“I’m sorry, but you want to do what with my ship?” Tikva Theodoras charged at the other woman seated across from her.

Commodore Alexandra Sudari-Kravchik’s office was a spartan affair at the heart of the Starfleet Intelligence complex aboard Deep Space 47. And much like the rest of the Intelligence complex, was almost exceedingly non-descript. Tikva had never figured out why the Deputy Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence had decamped herself to the next best thing to the back of beyond here on Deep Space 47. Probably had something to do with paranoia and suspicion in the light of the Changeling threat, then the Borg, and wanting to make sure command of Fourth Fleet Intelligence was spread out to avoid a surgical strike.

Which sounded far too credible to her, so had to be something more like office space was easier to come by out here.

Or Admiral Beckett was some sort of spooky prick. Who implanted messages and mission orders in starship computers waiting for triggers before revealing themselves in order to cut down on communication loops.

Probably stole candy from children too.

Yeah, we’re not still angry about what he did to Atlantis’ computer.

Nope, not angry at all.

Perfectly okay with it.

We’re all agreed then?

I thought it was clever.

Shut up!

The woman before her she knew was of Human and Romulan descent, having read some of Sudari-Kravchik’s mother’s rather vitriolic diatribe against the Romulan Star Empire, then the Star Empire of Rator and the still extant Free State. One didn’t write that critically, angrily and passionately without having come from there. But while Sudari-Kravchik was obviously half-Romulan by birth, she acted more like she was half-Vulcan. Cold, precise, perfect enunciation and avoidance of contractions were just a few things that made her…Vulcan.

Which in a convoluted, generational view of things, she was? Not that you’d say that to a Romulan in polite company.

“As I said, I am placing an exchange officer aboard your crew, for a few months at a minimum.” Sudari-Kravchik’s tone was controlled, as devoid of emotion as the most passionate of Vulcans Tikva had met, which wasn’t far off from the most emotionless of Vulcans she’d ever met. There was also no ‘I want to place’ or ‘Would like to place’ but ‘I am placing’.

This had gone from a request to an order. Though, if she could recall how the Commodore had phrased it originally it likely had started that way to be fair.

“For the purpose and duration of the exchange, the officer will hold an equivalent rank within Starfleet, which would make them a Commander and the highest ranked individual aboard your ship after yourself.”

Tikva scoffed at that. “You’re forcing an exchange officer onto my ship and then forcing me to make them my XO?”

“Yes.” Sudari-Kravchik’s answer was brutal and to the point.

“And if I refuse?” she asked.

“It has already been approved by Fourth Fleet Operations,” Sudari-Kravchik answered as she slid a padd across her desk, not that Tikva picked it up. The padd and the paperwork upon it would be exactly what it needed to be to push this crazy idea through. There was no need to actually check it. One didn’t become a commodore and deputy director of Intelligence without remembering to dot their i’s and cross their t’s.

“And who is his exchange officer?” Tikva lamented.

“I believe you have already met her before.” Sudari-Kravchik tapped a key on her desk computer and the whistle of a directed comm line sounded. “Lieutenant, please send our guest in.”

“Aye ma’am,” came the response of the young man who had greeted Tikva not five minutes ago. She cursed herself for not remembering his name, but he looked and sounded like he came from the same pod factory that spawned Fightmaster.

She turned to face the door, to see who her right-hand-in-potentia was and couldn’t help the face she made when she saw the woman who walked in, in a Starfleet uniform, with full commander pips on her collar. She studied her for a moment, then slowly stood and stepped towards the tall, dark-skinned woman who entered, before offering a hand for a handshake. “Sub-Commander Kendris, a pleasure to meet you again. Shame we couldn’t converse more after the Battle of Deneb.”

“Commander Gris did need to return the Admiral Ketterac to New Romulus post-haste. The Admiralty wanted a full report and to showcase our battle damage in public dispatches.” Kendris’ grip was strong and confident before they broke and eventually settled into the seats in front of Sudari-Kravchik’s desk. “The Commander sends his best wishes as well as a gift, from Admiral Ketterac to Atlantis, which we can discuss later.”

“Naturally,” Tikva answered, then turned once more to the Commodore. “No insult to Sub-Commander Kendris –“

“Commander Kendris,” Sudari-Kravchik interjected, a hand waving under her own singular pip to draw attention to the pips on Kendris’ collar.

“Commander Kendris,” Tikva corrected. “But why are we doing this?”

Kendris was the one to answer instead of the Commodore. “It’s a rather blatant attempt at building unofficial communication channels between services. Officers serve together, build a rapport and when either service encounters an issue they need to communicate to the other but can’t go via official channels, Starfleet or the Republic Navy knows who to talk to to have information slip across.”

“The commander’s answer is cynical, but not incorrect,” Sudari-Kravchik said after a brief pause. “The exchange allows both services to build relationships, share training and ways of working so that in the future we have less friction while working together.”

“And to preserve a level of operational security you’re assigning Kendris to the far side of the Federation from the Republic,” Tikva said, earning a nod in agreement from the commodore. “How long for?”

“Three months,” Kendris answered. “Commander Gris is on a goodwill tower of the Republic and its newfound satellite polities while the Admiral Ketterac is still being repaired. And Command doesn’t want to waste officers. I volunteered so that I can return to the Commander’s side versus being reassigned to another ship.”

“Surely you’d have been in line for your own ship?” Tikva asked.

“Alas, the Republic hasn’t had a recent upper echelon shakeup like Starfleet regrettably has. Though I understand it is somewhat to thank for Captain MacIntyre’s promotion and his own command.”

“Oof, too early,” Tikva said. “The whole Borg thing, not Mac.”

“Apologies.” Kendris nodded her head to accompany her single word.

“Okay, so you’re my XO for the next three months.” Tikva turned to face Sudari-Kravchik, fixing the human-romulan woman with a stare. “I’m picking my next XO and I’ll fight this out with Operations and Command if I have to.”

“You are more than welcome to try,” Sudari-Kravchik answered, not conceding the point. “I also have a mission for Atlantis now that Republic has departed for Cardassian territory.” Another padd was produced, placed on the desk and pushed over to Tikva.

She spent barely a handful of seconds reading it before handing it over to Kendris. “Comm station maintenance? Really? Where’s the…” She paused to think, snapping her fingers to spur her brain into gear. “Los Molinos?”

“The Los Molinos is currently attending to a weather control system failure at Temecklia. Atlantis is currently without a mission, and I want this issue resolved immediately. The station is a vital link between here and Starbase Bravo and as such is important for operational purposes but also my work with Fourth Fleet Intelligence.” Sudari-Kravchik’s impassive expression never shifted as she rose to her feet. “Atlantis’ priority as of right now is to cross the Badlands and attend to relay station CR-718. Is that clear, Captain Theodoras?”

“Perfectly,” Tikva answered. “Crystal clear.”