice lowered. “What is going on, sir?”

His eyes, burning, softened slightly, returning the whisper. “Maybe the rimward has need of Justice and this squadron. Don’t ask me to see what the TFCO’s thinking. I’ve tried to understand Wagner. I come up short every time.”

Helena nearly snorted, but caught herself in time. Her eyes, however, shone bright with amusement, and she caught his eyes narrowing. She held her smile and replied, “I understand that reference, sir.” She watched him and his posture. It did not shift, but there was a temperature change in the air between them. Enough that she curbed her enthusiasm in poking the commodore.

Fontana’s reply held just enough of a scoff that only she could hear it tinged in his words. “I’m sure you have, Captain Dread. The bridge is yours. You have your orders. Take us home, best speed to Montana Station.” He ambled up to the back of the bridge and vanished behind the whisper of the turbolift door.

Helena returned to the center chair. Her center chair. “Helm, you heard the Commodore. Let’s go home.”