It had been thirty one years since Kristan Lakotda took centre chair in the USS Dauntless. When he first laid his eyes on the ship he thought it was a joke, an Admirals twisted sense of humour. An hour after being told he was being given his own ship he was standing in dry-dock watching an old wreck, a beaten up aging ship that was long past it’s prime.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t a joke. The Federation was going to war and they needed every ship they could get their hands on. Dauntless was one of several ships taken from scrap yards all across the quadrant. From the replicators to the computer core, the lights to the warp drive, any and every valuable resource as taken from it to be distributed and sold to the highest bidder. It was an empty shell. But the Dominion had more ships than the Federation, and they could build them faster. Even the empty shell was a useful weapon, it was easier and quicker to patch it up and put it on the line than to build something from scratch.

Lakotda spent three months rebuilding it with a small team of engineers putting the ship back together again. He worked in harmony with his team to create a whole new boat, turning an exploration vessel into a ship of war, ready to defend all the principles and ideals of his government. The new Dauntless was unique, a far cry from the initial design and so much of a new ship that Starfleet let him revive a previous Dauntless’ registry number to let the proud soldiers know it was something special. When he first saw the ship he was almost insulted. When he first took it out of dry-dock, he was in love.

When he took it into battle he didn’t think it would have a chance of survival. But by some miracle when the Dominion surrendered at Cardassia he was still sitting on the bridge. The ship was battered, barely alive, but it survived.

When the ship limped back to Earth Starfleet Operations was ready to put the ship to pasture. Lakotda would be given an all new Sovereign class vessel. He was told it would be a ship worthy of his command abilities, a proud symbol of Starfleet that would allow him to resume his diplomatic and explorative mission.

Lakotda refused. The Dauntless had kept him safe throughout the war, protected him, been his home. He’d literally rebuilt it with his bare hands. His connection to the ship had become personal. It was his safe haven. He begged them to let him keep it. He petitioned the highest level of Command to keep the Dauntless alive. He went on a personal mission to make sure that a ship of war could be turned into a symbol of peace, just as a missile was rebuilt into the first warp ship, ushering in a new era that led to the creation of Starfleet.

With the fleet being reassembled little by little Lakotda slowly patched up his ship without dry-dock, slowly assembled science labs, installed creature comforts and took the ship to the Gamma quadrant on a five year mission to learn all about the various worlds of the Dominion. With various missions and stops to Starbases for routine upgrades the ship changed, the crew changed, even the Federation changed but for twenty eight years Lakotda sat in the big chair with a smile on his face.

More than three decades after first seeing the piece of scrap hanging in Utopia Planitia shipyards, he looked upon his ship parked in the maintenance bays on Dytallix B having a short, well deserved break. His heart was filled with pride whenever he looked upon it now. Everything he’d accomplished, everything he could be proud of as a captain he saw in that ship. It was more than a chunk of metal and technology, a tool to fly around the galaxy with. It was his partner. No matter what changes would turn the world upside down, Lakotda and the Dauntless would face them together.

“Captain?” Lakotda tore his eyes off the Dauntless and turned to see his tactical officer looking back to him, the rest of his crew half way to the dockyard bar, relieved to get some down time. They’d just spent some time on a diplomatic mission on New Romulus meeting with the Imperial State government on behalf of the Federation president. An easy mission in theory, but diplomatic outings were always stressful on the crew, always having to be on their best behaviour and accepting invitations to conferences, dinners, presentations, indulging in the local culture… seven months of endearing himself to the Romulans. He wasn’t surprised the crew were eager to let their hair down. Unfortunately for Lakotda, he didn’t have that option. He was here on business.

Lakotda followed his crew with a smile. “I’m coming, chief.” He shouted back to his crewman as he rejoined the pack. By the time he got into the bar his staff had already made their orders at the bar, though Lakotda knew he would already have a drink waiting for them.

His eyes scanned the room until he found who he was looking for. Another officer in matching officers tunic sitting in the corner with a bottle of Aldeberan whiskey and two glasses filled to the brim with Lakotda’s drink of choice.

Lakotda’s tactical officer, Tolan Jucar, followed the rest of the command staff to a table on the opposite side of the bar from their captain, led by the captains right hand man Lieutenant Commander Scott Rollins.

Jucar was Lakotda’s longest serving crew member, having been recruited by him several years ago. Lakotda was somewhat of an outsider, the first and only Sakarian to graduate Starfleet Academy. At the time no one had heard of Sakaria or their ruling government the Kolar. With the rule that non-Federation worlds would need support from a commanding officer to enrol, it took him four years working on Earth as a research assistant before he gained the confidence of an officer to give his recommendation to the Academy. When there the culture gap was too wide for him to fit in easily but he persevered and graduated with honours.

Jucar knew what it was like to be an outsider. He was Cardassian, his people were in a vicious war with the Federation three decades ago, a war in which Lakotda fought in. Although his people switched sides and aligned themselves with the Federation, the memories of the war were very much alive when he decided to join Starfleet. His people had caused so much suffering that almost everyone he met in basic training had lost someone in that war. When Lakotda found him serving as a security officer on one of the many starbases he had docked in, he saw in Jucar the same struggles he experienced in his own career and organised a transfer.

He’d since fallen into a comfortable working relationship with his captain and gained his confidence to become one of the most valued members of the crew. Something apparent to Rollins who’s opinion was often double checked with the Chief.

“Who’s the captain talking to?” The Cardassian asked, his eyes still on Lakotda and his mystery drinking partner.

Rollins shrugged. “Not a clue.” He responded quickly before pulled Jucar’s attention back to the group. “I’m just glad to be out of New Romulus for a while. Such a deep and rich culture. Not very colourful though.”

“True.” Jucar smiled. “I never knew there were so many shades of grey.” The tactical officer reached for his Kanar. “What’s our next stop? Bajor?”

“Oh yes.” Rollins replied before taking a swig of his ale. “A quick stop at DS9 and off to the Gamma quadrant. A land far, far away. Weren’t you stationed there for a while?”

Jucar forced a smile, thinking back to his time there. After the Cardassians rebelled against the Dominion he was welcome aboard, but there were still some tensions with the trail of destruction his people left behind on Bajor, as well as the losses the Federation had taken in war time. “I did my basic training there before being assigned my first tour. The locals were a little unsettled seeing a Cardassian in a Starfleet uniform.”

Rollins nodded. “The Cardassian embassy there will no doubt be proud to see you returning, still representing them in the same uniform.” He frowned, staring into space. “Well maybe not the same uniform, but still a Starfleet one.” His gaze turned back to Jucar. “You know, I’ve been through three uniform styles since graduating the Academy, I hope they don’t change it again.”

“You don’t like change?” Jucar asked, his frosty smile turning to genuine bemusement.

“I just like this one.” The commander laughed, looking down at the latest trend he’d become to accustomed to. “And I can’t say I’m feeling glum about not having to wander around Romulus in the formal tunic.”

“In that case let me propose a toast.” Jucar said, getting to his feet as the staff put all eyes on him. “For the uniform!”

From the other side of the bar, Lakotda watched his crew start to laugh and have fun as he listened to his companion talk.

Although the crew came to Dytallix B to relax, Lakotda has chosen this port to intercept Admiral Rogan, the man in charge of a Starbase orbiting his world. Rogan had spent more time on Sakarian soil than Lakotda had in the past sixty years. He was a key member in the negotiations with Sakaria and the Kolar when they were approached to join the Federation. A decision Lakotda couldn’t quite understand.

The Kolar formed through an alliance of various cultures on the far side of the Beta quadrant. It was only after the fall of Romulus that the Federation began to learn more about the Kolar and it’s ruling government in the heart of the alliance on Sakaria. They were in essence a smaller version of the Federation, a community of worlds that had become very enclosed and somewhat mythical. But when they opened their borders to Romulans and the Federation in a sudden and bizarre change of policy, the Federation found a much needed ally that could help repair the fallout of the Dominion war, collapse of Romulus and the rise of the Breen.

Recent events had caused a lot damage to the Federation. Some worlds were lost and when the Dominion was defeated, several government rebuilt themselves alone after losing faith in their policies. Those worlds created an alliance and pulled other planets who were unsure of their overall governing body into their group.

A domino effect occurred and while the Federation retained a lot of key planets, they lost a lot of support and confidence. Matters were made worse when the Breen split from the Dominion and began a path of vengeance on the Federation and old tensions with the Klingons were rediscovered in a brawl over the remains of the Romulan Empire. When the Federation was in dire straights the support from the Kolar was a shining light. They helped save them from collapsing.

With a vast distance separating the Kolar from the Federation, they joined together to build a starbase and when the Kolar signed up to be governed by the Federation, the base, given the name Sha Ka Ree based on ancient Vulcan legend, became known as a city of peace.

With Kolar forces being absorbed into Starfleet the Christopher Pike Academy was opened as a sister school to the earth based Academy. Better yet, with the distance between Sha Ka Ree and Federation space, the Kolar shared their transwarp technology to allow Federation ships to travel large distances faster than traditional warp technology. From what he understood it had helped them become a self sufficient city that was launching new exploratory missions alongside the Kolar’s own long range recon and exploration.

Transwarp drives were only the beginning of the technology the Kolar was willing to share and although Rogan was out of his depth with the techno babble, he was thrilled to be a part of it all. But he always believed that where there was a high, there would come a low and that’s why he was back in Federation territory with his old friend.

Rogan threw back his whisky as he braced himself to share his bad news with Lakotda and tell him why he left his idealist paradise at Sha Ka Ree. “I had a meeting at Starfleet Headquarters on Earth. Top brass.” He began as he poured himself another glass of the green liquid. “In recent months it’s become apparent that an unknown force has started to infiltrate the higher command structure at Sha Ka Ree. We’ve gathered enough intelligence to suggest certain technologies and supplies have been smuggled out of the city. In addition to that several starships have gone missing without explanation.” He locked his eyes on Lakotda’s confused expression. “We’ve also began to notice Starfleet vessels deviating from their flight plans, passed off as classified intelligence operations. People I’ve known for years have changed, become distant… as if they’re not the same people any more.”

Staring at his old friend, Lakotda wasn’t sure what to think. “And Command haven’t approved any such operations in the area?”

“No, they know nothing about it, nor do the Kolar. They say they can’t risk upsetting the Kolar government especially in year one of their Federation membership.”

Lakotda paused for thought. “How can you be sure this is an outside force, not Starfleet members? It’s rare, but it’s not unheard of for Starfleet officers to take matters into their own hands. Remember before the Dominion war? The Admiral that staged a Dominion threat on Earth to take control away from the president? Or even the situation with the Ba’ku?” He put his glass down, the cogs in his head turning. “They could be building a fleet of their own if they’re smuggling supplies…”

“I’ve thought of that…” Rogan interrupted. “But the way the other Admirals are behaving seem far too out of character, they‘re not socialising. They just don‘t seem to be the same people.”

“A full scan by one of your doctors would surely tell you if it was a different person.” Lakotda argued.

Rogan nodded. “I’ve came up with excuses to have my doctors check them out. No physical change, physically they’re the same people, but attitude and policy is changing. Combined with the missing equipment and ships it‘s as if someone‘s trying to build an all new fleet outside of what we have to offer.” One look at Lakotda’s expression was enough to show him the Sakarian was finding the information a little far fetched. “I know this sounds insane, but the behaviour was getting too strange to ignore and I couldn’t trust the Admiralty at Sha Ka Ree, that’s why I went to Earth and they’ve given me full clearance to investigate and stop the infiltration before it gets out of control.”

“How can they be sure you’re not just being paranoid?” Lakotda asked, finally taking a mouthful of his whisky.

Rogan could only frown as Lakotda asked that question. “Is that what you think?” He asked, only to see the Sakarian shrug. “You of all people know what this means. We investigated this years ago on the Dauntless…”

“And we found nothing conclusive.” Lakotda snapped back. “After the first infiltration forty years ago we’ve found no evidence it could or has happened again. We’ve taking every precaution to make sure it won‘t happened again.”

“Kristan, we thought the same about the Founders once. An intelligent being can always find a way to get round a good system. We can‘t be arrogant enough to think our security is always going to be perfect.”

“Ok…” Lakotda let himself believe the story for a moment as he still tried to process the information. “So if they’re smuggling supplies out of Sha Ka Ree, where are they storing them? If the ships have gone missing, they must be somewhere in your region. There aren’t that many places to hide in Kolar space, there are regular patrols by Kolar ships and it’s all run by civilian government. Assuming this infiltration is confined to Starfleet, any secret bases for whatever purpose would be identified and reported.”

“That’s where things get interesting. I assume you’re away with a region your people call ‘Dead Space‘?” Rogan answered. “The ships I’ve tracked have all been travelling near there. It’s not public, but a ship I asked to discretely investigate was destroyed. The official reports suggest that my ship suffered a core breach. But I believe they found evidence that the area was being used as a base and were executed before they could report it.”

A sudden wave of discomfort took over Lakotda. Dead Space was a touchy issue on Sakaria, a place that had been out of bounds for centuries, long before his time and even before the formation of the Kolar. The only knowledge the general population had about the region was that it was dangerous, if legends could be believed it was cursed. It was illegal to enter. Automated border patrols were in place designed to alert the highest level of Kolar military forces and if anyone was foolish enough to get caught entering or bypassing the security their ship would be impounded and they would serve a life’s term in an isolated prison.

There hadn’t been a case of anyone breaking into Dead Space in his lifetime, and he had lived a long time. He couldn’t be sure exactly what would happen or what rules would be enforced now, but he knew that if Starfleet were caught there, under alien influence or not, the Federation would be forced out of Kolar space.

“Kolar forces won’t enter the region. Fear alone keeps people away, I’d expect the border control would be out of date, easy to manipulate.” Lakotda mumbled, thinking aloud.

Leaning back in his chair, Rogan finally smiled. “Finally coming round to my side, Captain?” He asked as he reached out for the bottle and topped up their glasses.

Lakotda stayed silent for a moment before asking a question that was burning in the back of his mind. “What ship was destroyed?”

“The Independence.” Rogan answered quickly.

Lakotda took a breath. “Jorell’s ship.” He stared at his glass for a moment before throwing all the whisky in his glass down his throat. “He was my Executive officer after you left the Dauntless.”

Rogan nodded. “I know.” He took a mouthful of his drink, his eyes still locked on his companion. “Starfleet doesn’t know I’m here. I wanted to gather some support in case things get out of hand on Sha Ka Ree. Whoever’s behind this didn’t hesitate to kill everyone on that ship. There’s a good chance they’ll kill me if they find out what I’m doing. I need a backup plan. You know the territory, you’re highly regarded amongst the Kolar. If you’re willing, I’d like you to take my plan B.”

Glancing over to his crew, Lakotda gave a thought to the risks involved for them. If one ship was destroyed, he could easily be next. He knew in his heart the Dauntless was his good luck charm. She would keep him safe. He hoped, anyway. He knew he couldn’t ignore this plea, though he wasn’t sure if he was about to commit himself to protect the Federation, protect his home world or for good old fashioned vengeance. “What do you need me to do?”

“Call in a few favours, get me some backup in case there’s another fire fight then head to Kolar space and begin a search. If anything happens to me, I want you to take my place on Sha Ka Ree. How quickly can you get there?”

“The Dauntless isn‘t transwarp capable…” Lakotda took a moment to think. “I have a friend working a supply run between here and Sakaria. I’ll wait for his ship to generate a corridor and follow the wake. It’ll be a bumpy ride, but I’d estimate two weeks if I meet him at old Neutral Zone.”

“Thank you.” Rogan wanted to sound relieved, but this was only the first step in his plan. He reached into his tunic for a data rod and handed it over to Lakotda. “This has all the information I’ve gathered so far.” He said as he got to his feet. “I hate to sound grim, but chances are I might not be alive to greet you.” He continued, trying to keep his calm. He had come to terms with the idea that his life was in danger but like a true patriot, was ready and willing to die for the Federation. Or that’s what he kept telling himself. He knew that if he did die, he’d make sure it would mean something, that something positive would come of it. Lakotda was the key to make sure it did. “I just want you to know, I appreciate your help.”

Lakotda tried to smile. “You still owe me two bars of latinum.” He joked, trying to remain positive. “I won’t let you die without settling your debt.”

Rogan cracked a smile. “I’ll see you in two weeks, Kristan.”

As Lakotda watched his old friend leave the bar, he stared at the data rod, eager to see what information was locked away. But the curiosity was only a way for his mind to distract itself from the idea that he had shared his last drink with one of his oldest friends in Starfleet.

Grabbing the bottle, Lakotda poured the last of the whisky down his throat before standing to walk across to the other side of the bar. He could see his staff turning to watch their captain join them for a drink with every step he took, he could see them making room for him among the tipsy motley crew.

With a broad smile he leaned over the table and grabbed Rollins drink. Downing the contents of what he could only describe as ‘blue’, he tossed the empty glass back in front of them and uttered the sentence they least expected.

“Ladies and gentlemen, shore leave is cancelled. Everyone… back on the ship.”

“Amy. You know, I never really liked you don’t you? In fact, I could go as far as saying I despise you and would merrily beat you with your own boot.”

Not many people could take that comment with a smile. Especially not from the man who had just whispered those words to Kirkpatrick. Not many people really knew how to take Marcus de Luca. He was an odd one to figure out most of the time.

To most humans he looked like a relic from another time. His long braided hair, burly physique and collection of tattoo’s made him seem like a biker from centuries past. His glasses didn’t help matters. No one worse glasses any more, there were treatments for such things as short sightedness. It was an odd look for a Starfleet officer, especially one of high rank and status. In the heart of the Kolar region barely anyone batted an eyelid at his look. Unless they were new recruits.

Marc was one of the first Starfleet officers to arrive in the Kolar region and in the early years of living there he had immersed himself in the culture. Not only did he research and study all the regions peoples, over the years he’d added to his appearance, slowly changing from the vision of a model Starfleet officer to having an image which combined most of Sakaria.

His image was only the start. What he said was just as bad. If you took anything he said seriously, you’d think he was psychotic. Unless he was talking business, a lot of the time he’d say nothing seriously. If Amy took him seriously she’d have him locked away and sent to psychiatric. Instead, she grinned. A room few of new arrivals eyes on her as she quietly replied, “I’ll give you a bottle of Kanar if you do it without scaring them.”

Standing with the same cheesy grin, de Luca nodded as he approached the podium. “Deal.”

With the workload Amy had to deal with in Rogan’s absence she had decided a break was very much deserved. The problem was her schedule was still full and she’d barely been home in days. Thankfully her husband was looking after their son otherwise she’d have had a breakdown by now.

Her solution? Delegate. Doctor de Luca was doing nothing, well, nothing she cared about, so she decided his experience with the Kolar was better served elsewhere. Today, he would be introducing all the new arrivals to the Kolar Region.

There were around two hundred officers and crew dropped off by a transport ship from Federation space. Some would be staying at Sha Ka Ree, some would be assigned to some of the new ships they were building in the dockyards. Looking at them de Luca could tell most of them thought they were in for a cushy assignment. His grin faded to an evil smirk as he got ready to break their hearts.

“Hello newbies.” He began. Not the warmest welcome. “I’m Doctor Marcus de Luca, director of science and research here at Sha Ka Ree. This…” He gestured to Amy, pointing behind him with his thumb. “…is Commander Amy Kirkpatrick, executive officer of the command staff. The boss.”

With a half hearted wave, Amy took her seat ready to watch the show. It was refreshing to see someone else deal with the new recruits, even if all that was on her mind was her wondering if she could get away with a quick nap.

“In the Kolar region we all run on Sakarian central time so, as of now, so do you.” He tried to hold back a smile as he saw confused faces that were about to melt into miserable expressions. “A Sakarian years about the same as a Federation year, give or take an hour, split into eight months or twenty seven weeks with nine days in a week. For those who can count, you may have figured out that Sakarian days are longer than you’re used to.” Leaning on the podium, the smile turned into a grin. “Each day is thirty-six hours long split into a four-shift rotation. It’ll take time but you’ll either get used to it or you’ll go insane… curl up in a ball and start nibbling your toenails and wishing you stayed at home.”

Hearing a cough, de Luca turned to Amy to see her lips whispering “Remember the Kanar.”

Right. The Kanar. Marc liked Kanar. “For clarity Stardates in thie region are a little different. By Federation Calendar this is Stardate 83238.36. On Sha Ka Ree today’s date is 2406.3.21.” The scientist watched as his audience reached for PADD’s to scribble down this information. He barley gave them a moment to process all the numbers before he continued. “The date represents the Federation year, Sakarian month and day of that month. This is for clarity due to the time difference, fear not the computer will automatically add the Federation stardate.”

Being kind for a moment, he let them write it all down hoping some of them may recognise the origin of the star date from the old system used on the arly 23rd century. Though by the gormless look on most of their faces he quickly gave up on that hope and continued. “You should all be aware of your assignments by now. Report to your direct superior in the morning for a full mission briefing, those of you assigned here to this lovely city should become very aware of this face.” Hitting a key on the podium the wall behind him flickered into a display. Upon it was a photo of their gallant leader Admiral Riesman and his staff. A small blue light from Marc’s pointer began circling Riesman’s face. “If you see this man, congratulations, you win a fruit basket and ten slips of latinum. This is the Fleet Commander and he’s barely left his office in the past few months. Some of us are under the impression that he’s died and Starfleet’s replaced him with a hologram. If you see him, be privileged.”

He thought about discussing the command structure, but he didn’t have the energy. It wasn’t hard to understand. The little people reported to their department or sub-department heads, all departments reported to a command crew picked by whoever was in charge and they ruled all. But he skipped it. Looking upon their fresh young faces it would only confuse them. Time to move on.

Switching the display to show the local news, he turned back to stare at the crowd before him as they glanced up at the screen. “This is the local news network. They’re complete bastards and are always on the hunt for whatever trivial story they can manufacture. They may hound you, do not under any circumstance say anything to them regarding personal or professional business but ‘no comment’, or if you prefer, as I do, use some more colourful and descriptive language.” Marc shrugged. “Threats on their life can also be fun.”

Another cough from Amy pushed Marc to change the subject. “My notes here say we have a new security chief here, Lieutenant Commander Navarro, where be you?” Half a moment later, a gentleman in the back row raised stood to attention. Excellent. “In case you, or any of you, aren’t aware…” The scientist frowned as the chief kept standing. “I’m done with you, sit.” He ordered before continuing. “Our security division here deals with outside threats and matters of internal Starfleet security only. The La’sal Institute is a civilian department of the Ministry of the Defense, they police both civilians and us. They have jurisdiction with any offences committed on this station, do not get involved with their work unless they ask for your help.”

He took a breath and let that information sink in as he tried not to look at the grumpy Navarro. He had no idea what to talk about next. He had no idea what to say at all, this was all spring on him at the last moment leaving him unprepared and unsure how to go on. He could talk for hours about the region, but he had no idea what Starfleet classed as essential knowledge.

Then it came to him. Slipping off his officers tunic, a black wrap-around jacket with all the common bells and whistles of the modern Starfleet stamped on it, he raised his arm. Standing in his short sleeved undershirt, he pointed to his right arm towards his implants.

Early on in his stay at Sakaria Marc had volunteered for a form of the Link. The Link was common technology on Sha Ka Ree. It was a networked personal computer the size of a notebook. With it’s software and multi-tasking capabilities it had replaced Tricorders and PADD scribes in the city. But that was only the beginning of it’s uses.

The form of Link Marc had installed was a little more complex. It was an add-on to the Link, cybernetic technology implanted into the cerebral cortex allowing a direct communication between man and machine. It was used heavily by engineers and command level officers in the Kolar to increase response time, specifically in military operations.

The Federation had similar technology though it was frowned upon due to nasty side effects and almost outlawed with criminals using them to hack into systems mostly to commit credit fraud. The Kolar version was far more refined and completely. Everything went fine during the initial testing period but soon after his human genes began to rebel against the technology. It took several refits and losing a lot of organic tissue before his body could handle the stress. By then it was too late. Most of his right side had been replaced and upgraded with cybernetic implants, the most obvious of which being a metallic webbing from his fingertips moving up his arm and lower neck.

This was the reason he couldn’t use Retnox to solve his weak eyesight. The medications pumped into his system to allow his body to cooperate with the technology without those implants killing him cancelled out several other medications. If he was in pain, there was nothing he could take to ease the discomfort and his eyes had to be treated with good old fashioned glasses.

“Take a good look at this, people.” He said, letting the silver webbing shimmer in the light. “There are technologies that cannot be applied to many Alpha Quadrant races. Some surgeons still operate and install such hardware into us under the Radar. Don’t be tempted by the illusion of self improvement.”

He thought over what he had said. Warnings. Time. Police. Admiral Invisible. Was that it? There was surely more. He didn’t care. “Raise your hand if you have any questions.”

Feeling Amy’s eyes burning into his back, he tried to ignore her presence and pretend he’d done a full briefing. They weren’t to know. It was fine.

Seeing a swarm of arms popping up, Marc shook his head, ignoring them as much as his executive officer. “Anyone? No? Fine.” After dismissing their questions, he glanced down to the notes on the podium as he pulled his tunic back on, not bothering to close it, letting it slump sloppily over his chubby frame. “Now if you’ll all say goodbye to the Commander and follow me to receive new ID tags, your Link and some other crap.”

With a groan he limped out of the room with the rest of the officers in tow giving a half hearted wave to Amy as he left, making sure she heard him ask his well earned Kanar be sent to his office.

As Amy watched him leave, she wasn’t sure whether he had earned that or not. But as the troops left one by one, she began to realise… they were leaving her alone in a room that wouldn’t be used or occupied for days. She could catch up on all the sleep she’s missed out on and forget the rest of the days tasks. Just close her eyes and drift away…

Well that was the plan. It wasn’t a very constructive plan, but it was a good plan. One she’d have enjoyed if her commbadge didn’t make an irritating chirp followed by the Operations Manager calling on her to respond.

Slumped in the chair as if she had melted, the Commander slapped her communicator to open the channel before giving a very cheery “What?” to her officer.

“Commander, are you watching the news?” Amy had to double check she heard that right. Her Operations Manager, the professional and dedicated Chel’si was asking her if she was watching the news? She wondered what they’d have on today, more gossip or fashion tips?

Forcing himself out of the oh-so-comfortable chair, Amy pushed herself forward enough to have a look at the news channel de Luca had left on. As soon as her eyes locked onto the screen her half asleep mind sobered up. “Crap.” She replied to the awaiting Chel’si. “Who’s on Comms today?”

“Chief Ahnjo.” The Ops Manager responded sharply. “Don’t worry, Lara was already informed, I gave her time off.”

Amy nodded. “Good. Have Ahnjo send a message to Admiral Rogan. Tell him the Independence incident has gone public and ask him to get in touch with me as soon as he can.”

“Aye sir.” Chel’si replied before closing the channel.

As she watched the news continue, their smug little reporter telling the region that the Independence was destroyed five days ago and kept secret Amy felt like imploding. Rogan had ordered the incident be classified to all but the families including their regular comms technician Lara Kunis, until a full investigation could be completed.

Rogan had told her that he had reason to believe the destruction of the ship was no accident. As she watched on that secret he told her in confidence seemed a lot less private as the reported repeated once again “On Stardate 2406.3.16 the Independence was attacked and destroyed by ally ships.”

It didn’t take long for Amy to storm out of the room, suddenly adding another appointment to her hectic schedule; introducing a journalist to her boot.

Hours after his rather intriguing and informative induction by Dr de Luca, Navarro waited within one of the vacant supply rooms in on the west limb. He waited patiently. Quietly. He had spent most of his life waiting, an hour or two was nothing. But finally he arrived. The invisible man.

“Harry…” Navarro greeted Riesman with a smile. Or what could almost be classed as a smile. “I’m here to help.”

“Help?” Riesman frowned. “This operation is perfectly under control, why wou…”

“Rogan. Do you know where he is?” Navarro asked, not letting him finish. Seeing the Admiral shake his head. “He’s making his way back from Earth after trying to convince Command that you have been infiltrated, that you are some kind of alien force. He‘s even accused you of building a fleet to rise against this city.”

Riesman frowned. “I’ll deal with him.”

“You will not.” Navarro snapped. “Carry out your assignment. I’ll clean up your mess. But I would suggest you learn the art of discretion. You are a lot more disposable than you think Harry.”

Navarro turned his back on the Admiral and began to stroll through the darkly lit room, distancing himself from his supposed superior, making his way towards the door. “Now run along Admiral, you have work to do.”