“Shit.”  Captain Helena Dread stood behind Presley Atega at communications, rereading the message.  “Recall everyone back home.  Get me dock control.”  She moved to the center chair, annoyed.  Crawford had gone with the Mackenzie.  She was going to tend to the Olympic until he returned.  Now, she was taking command.  “Shit,” she muttered under her breath.  The screen came alive with docking control.  She explained her new orders and how fast they needed to get going.  The dock control officer scowled, sighed, and shouted orders to the unseen crew behind him.  They would do what they could.  The channel closed.  Dread tapped the ship-wide channel on the arm of the chair, “This is your XO.  We’re being ordered into action. Secure all stations and be ready for departure.  Dread out.”  There was no time for explanations.  The USS Olympic was needed.

The door to the bridge slipped open, revealing a confused and annoyed Alanna Barker.  “Hele…Captain Dread – we’ve got orders?”  The XO explained, and the Yeoman sighed, “I’ll start the documentation.  You’re going to need Halsey on the bridge as your XO.”  The ensign was back into the turbolift, her hands working her PADD.

Dread tapped her badge, “Dread to Halsey – report to the bridge.”

“We’re ten hours out, Captain.”  Chief Flight Control Officer William Prentice turned in his chair to face her.

Helena gave a nod.  Walton had sent ahead the report they had been building on Longfellow’s theory.  She had instructed Halsey to start the same for the Olympic crew.  The results, still unfinished, were not great.  There were many connections that the crew had outside of Earth or even the Fourth Fleet stations.  The universe had become so big and yet so small.  She wondered where Patra’s dogs would strike first or if they had already struck.  It was a waiting game, and she did not enjoy waiting.

“Captain?”  It was Athena Catari at tactical, sitting next to Prentice.  Dread stood and walked to her station.  “I’ve got a strange reading.” She tapped at the console, and a distinct frequency appeared.  She explained, “It’s a long-range signal, but it’s not the usual stuff I filter through and out.  I went back and checked the records.  This one’s been on the outer edges of our sensors since before we traveled to Starbase 72.”

Dread frowned, “You’re saying we’re being…followed?”  She tapped at the console herself.  The signal was something the computer might ignore if not for the appearance it had made over time from sector to sector.

Athena wasn’t sure and struggled to confirm what it was, “It’s not close to us – it’s kept the same distance from us over time.  The computer’s struggled with it because it wasn’t going away.  Something…or someone is out there staying just beyond the reach of our stronger sensors.”

Helena muttered, “Shit.”  The Olympic Class wasn’t a fighting ship.  Whoever was out there could have been waiting for them to be alone for just a moment before they struck or did whatever it was they were planning.  Or it could be just one of Patra’s people watching and reporting.  “Atega – does the signal register a communication signal or system?”

Presley Atega turned to her console at the communications station and checked her readings, “It’s possible, Captain.  The signal and frequency has the profile of a ship, station, or probe of some kind.”

Dread felt her frown return and grumbled, “What the hell, hail them.”  She returned to the center chair, doomed to wait while Atega attempted to contact the signal.

The communications chief worked at it and suddenly said, “They’re…responding!”

“On screen.”

The main screen fizzled a bit until the image of a stern-looking Vulcan appeared.  “I am Staas, intelligence officer for the Orion Syndicate.”  He looked at the various officers on the bridge but remained silent after his initial greeting.

Helena leaned forward, “What…are you doing out here, Staas?”

A raised eyebrow, “Gathering information for my employers.  I would think that would be obvious.”

She couldn’t help herself, “As obvious as a Vulcan assisting a criminal enterprise in spycraft?”  It was confusing, to say the least.

He replied, “Just as you humans vary in temperance, emotion, and practice…as do we.  In smaller numbers, I admit…but there are those of us who have left the shackles of logic behind.”  He remained unmoving, the small command center of his ship lit in muted colors.

Dread asked, “You are not meant to attack or cause us harm?”

Staas blinked a few times, and a small smile crossed his lips before it vanished, “No, Captain Dread.  That is not my mission.  Others, perhaps.  Before you ask, Patra’s operation is one of selective shields to keep everyone separate and…as you humans would say, in the dark.  I do not know the reality that your squadron will face from Patra.  I know he is angry and desires his brand of justice.”

“You’re just out there listening and reporting then.”  He nodded.  Walton glanced at Captain Halsey on her right, “Suggestions?”

He stared at Staas, amused and troubled.  Patra had chosen his staff carefully.  The Vulcan Separatist was an ideal candidate for what the Romulan madman needed.  It made him wonder what others were out there doing the bidding of the vengeful villain.  Staas wasn’t playing the game, but most would in this situation. It made him different in more than one way.  Halsey said, “Keep an eye on him.  We know he’s there.  He knows we know.  We can always reach out to him.”

The Vulcan added, “And I will answer.  This conversation is a bright spot in the doldrums of staring out into space.”  That small smile appeared again and vanished just as quickly.

Dread made her decision.  “We’ll keep an eye on you, Staas.”  He bowed, and the channel closed.  She leaned back in the chair that wasn’t hers.  Whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to be anything near normal.