“Afraid you won’t see her again?” Sidda asked MacIntyre as she sat herself down in the XO’s seat.

The question broke his reverie, bringing him back to the here and now. A few blinks of his eyes later and he realised he had been staring dead ahead at the main viewer. The gentle curve of DS47’s upper hull dominated the righthand side. Beyond that, sitting just off-centre, the jutting prow of the USS Atlantis at port further around the station as the two ships had docked roughly facing each other along the station’s perimeter. He nodded his head a few times, put on a smile and turned to his XO.

“That’s the second ship named Atlantis I served on. Thought I’d take command of them both, to be honest.” He chuckled briefly, more to himself than anything. “But turns out, someone, somewhere decided to give me something brand spanking new instead.” He patted at the armrests on his chair, narrowly avoiding the quick commands console built into the right arm.

“Least you walked off the ship you thought you’d be commanding one day and get to look back at her,” Sidda joked. “I had to beam off of my first forever ship and watch it explode.” She chuckled at Mac’s raised eyebrow. “I’ll tell you the store of the Vondem Thorn another time.”

“I thought you had been commanding the Vondem Rose?” he asked.

“Yup. A bird-of-prey up to a K’t’inga-class cruiser in an afternoon. Only felt right to name it the Vondem Rose after those D’Ghor bastards blew up my Thorn.” Sidda turned her head to look at Atlantis on the viewscreen. “She’ll still be around. Captain Theodoras seems a sensible sort.”

MacIntyre barked in laughter at that, enough that more than a few people around the bridge with clearly not enough to do turned to face him briefly before getting back to their work. “Tikva? Sensible? Oh boy. Have I got stories to dissuade you of that notion.”

“Look forward to hearing them,” Sidda said. She looked down at her console next to her seat and tapped the portion of the screen with a clock in the corner. “Time.”

“Guess we should get this show on the road then,” Mac replied as he tapped a button on his armrest. “Engineering, Bridge here. Malcolm, how are my engines looking?”

“47 gave us a top-up on all fuel stocks, so we won’t need a refill for…a few years? Assuming that m…” Malcolm cut himself off, the pause long enough for Sidda to smirk at Mac. “Assuming Commander Sadovu doesn’t have us running everywhere at maximum warp all the time. Otherwise, we’re good for main engine start. Warp power can be available within fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll try and be frugal Mr Malcolm. Start shovelling coal and make ready to get underway.”

“Aye sir,” Malcolm’s response came, though the questioning tone at being asked to ‘shovel coal’ was evident. “Bringing warp drive online. Engineering out.”

“He only almost insulted you this time,” Mac shot to Sidda with a smile before turning on Trid at Operations. “Lieutenant Jenu, hail the dockmaster and ask permission to depart.”

The Bajoran woman responded with a nod before she turned back to her console and a quiet conversation later she tapped a single button for the bridge-wide comms.

“Republic, Control. Permission to depart granted. Fair winds and smooth skies, Republic. We’ll keep the lights on.” The voice was the crisp, cool and controlled monotone expected of traffic controllers the Federation over.

“Roger that 47. Republic out.” Mac signalled for Trid to cut the line and waited for her nod to say it was done. “Close all hatches, disconnect all moorings.”

“Aye,” Trid responded. A handful of taps, eyes scrutinising readouts, then another set of readouts. “Boarding tube sealed and disconnected. All umbilicals are free. We’re free to manoeuvre.”

“Fantastic.” Mac pushed himself out of the seat, tugging at his uniform tunic like any good commanding officer he’d ever seen, or done himself countless times already. “Go, no-go time folks. Science?”

Matt Lake nodded. “All systems green across the board. Science is go.”

“Helm?” Mac asked next.

“Starcharts for the Expanse are updated. 47 Control have sent us the official Cardassian starcharts and what their own telescopes have been able to confirm. Atlantis also forwarded along her latest astronavigational data.” Beckman only half-turned, hands hovering over her controls and eager to do something with the ship once more. “We’re good to go.”

“Excellent,” Mac replied and saw the young lieutenant smile at that. “Tactical?”

“All defensive systems are online and operational,” Levne replied from her station. “We have a full inventory of photon and quantum torpedoes. I also have requested the most up-to-date threat analysis of Cardassian and Breen vessels.”

“Let’s hope we don’t come to blows, yes?” Mac asked, earning a nod from his tactical officer. “Operations?” he asked, turning to Trid once more.

Trid smiled, looked briefly to Sidda, then back to Mac. “All crew accounted for Captain and all systems report green across the board.”

 Mac nodded, then turned to Sidda, who had gotten to her own feet and joined him at the front of the command platform. “XO?”

“All departments report ready. We’re good to go.” Sidda gave Mac a wink and again that easy smile. “You just need to say your thing.”

“My thing?” he asked.

“Engage, now, warp me, thataway.” Sidda tilted her head as she looked at him. “Your thing.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Mac replied, shaking his head. “Beckman, push us away from the station, one-quarter thrusters until we’re clear enough to turn, then thrusters ahead to five kilometres. Full impulse to the outer marker and then set course for Simperia.” He stopped, watching the entire bridge crew as they turned to face him, waiting, punctuated by Beckman as she finished inputting her controls but stopped sort, a finger hovering over a single button.

He shook his head, then glared at Sidda, who just smiled sweetly at him.

“Engage,” he finally uttered.

“Aye sir,” Beckman responded, turning back to her station as she actioned the commands.

“An oldie but a goodie,” Sidda said to him quietly as they both sat back down.

“So you’re the XO’s girl,” Blake stated as she sat herself down at the bar in the Pnyx directly opposite the only other person present at the time.

“She’s mine actually,” Revin answered as she finished the bit of cleaning she was doing while reading from a padd set just below the bar’s counter. The way she spoke indicated the pride she felt as she said those words, her own eyes dipping to the fanciful ring on her finger – the stylised raptor with emeralds in stunning platinum and silver. “And you,” she countered as eyes lifted to Blake, “must be Doctor Blake Pisani.”

“Guilty as charged. But call me Blake.” Blake then hefted a large glass jug onto the counter, easily containing a couple of litres of a clear solution that sloshed around slightly. “For the bar. Do not, under any circumstances, serve this to any brass that comes aboard ship.”

Revin’s quizzical look, her head moving backwards slightly was soon followed by her approaching the bottle carefully, removing the stopper and taking a sniff before recoiling in amazement. Or shock. Maybe horror. A healthy combination of all three. “What is that?”

“That is Atlantis Gin,” Blake answered. “Distilled using my own unique methods and varietals to a dangerous level, this will get you absolutely drunk in no time at all.” Blake leaned forward, smiling. “It’s medicinal. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

Revin scoffed at that but stoppered the bottle, lifted it and disappeared it from view below the counter in quick succession. She returned a small plate, a collection of small pastries upon it and set them down in front of Blake. “An exchange then.”

“Pastries for gin?” Blake asked, then picked up a miniature croissant to examine it. “I’m not sure this is equivalent trade.” At Revin’s beckoning, however, she proceeded to take a bite, moaning in delight around the pastry. “Oh gods,” she finally got out. “Definitely not equivalent. Marry me,” Blake said jokingly as she took another bite.

Revin just held up her hand, waving the ring briefly as her answer to that and earning an unhappy sound from Blake as she chewed. “Maybe the next bottle can be of a more…palatable proof?”

Hours later, after Republic had gotten underway, both Mac and Sidda entered the Pnyx together, stopping immediately at the sight of Revin and Blake at the bar. Other officers were present, a few of Republic’s departmental assistant chiefs, a couple of the senior staff, but all were giving Revin and Blake a bit of space as they chatted away.

“We’re screwed,” Sidda muttered to Mac.

“Oh?”

“Your girlfriend and my wife,” Sidda paused briefly after saying that, working her mouth as if still getting used to the idea, let alone the word. “Trust me, something is up.” Then she saw the pastries on the counter. “Oh no, not the pastries.”

“Pastries are bad?” Mac asked, urging Sidda towards the bar with him. “This is going to need some explanation, Commander.”

“Bad for you,” Sidda answered. “You don’t have my metabolism.” She waved as Revin spotted the two of them. “We best go stop them before they plan some sort of overthrow of the established order.”

“Or before Blake starts handing out bottles of her homebrew gin,” Mac countered.

“Homebrew gin and pastries to die for,” Sidda laughed. “We’ll be dead from overindulgence before we even cross the Cardassian border.”