USS Valhalla…

“Aoife McKenzie,” Rebecca greeted as she slid behind her computer terminal.  She pealed off a pair of leather work gloves and removed a grey felt cowboy hat to reveal a full head of white hair. Setting it crown down on the desk Rebecca settled in. “What can I do for you?”

“Admiral, how are you?”

“I’m not an Admiral.  Not anymore. I retired Aoife, call me Becca.”

Aoife smiled and lifted her tea to her lips and sipped it. “So I hear. How’s that working out for you… uh… Becca?” That familiar term felt weird on her lips.  

Aoife McKenzie had served under Rebecca Sandoval over a decade out of her more than twenty-five year career.  She had left Starfleet Academy to enlist for the Dominion War. After the Battle of Tyra she earned a battlefield commission to Assistant Chief Engineer.

Rebecca simply shrugged, “I’m working harder than I have ever worked before. Branding and castrating calves is a young man’s game and I’m neither.  Milo’s gotten so he can barely throw a calf with his arthritis.” She poured herself a glass of water from a carafe sitting just off screen. “I miss the center seat of a starship. As much as I miss command I hated serving in the admiralty.  I don’t like politics, and I don’t like the constant office back stabbing.  Whatever you do, don’t let them promote you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Adm… Becca are you following the events in Denab?”

Rebecca gave Aoife an odd expression, “I’ve seen some things on the news networks. They have been downplaying it as a Breen incursion.  Let’s just say it has a certain smell about it that I’m not buying. When you have been around as long as I have you get a sense when you are being fed a load of bullshit.”

“It’s not the Breen… well, not just Breen.  The Dominion’s lost fleet is back.”

Rebecca sat back with raised eyebrows. She had heard of the lost fleet. Everyone had. The fleet was a matter of great amount of speculation. Theories ranged from mass murder to alternate timelines.  Rebecca had always leaned more towards the mass murder side of things. “I assume that’s why you didn’t call looking to catch up then?”

Shaking her head Aoife began to plea, “We need help.  The Dominion is positioned to take Arkan II. Ma’am, if they control the planet they will have a source to produce white for the Jem’Hadar.  You and I both know how patient they are. The Dominion plays the long game. A year, a decade, a score or even a century to obtain their goals is nothing to the Founders. A supply of white gives them a chance to sit back and breed Jem’Hadar and build ships.”

“I don’t know how I can help unless you want me to send a strongly worded letter to the Dominion or throw some cow patties at them. I’m retired.”

“I know, but I hoped you had some connections or favors or some strings you could pull to get us some reinforcements.”

Rebecca thought for a long moment considering the request.  “I’ll ask around. I still have a few connections in Starfleet, but none are in the Admiralty.  If you’re hoping for a fleet of ships I don’t see that happening. Let’s just say Command couldn’t tender my retirement fast enough.”

Aoife frowned.  She didn’t like how her mentor had been put to pasture like that. Rebecca Talon had a habit of telling her superiors what she thought.  This was often to the detriment of their character. It was no surprise that her superiors didn’t take kindly to that sort of abuse, and it didn’t help that she was often right. They were stupid, scared, timid or short sighted.  “Thank you ma’am, that’s all I can ask.”

“It was good hearing from you Aoife. Next time you are near Terra Alpha I expect you do drop by. We’ll get the grill going and feed your whole senior staff.”

“I’m sure they would like that. I’ll chat with you soon ma’am.”

“Be safe out there Aoife, and keep me posted.”

With that the screen went black replaced by the Starfleet logo. Aoife turned her chair to face the window that was behind her. Left to her troubled thoughts she stared into the black. 

She needed a coffee.  So much for your one coffee a day goal McKenzie, she chided herself as she went to the replicator. In truth she really wanted something with a little more kick to it. But to her dismay she was on duty and could ill afford to have her mind impaired by alcohol. Caffeine would have to suffice for now.

USS Andromeda…

Captain Órlaith Murphy entered her quarters stripping off her uniform jacket. With reckless abandon she tossed the jacket onto the armrest of a nearby chair. The uniform, of course, slid off and landed in a pile of black and crimson.

Dropping into her chair behind her computer she entered commands into the touch panel. After a few moments an impressive looking Klingon woman stared back at her on the screen.

“Órlaith, it has been too long,” the Klingon greeted. 

“Far too long,” Órlaith agreed with sincerity.

Órlaith had met Commander Hur’agha, daughter of M’ress of the House of Lu’poq, from opposing sides as a Commander during Operation Gatecrasher. Old Lu’poq was a rare pro-Federation voice within the empire and as such sided with Starfleet during the operation. 

“How are you my sister?” Hur’agha asked.

“I am well. For now.”

The Klingon frowned,  “For now?”

“The Dominion is back.”

Hur’agha pounded the desk with her fist, “ghay’cha‘! And what is Starfleet doing about it?”

Órlaith shrugged,  “They are sticking their heads in the sand and pretending that this is all an exaggeration and hoax perpetrated by the Fourth Fleet.”

“QI’yaH! Cowardly petaQs! What can I do?”

Órlaith explained the situation while the Klingon listened. “House Lu’poq doesn’t hold the sway that it once had with the High Council,  but I will bring your plight to the Chancellor and make the argument. At the very least you will have the eight ships of my House.”

Órlaith sighed with relief.  Reinforcements were coming, “Thank you Blood-sister.”

“It will be a glorious battle!” Hur’agha exclaimed.  “Songs will be written of the eleven that stood to face thirty. Kah’less will be honored and the path to Stov’o’kor will run red with the blood of out enemies.”

“I don’t mind sending our enemy there,  but I would very much like to put my journey to Stov’o’kor on hold for now.”

“Bah!” Hur’agha exclaimed. “Dying in battle  is preferable to my bed!  I owe you blood sister.   I will be there, and when we drive the Jem’Hadar from that system we will share a barrel of the finest bloodwine.”

Órlaith smiled,  “I look forward to it.”

“Q’pla! Hur’agha out!”

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