“Princeps, Princeps,” Tikva said, greeting both Rel L’rilt and a still shell-shocked Ritihe Faler, the newly elected People’s Princeps as he was being referred to. The diplomatic soiree was in full tilt and naturally that meant dress uniforms for the senior staff who’d come down to attend, Rrr and Terax both drawing short straws and remaining aboard the ship to keep the lights on.

Neither had looked particularly put out she noted about that particular development.

Ritihe still bore surgical bandages from his injuries, but he’d been cleared to leave medical care and attend this event, put on to celebrate the ratification of the Founding Principals and Actions Declaration. Apparently, Daloon’s government were quite happy to have a lot of founding documents iterating on each other to full form their new regime, free of Rator and the Star Empire. It did have the benefit she noted of letting them get certain offices formed and in action to then guide the next steps at least.

“Captain, Commander,” Rel said to her and Mac. “Your assistance over the last two weeks has been instrumental and the people of Daloon thank you.” Rel had become Princeps instead of her father, the older Magistrate opting to ‘let fresh blood govern’ in the wake of such changes. But speaking with Rel and Tanok privately she knew it was the sudden appearance and imprisonment of Koteb that had brought the elder statesman to his decision to quit day-to-day politics.

“Just doing our jobs,” Mac said with a smile. “Before we leave tomorrow, we should have restored the defence network to full operations, as well as get the Rator’s Pride to be at least combat capable.”

“And the Implacable?” Ritihe asked. For a man who’d preached plenty about radical governmental change and been reluctant to accept the title of Princeps when it was forced upon him, he took to the broad strokes of the job well enough. No doubt he had plenty of people advising him, for better or worse that would remain to be seen. And he’d been keen enough on ensuring that Daloon had the ability to defend its fledgling democracy from any further outside interference.

“After what happened when Koteb pushed his attack, I’m surprised the ship is even in one piece frankly,” Mac said. “You’re best asking the Republic when their engineers arrive in numbers, but she’s likely bound for the scrapyard due to age and damage.”

“For the best,” Rel said. “My brother’s ship shouldn’t hang over Daloon any longer than it has to.”

“Heck, you want it gone, we can tow it away when we leave,” Tikva said. “I’m sure we can find somewhere to finish it off and let the singularity consume the wreck before evaporating away.”

“Now that would be a waste,” Commander Grel said as he approached the knot of individuals, resplendent in his Republic dress uniform. “The Republic wouldn’t mind salvaging the singularity after all for some new ship. They are after all tricky beasts to bring into existence. Oh, my manners, sorry,” he excused himself before offering a bow to Rel and then a slightly deeper one to Ritihe, which he’d done from day one. She suspected out of some respect for an elected individual, even if the election had only been from the Assembly and not the general populace, which Ritihe was insisting would have to be the proper procedure in the future.

“I’m sure Daloon can come to some sort of agreement with the Republic for the salvage rights to the Implacable,” Rel said with a polite nod to Grel. “But perhaps we can table that discussion for tomorrow when your ambassador arrives?”

“Of course, of course,” Grel said with a smile. “It would of course all be much easier if Daloon just joined the Republic after all, but yes, I know, another discussion for another day. I’m sure Ambassador Tren will be more than pleased to discuss the close association proposal until the heat death of the universe.”

“And I look forward to speaking with her,” Ritihe said, earning a momentary glare from Rel, who reined herself in very quickly. Tikva could sense the momentary spike of emotions when Ritihe spoke, then the follow-up when Rel had realised what she was thinking, admonishing herself for it.

“I hope this isn’t too out of place Princeps L’rilt, but what of your brother, Commander Koteb?” Tikva asked and she couldn’t help the slight smirk when she saw Mac take a sip of his wine immediately.

“He’ll be held prisoner as an enemy of Daloon until such time as the Star Empire sends someone to apologise for an undeclared war and negotiates for the release of our prisoner of war. He’ll be held in accordance to interstellar law and I welcome the Federation and the Republic to send inspectors to check that.” Rel’s words were cold and hard.

“The Star Empire has essentially collapsed and gone into the history books,” Grel stated.

“Then it will be some time before their negotiator arrives, won’t it?” Rel asked in response and Grel nodded in understanding.

“Lock him up and throw away the key, is it?” Tikva asked, then looked to Ritihe. “And you agree with this Princeps?”

“I have more than a few legal and judicial opinions on the matter, yes, but emotionally, since interrogations of Kavos’ men revealed that he supplied the bomb one of Kavos’ men used to try and kill my husband and me,” Ritihe stopped and looked across the room to his husband who was in a knot of people and apparently far more at ease with this situation then Ritihe himself was, “I find myself not caring as much as I know I should. I will push for a proper trial, once we’ve established a new judiciary to replace the current one, but I suspect his actions may fall into the high crimes category, or set precedent for them going forward.”

“A politician, admitting faults?” Grel said with exaggerated shock. “Princeps Faler, consider me a fan. Could I perhaps impose upon you to introduce me to your husband?” And with a few pleasantries, the two men departed.

“I’m not entirely sure I trust Commander Grel,” Rel said with a salute of her wine glass to the man’s back. “But he’s certainly a charming enough character.”

“Decent drinker too,” Mac quipped. “Oh, we’re out Romulan ale by the way,” he said to Tikva, but just loud enough for Rel to hear. A carefully managed ploy to be sure.

“That is something I’m sure can be remedied before Atlantis’ departure,” Rel said. Everyone’s attention however shifted as musicians started to file in, moving the evening into another phase. “Though Commander MacIntyre, perhaps you’d do me the pleasure of a dance as recompense?” she asked.

And that was how Tikva Theodoras, captain of the Starship Atlantis, came to be standing at a diplomatic affair delicately holding onto three glasses of wine until one of the serving staff came to rescue her.

———-

As it turned out the crew of the Atlantis still hadn’t been able to agree on a name for the ship’s primary lounge. It had gotten so bad, no name lasting for more than a few days, that a chalkboard had been replicated and used for the name plates outside the two doors. Four Forward had never been a real possibility, that much everyone had agreed on, but nothing else beyond that could be attributed to some reported heated discussions.

And so, as Tikva had walked past the doors this particular night, the sign dutifully reported the space had been renamed ‘Port Royal’ with a chalk drawing of a couple of pirates with tankards that frankly could have been an entry into the talent contest, confirmed later in the evening as the handy work and entry for one Ensign Wilkins, their now Artist in Residence as so declared by Mac.

The current set piece on stage, a three-part band, she had to admit had some chops though rough around the edges as they’d only formed two weeks ago when Mac announced the competition. But entertaining enough and had the crowd’s attention as Port Royal was packed to standing room only, save for a table for the panel of judges on an elevated platform at the other end of the lounge.

Mac was truly living it large, and so where his two other judges – Lieutenants W’a’le’ki and Gerald Wilbur-Northcote, whom it had come out had won previous talent competitions at the Academy, which endeared Mac to pulling them in as judges.

“Think Daloon will be okay?” Adelinde asked as she pushed gently through the crowd to her, drinks in hand, having opted to brave the masses for whatever deadly brew was being served tonight. No fancy drinks or meals, just bar food and either a choice of beer or punch she’d been informed.

“They’ve got a long way to go, but they’ve got the broad strokes sorted, I think. They’ve entered into an arrangement with the Republic, food for security wasn’t it called?” she answered, taking a sip of the offered beer, opting for that versus the unknown quantity of the punch, the ingredients of which she’d not been able to find out. “And apparently a few other nearby worlds have reached out asking about procuring foodstuffs. It’ll be months to get the farmlands sorted and a season for growing, but I think Daloon’s got a strong future.”

“Think they’ll remain independent?” Lin followed up.

“Give it a generation or two and they might disappear into the Republic, but I think they like their peace and quiet to be honest. The Empire considered them pastoral backwater; the Republic is already looking at them as a key breadbasket for the Velorum Sector with so many other worlds wrecked by the Empire.” Tikva shrugged. “It won’t be the same going forward, but I think Ritihe is a breath of fresh air, Rel too to be honest.”

“And Speaker Pamisa? You seemed to like her.”

“She retired!” Tikva exclaimed happily. “Something about more time with her great-grandkids and chasing after the man that got away. If he’s as old as she is though, he’s in trouble. That woman is fierce.”

“Good things come in small packages,” Lin teased, just smiling joyfully at Tikva’s mock glare before kissing her on the forehead. “When are you up?”

“Next,” she answered, then proceeded to drink her beer with some gusto, aware from the sound of it that the band was winding up. Darren said to avoid the Dutch courage, but frankly, it always worked before she took to the stage in her youth. She’d never been caught singing in public completely sober yet, why change that?

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was The Philosophers, which I can’t help but think took inspiration for their name from our good ship,” Gerald said, standing to make the announcement and receiving a slight acknowledgement from the band members on stage. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard a punk take on classical Vulcan music before, but we’ll reach out to a few of our resident Vulcans for their opinion shortly.”

A few cheers went up, especially around the few Vulcans in the room who all looked like someone had clearly dragged them along. She could taste the exasperation in the air from the nearest two, but the overall joy from the rest of the crew present washed it out.

“Next up ladies and gentleman, a very special entry, Atlantis’ very own top gun, our one-armed bandit, you know her, you follow her orders because you have to,” a few muted laughs at that one, a solid ‘Ha!’ from Mac in his seat, “Captain Tikva Theodoras!”

For someone clearly wearing a tweed jacket just for this evening and his role as a judge, Gerald’s announcer’s voice was pretty spot on and not something that should ever come from someone wearing tweed, at least in her opinion.

She finished the beer, handed the empty glass to Lin, rocked up on her toes to kiss her quickly on the lips for luck, and then shouted “Make a hole!”. Lin could part a crowd by sheer presence but Tikva had rank and she’d learned how to put authority in her voice to convince people to move as she had now. The parting of people, reacting on trained instinct to move when ordered so she could move from where she’d been to the stage was a thing of beauty.

As she took the stage, in jeans, a black t-shirt with ATL on the front, she grabbed the mic, tapped twice, and then looked over the crowd. “Two songs, one in recognition of how I got here,” she glared at Mac, who just offered a salute with his glass in response, “and to those crewmembers who have found my flight simulator program for the holodeck. Oh, such naive souls, there will be a reckoning,” she joked, smiling at the crowd. “The other because I fell in love with it. I’ve tweaked the words slightly, but my hero knows who she is.” More than a few ‘ooooh’s went up at that, a few folks turning to look at Adelinde momentarily.

She had no band, no accompaniment on stage, just the musical tracks she’d selected. She counted to three in her head, tapped the control on the mic to start the first song and let the guitar and synth music wash over the crowd, finding the beat and waiting for her entry, which wasn’t long on this one at all.

Revvin’ up your engineListen to her howlin’ roarMetal under tensionBeggin’ you to touch and go

Highway to the Danger ZoneRide into the Danger Zone

By the time she finished she already knew ‘Danger Zone’ was going to be banded about by the crew for a few weeks at least.