Helena stood in front of the doors to the Olympic Journal.  She was running through the various ways she would approach the Editor in Chief with the news that an outsider was being sent along with them on their mission.  Taking a deep breath, the XO stepped through the door and let the assistant at the desk know of her appointment with Hargraves.  A few moments later, she was led down a corridor into an expansive office where the older white-haired woman sat, examining several PADDs.  Dread stepped to stand in front of the long, ornate desk and waited. A few minutes later, Hargraves looked up, annoyed.  “I wanted to talk to you about the issues of our staff and their access to regular communications traffic…but it seems you bring tidings of something new.”  She leaned back in her chair, waiting.

Dread remained standing where she was.  She hadn’t been offered the seat and wasn’t about to misstep.  “We’ve received orders to return to the Deneb sector and offer our assistance as a medical and science ship to the systems within.” She paused, “We’re also taking on a passenger from FNN.  A Mr. Craig Syracuse and his small production team.”  Helena explained the team’s mission and that they were to work alongside the teams as they worked with the various colonies, ships, and planets.  “He’s been assigned to the Olympic Journal through Federation Academic and Scientific Journal Consortium in partnership with…”

Hargraves held up her hand, “You don’t need to shovel the shit for them, Captain.  I’m aware of Mr. Syracuse and his credentials.  He’s a hot-shot reporter who’s been very lucky in his short career.  I’m not particularly thrilled with this particular development, especially at the hands of the FASJC.”  She tapped at one of her PADDs, “The Frontier Day event was unlucky for them – a few Changelings were found, and there was a harsh amount of deaths before the universe-wide genocide was brought to an early end.”  She picked up her tea and sipped at it, “They’re still not pleased with me and my attempts to tell the story of Janoor III.  The benefit of being the Olympic Journal is they can’t take action against us like they have others – we have a reputation that’s held its ground longer than most.”

Helena frowned, “You’re…not going to fight this?”

“You expected me to, Captain?”

“I…I’m not sure what I expected, Dr. Hargraves.”

Persefoni demured a smile, “I’ve been in this game long enough to know how to fight beyond the two or three dimensions most of my opponents occupy.  There’s more than just assigning the latest shiny bastard to me in play here, Captain Dread.  There’s always a game afoot or a message being sent.  Syracuse is just the piece on the chess board.  Our goals are aligned – report on the realities of what’s happened to Deneb and hold the people who are responsible for the recovery and repair accountable.”

Dread felt a quiet respect developing for the journalism veteran, “And if those goals…unalign?”

The smile was quiet but held a glaring menace beneath the surface.  She answered, “The game moves from being afoot…to being hunted.”  She finished her tea, “Now, can we speak about the communications access I’ve been wrestling with these past few days?”

“You’re sure about this?”  Mark Henry sat across from Craig “The Craft” Syracuse on the shuttle as it rocketed towards the meeting point with the USS Olympic.

Craig looked up and met the eyes of his producer, “Look, It’s a risk stepping into her space…but there’s not a lot of ships with better access and better track records than the Olympic.  There’s a lot of buzz around pirates and others still spoiling for a fight.  We’re going to be on the cutting edge of the emotional stories of survival, recovery, and redemption.  That’s the kind of story that we need.”

Henry scoffed, “You don’t know her like I do, kid.”  Henry had worked at the Los Angeles Times during her tenure.  He’d managed to keep a wide berth from her.  “She’s not someone you mess with, especially on her home turf.  She’s been running that journal for over ten years.”

Syracuse huffed, “Who said I was going to mess with her?  I want the same thing she wants.  Doesn’t that count for something?”  Henry had been with him since the start, but he’d started to chafe under the older man’s mentorship.  He had started looking for other producers.

The sixty-year-old veteran of news media pointed at him, “You know as well as I do that’s a load of shit, Craig.  You’ve picked up a few bad habits in the last six months.  Burning bridges isn’t going to get you very far.”

The reporter rolled his eyes, “We’re done talking.  I need to get some sleep.”  Craig turned his head away from Mark and closed his eyes tightly.  The hardest part was that he wasn’t wrong.  Syracuse had been feeling a change happening in him.  His cynicism was running deeper and harder than usual.  He worried there was more truth to the man’s concerns than he was willing to admit.  He felt the thought fade away as the sweet surrender of sleep took him.