“Don’t look now team but I think we’ve got our first admirer.”

Dirk ‘Knives’ Mattis, the single largest member of the Night Witches, was at the opposite end of the half-court from the basket and therefore the only one who could see the Bay Control office windows above them. He dribbled the ball a few more times, then looked to Catalina ‘Cat’ Saez, their squadron leader and nodded once, before making an all too obvious advance, letting himself be intercepted by her and swapping possession of the ball and position. Their game had gone from just a chance for the whole squad to blow off steam to a cover for a counter-spying operation.

Shuttlebay 1 had become the official home for the Night Witches, with its larger bay and ease for quick recoveries and quicker launches. And while the squadron had only been aboard the ship, still sitting in her construction slip, for a few days now, it had only taken them a few hours to find a spot somewhat off to the side, out of the major traffic areas, and go about setting up a basketball half-court. And this was despite the protests of T’Kenn who duly noted that Republic did feature a gym on the same deck which did have a half-court already.

“Looks like the bus driver,” Cat commented after a moment. She looked over the court and specifically at her two teammates for this particular game. She’d had first pick against Dirk and naturally stole T’Kenn, ‘Blunt’, but the Vulcan was just standing there, looking as impassive as possible. He had speed and agility aplenty and would react if he had thought it worthwhile, but otherwise did his best to pretend to be a statue. Then she had Moana ‘Flip’ Tipene, who did respond to her glance. The tall, solidly built Polynesian woman could just about give Dirk a run for his money in size but had him routinely beat on strength. A juke around Dirk, a pass to Flip and the ball was sailing through the air towards the net once more. As Flip liked to remind everyone, netballers had to put a ball through the hoop without the benefit of a backboard so when the ball sailed through the hoop, only making contact with the net, it was just what was expected.

Sonhi ‘Crash’ Nagnax, the squadron’s resident Trill, took the ball after it hit the ground and proceeded towards the backline, giving Cat a wink as she passed. She was tiny, more so compared to Knives and Flop, barely squeezing past Starfleet’s minimum size requirements for a Valkyrie starfighter pilot. But what she lacked in mass, or strength, she made for in a lighting fast mind and fast reactions. Her response to combat training of any kind was simple – don’t get hit at all. That had gone out the window after she’d been Joined a year ago, but she was getting back to her old form finally.

“Oh she is cute,” Crash commented after barely being at the backline. “Wait, what am I saying?” She shook her head, dismissing an errant thought before her attention came back to the game at hand. There was no sly move, no attempt to let Ebath ‘Red’ Ch’Shirok, the squadron’s resident Andorian to the back line. Crash was, like in all things, in it to win it and for her sake so was Red and Knives.

It was nearly an hour later when the Night Witches as a whole wandered into the Agora, the Republic’s largest social space, offering the best views of the shipyards stretching as far as the eye can see. While pretty sparse with patrons at the moment, the ship’s complement still arriving, staff were present, fittings were in place and every effort was being made to establish an atmosphere of welcoming comfort.

“Eleven o’clock,” Knives muttered, throwing his chin in the direction of the bar and the lieutenant sitting there by herself – their wayward observer from earlier.

“Grab a table folks, I’ll get the drinks,” Cat said, gave them all a wink and parted, heading for the bar and a spot directly next to the only person there.

“Afternoon,” the young man behind the bar greeted her, an easy smile on his lips as he stepped up, doing the perfect job of paying, or at least giving the impression of, his full attention on Cat. “What can I get you, ma’am?”

“Call me Cat,” she offered to the barkeep. “Three lagers, a pilsner, a glass of your strongest water and two bowls of your best pub fries to that pack of lovable idiots.” She half twisted and pointed at the table in the corner by the windows and wall where her people were settling in, earning a wave from Crash. “As for me, whatever she’s having,” she finished the order with a thumb at the lieutenant beside her.

“Triple shot cappuccino, full cream milk and sugar was,” he looked to the lieutenant, wracking his memory. “’Yes, all the yes’?”

“Okay, that’s a bit much,” Cat said, waving the order off. “How about a caramel latte, two sugar? And your name my man.”

“Trent,” the barkeep answered with a smile, a pleasantry about being ‘right back’ and then he was off to sort out her drink order.

“Lieutenant Catalina Saez.” Cat had waited about two whole seconds before turning on the lieutenant next to her and introducing herself. And taking the chance to sit herself down on the barstool she’d been avoiding so far. Only now on examination did she notice the second pip was a hollow one, it having caught the light just right earlier to come across as a full pip at a distance. “You must be Lieutenant Willow Beckman, yes?” She couldn’t help the snap of her fingers, the finger-gun pointing at the younger woman.

Though younger was being used in a strictly technical basis here. The helmswoman for Republic wasn’t that much younger than she was, but those extra years were all the difference it would seem.

“I am,” Willow answered, somewhat surlily. As if answering any of Cat’s questions was costing her greatly. “Chief Helm Officer.”

“Night Witches Squadron Leader,” Cat countered immediately. Someone wanted to throw their position at her, who was she to not counter? “Now we’ve got introductions out of the way and played the who’s got the biggest responsibility game, can we maybe rule out the seemingly clichéd starship and starfighter pilot antagonism and go straight to ‘all on the same team’ state of things?”

“Are we?” Willow answered with her own question.

“All Republic here,” she nodded thanks to Trent as he returned with her coffee, spying another server now heading for the Witches with their drinks and food. The young Andorian woman taking those drinks was, by virtue of being the squadron’s first server, now their favourite as Knives so loudly declared in the near-empty Agora. His appreciation, his undying loyalty and love – all for the meagre price of a cold beer and chips. “Though maybe Trent here is secretly a spy from…the Minnesota?”

“Oh drat,” Trent said, mock shock and under-utilized acting lessons coming to the fore. “My devious and diabolical plan to comfort and ply the crew with food and drinks to their heart’s content exposed.” He then leaned forward, one hand to the side of his mouth, deepening the conspiracy. “Though I’m actually from the Azerbaijan. Fuck the Minnesota.”

Cat couldn’t help the single laugh that escaped her lips, shaking her head and smiling. “Fuck the Minnesota,” she repeated and then turned back to Willow. “See, all Republic here. Say, come have a drink with the Witches. Introductions all around since we’re at your piloting mercy most of the time. Let us get to know she who makes Republic truly dance.”

“Maybe another time,” Willow said, as blandly as possible. “Lieutenant.” And with that acknowledgement, Willow departed, leaving Cat by herself at the bar.

“Okay, someone needs to lighten up,” Trent said, breaking the silence after the doors had closed after Willow’s departure. “Sorry about that LT,” he said, saying the letters themselves. “She was all charm and class yesterday, but once your people came aboard, she got all…prickly.”

“Willow Beckman…wouldn’t happen to know what year she graduated would you?” Cat hadn’t had time to read all the senior staff bios between getting orders and arriving on Republic like she had wanted to, but she’d at least read the names and Willow’s stuck out to her.

“2400,” Trent answered, then looked to her drink. “Still want the cappuccino or something a bit more in line with your people?” he asked, indicating the Witches with his chin.

A polite refusal and a small number of steps later and Cat was sitting down with her team. Crash had made sure to slide the small dish of mayo towards her, followed by the devastated remains of one of the chip bowls, though it looked topped up a little from the other that Knives and Flip were wrecking ruin and devastation upon still.

“So?” Crash asked.

Cat thought for a moment, and even ate a chip while thinking about what to answer. “I think, by virtue of being so gods damn glorious folks, we’re not someone’s particular favourites at the moment.”

“Well that’s a damn shame,” Flip answered, her New Zealand accent very noticeable. “But on to important matters boss.” The table went still, all attention on Cat. “You heard who this boat’s captain is supposed to be?”

“Well…don’t tell anyone, seriously don’t tell anyone, but I did here it’s supposed to be…”