Since his arrival to Sha Ka Ree, Navarro had settled in nicely. It didn’t take much for him to adjust to the new sleeping pattern, limited staff or into his assigned spacious apartment.

He just felt the whole Sha Ka Ree experience was over-hyped, a conclusion he came to the first morning he walked into the Epicentre. I wasn’t as impressive, or as large as he had expected. Seeing the size of the city he expected the description of an open plan control centre to mean a huge complex filled with dozens of different sections to control each aspect of the city.

Every shift he worked through he felt claustrophobic. It was a good sized space, a nice large workspace for everyone else. But not for him. Navarro had issues with small spaces.

Entering from the main access point, via a security lounge, he’d enter every morning on the lower level next to the master systems display facing inwards from a large view screen column. Commander Kirkpatrick gave him the brief tour his fist day, taking him up a few steps to the command level; a column on the back wall with a news link with large consoles on each side, one for a mission operations overview the other for city operations management. More steps reached upwards to a large star map on one side and a science station on the other, each with more behind the column and it’s hefty consoles to what he was told was further control level access, a conference lounge and the captains office all behind the back wall.

The more he looked around at the clean white design with it’s red and silver décor and black carpet, the more impressed he was. Even if to him, it was still cramped. And it was too bright. The room was filled with light. Whether it be the light blue flickering from the consoles, the light beams in the supports or all or he ball-shaped lights pointing towards workspaces it felt as if every one of them was piercing his eyes, trying to blind him. Navarro liked the dark. He was used to it.

Standing over a central desk surrounded by four officers working away in their Link’s he was pointed to two curved forward facing consoles looming over the master systems display on the floor below. As Amy continued that first day he learned Kunis usually manned one console, but she was on personal leave, and the other was his. He had pretended to care about Kunis at first, but after days of showing up to work and never seeing this mystery woman, his forced empathy for her had faded.

Navarro wasn’t a people person. He didn’t have the energy to listen to gossip or whining. Babbling about relationships or personal woes was even worse. Especially when it came down to pointless moaning. He didn’t care about the squabbles of Mr and Mrs Mismatch in the privacy of their own home. He’d sooner throw himself out an airlock before listening to the details of how they were wasting their life together.

Even friendly hello’s annoyed him, which was a constant source of irritation with the cheery faced Kirkpatrick sitting in her office only a mere glance away. Sometimes his eyes couldn’t resist turning ever so slightly to see her humming a merry song as she filled out her paperwork or read reports.

It was like a shuttle accident. He couldn’t help but watch. Though shuttle accidents were far more entertaining.
He needed to focus. The room was too bright, the people too happy. He had work to do and he was being infected by their optimism and cheer. It was disgusting. A part of him wanted to go to the town square and knock over an old lady or even kick a Targ to make him feel better.

The sooner he was out of the city, the better.

“Commander…” When he hard the voice of Chel’si, Navarro tapped a few buttons on his console to conceal his research. He was scanning through the city’s security systems. Not a suspicious act in itself seeing as he was the new Chief of Security, but he couldn’t be too careful. As soon as he turned in his chair to face the Operations manager he forced a smile as she continued. “How are you settling in?”

Chel’si was an odd one for him to figure out. She was Osaari, one of Sakaria’s most respected tribes. More than that the tattoo on the left side of her face proudly displayed she was from the Family of Lon-Osaar, the monarchy of her native region. Being the daughter of what translated as King, she was entitled to wealth, power and would ain a leg up in her career if she joined the MOD. Instead she went to Earth to enrol at Starfleet Academy. Unlike serving brothers and sisters, she had earned her rank and title. Worked from the ground up to make the most of herself.

To him it was a waste of a good opportunity. If she’d followed family tradition she would have a seat of power in Lon-Osaar, a high position of power within government and if she had joined the MOD it’s likely she’d have a command of her own. She may have to oversee several departments and have a guaranteed spot on the command staff in the city, but she could have so much more. He couldn’t understand why she’d given it all up. It seemed unnatural to him to abdicate such responsibility.

“Fine.” He replied, avoiding small talk. “Can I help you with something?”

Chel’si nodded. “I’m heading out for lunch. Do you think you can look after things here while I’m gone?” She asked, keeping a smile. She wasn’t sure if he’d had time to adjust to the new systems. From what she had seen he was quite adaptable, but with him keeping to himself she couldn’t be sure. But she needed to leave him alone at some stage and with him being a department head she felt it would be rude to leave control in the hands of one of her own staff.

“Not a problem.” Navarro turned back to his console. “I’ll notify you if anything happens.” He added, hoping she’d leave him alone.

With a nod, Chel’si gave him his wish. Stepping down to the lower level she left him in command and strolled into Kirkpatrick’s office. “Not very chatty, is he?” She commented as she sat on the edge of the Commanders desk.

Amy barely noticed Chel’si’s presence until she spoke. She’d only been back in her office for twenty minutes and that time was spent just trying to figure out her computer interface.

Following up his previous work in Amy’s office, Tenagra had dropped in to make a further few modifications. From the note he left he’d tried to make things far more efficient. In reality he’d spent several hours tinkering with her settings and added several new software packages that made little sense to her. Especially as they all appeared to have been written in a computer language only Tenagra could understand.

“Problem?” Chel’si asked, turning Amy’s computer screen towards her. There was only so much squinting and grumbling she could take before having a look at the source of frustration. “Ah…” was all she could say as soon as she saw the configuration.

Pulling her tunic from the back of her chair, Amy nodded. “Ah, indeed.” Struggling to push herself to her feet, the burned out commander picked up her Link and logged herself off as she tried to forget about the console. Relax and breath. That was her technique of dealing with these unexpected ‘upgrades‘ of their Chief Engineer. “The Admiral’s due back tomorrow, Tenagra may be tossed out an airlock before then.”

“It can be arranged…” Chel’si mused before changing the subject. “Where should we go for lunch? La Cala?”

Amy ran her fingers through her hair, thinking about the prospect of a break. She’d barely had time to eat properly in days. She had been daydreaming of food, a proper meal. “I want steak.” She blurted out. “I don’t even care what kind of steak, just lots of it.”

“La Cala it is.” Chel’si smiled as the duo headed out the side door towards the security lounge. “Marc said he might join us if he gets a chance, oh, and asked when he was getting his Kanar.”

“I’m not sure he deserves it.” Amy commented as they passed the smiling security officers and stepped into the transporter. “Did he tell you about his induction for the new staff?”

“Only that you promised him Kanar.” Chel’si replied. “Did he scare them?”

Amy shrugged, tapping at the transport controls. “He was his usual self…” As she paused the two officers disappeared in a flash of light, reappearing in a transport booth in the Surak district. As the doors swished open Amy took a moment to look out the massive windows looking outwards to the rest of the solar system before leading her companion up a set of stairs into La Cala, continuing her tale as she walked. “…though I have a feeling the new recruits left with more questions than answers and from what I’m told he spent a lot of the grand tour here in the town square.”

“Really?” Chel’si tried not to laugh as she looked over the town square below, a large open meeting space with shops and facilities around the sides with stalls and displays in the centre. It was impressive at first, but after living there for so long the spectacle of the city’s innards had become quite mundane to her eyes. “Did he rant bout the news channel again?”

“Yes.” Amy said as they arrived at the second level, right outside La Cala’s door. “Speaking of which… the news network is now under investigation. DCI Siaka pulled up that reported on some charge.”

As they strolled into the lounge are of the restaurant, Chel’si looked around for de Luca before picking out a seat. “Good..” she commented, still searching. “How have the Admiralty taken the news.”

“Badly.” Amy remarked, her eyes fixed upon the menu as they sat in one of the vacant booths.

“And Rogan?”

Looking up from the menu, Amy could only smile. “Surprisingly well.”

“Ladies..” Seemingly from out of nowhere de Luca pushed his way into the booth and picked up the menu. He’d been dodging work most of the morning. Initially he’d pretended to be working out of the office and set up camp in La Cala with a pile of reports and papers to work through. It didn’t take him long to find the pool table and forget about the workload.

When he saw Chel’si and Amy enter he’d hidden himself from view. If they didn’t see him being lazy, it didn’t happen. “What are we having?”

“Steak.” Amy blurted out, far quicker than she’d intended to.

“Excellent.” He replied, waving for a waiter. “Has Colonel Horal got back yet?”

“He‘s due in a few hours.” Chel’si answered as she pulled off her jacket. “Hopefully this meeting went better than the last.”

Seeing both Chel’si and Amy staring at him, Marc rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault they don’t have a sense of humour.” He commented. Horal was fleet representative for the Kolar Region and as such was required to meet with other division leaders to discuss joint efforts, sharing of resources and anything else that could possibly come up. With his responsibilities being split between running his department of MACO officers and coordinating the local fleet, Horal had asked de Luca to take his place last time.

That request would never be repeated.

Distracting himself with the menu as if it was a personal shield wasn‘t working. He could still feel their eyes burning through him. “How was I supposed to know it was a picture of his wife?” He added, defending himself. “I thought it was a souvenir from a Klingon zoo!”

“Do you think he’ll be pressured about the Independence?” Chel’si asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Hopefully not, but I can’t be sure.” Amy commented, letting work chat fall silent as the waiter finally arrived. She intended to spend the next hour relaxing. Though it was hard for her, for all of them, to enjoy the down time.

As they each ordered in turn, they all knew their moment of blissful relaxation wouldn’t last. It never did.

For the past three hours Morgan had tried to get in contact with the USS Cambria. It used to be a daily ritual but the stress levels it brought had forced him to reduce the task t once a week. Twice if he was drunk enough. Every time he made the call he’d find himself stuck in a loop. As soon as he’d get in touch with the communications officer on duty they’d tell him he was wasting his time and ask him to wait. So he’d wait. Patiently at first, but the longer he’d wait for a response, the more irritable he’d get.

Impatience would set in in the fourth or fifth time he’d make the request. Depending who was on the line, he’d either get someone who’d try their hardest to put the call through. Though if it was an officer that didn’t know him he’d have to fight against being brushed off and ignored.

When he first separated from his wife the only thing that comforted him was being able to call at any time and talk to his daughter. For the past year that privilege had been revoked. Without cause or explanation. He’d either be ignored or be forced to watch static.

After three hours of pacing the cargo hold, waiting for a response and arguing with several members of the Cambria’s crew, his mood has changed from passively average to furiously drunk.

At least he was able to find something constructive to do. In between the shouting he’d occupied his thoughts with rearranging the hold and making a complete inventory of what lay in the belly of his ship. When he started there were seventeen bottles of gin he’d smuggled aboard when docked at Sha Ka Ree. Now there were twelve. Two of which had been relocated to his office for sake keeping.

His final argument came down to territory. He was Kolar Region staff, the Cumbria was Federation Prime. It didn’t make much of a difference, they were both Starfleet ships after all. But these days life wasn’t quite that easy.

When divisions were fist made it was out of simple logic. Something his tactical officer was a big fan of. The Kolar region already had their own command structure under development due to it’s distance from the bulk of the Federation and the Bajor sector was delving into new territory in the Gamma Quadrant. Along with the ongoing border conflict with the Breen it made sense at the time. One sector would deal with the Breen, one would coordinate efforts in the Kolar Region, another in the Gamma Quadrant and overseeing everything was Starfleet Command locked up in the biased heart of Federation Prime.

Prime was the main force in the area. With any members of the Federation opposed to another war, they continued to police the inner core of their government and continued to spread the word Federation ideals. They kept the peace and paraded their flag across the stars while the Nevali Task Force were assigned with the harsh task of dealing with the Breen and any other conflicts which could be handled without splitting resources from Prime or Bajor.

Mostly a MACO division, the Nevali were the first to form their own agenda. Historically MACO, or Military Assault Command Operations were part of United Earth pre-Federation and had been dissolved to a small and rather insignificant force centuries ago, only showing up in small numbers in time of crisis. Troubled times required their re-activation and soon enough they were operating as a specialist division of Starfleet with their own departments and separate organisational structure. Although they reported to Command, they were in a league of their own. The elite.

The internal command structure of the Nevali began to isolate themselves from Prime during their conflict with the Breen, making decisions without consulting them so they wouldn’t be held back from making vital military decisions by the politicians. When they made their own division, Bajor Region reacted by conducting their own research and development projects out with Command’s sanction.

From there things fell deeper into a chaotic territory system. With rumours and distrust spreading through each sector, something that seemed like a good idea at the time became crippling to the Federation. Command and Prime felt like they’d lost control and the more they tried to dominate, the further the other sectors were pushed away.
It made sense to Morgan than Kolar had it’s own system. Even with upgrades Starfleet vessels weren’t as fast as Kolar ships, the technology wasn’t as stale in a traditional Federation design. At maximum speeds a Kolar MOD ship could get to the Federation border in two weeks. For refitted Federation ships to make the journey it would take months at a sustainable cruising speed. They needed to be able to make decisions on their own as contact with home was often limited.

Trying to make a personal call from the Kolar Region was hard enough. With rumours and suspicions at an all time high it was near impossible to get a new face on the Cumbria to listen to him. Before his transfer he was a Prime officer. Now, to them at least, he was an outsider.

On a diplomatic level fleet reps would meet regularly an most information was shared. Prime would coordinate transfers of staff or supplies, but without a fake smile, some handshakes and a high ranking Admiral telling everyone to play nicely it was hard to even say hello to someone from a different division without an argument. Trust and cooperation had quickly fallen into a system of working against each other behind a pretence of cooperation. IT always reminded him of one of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition. The bigger the smile, the sharper the knife.

Once upon a time he was proud to wear the uniform. With the state Starfleet had gotten himself into, he couldn’t wait to take it off.

With the Cambria communications officer politely telling Morgan to stop calling them, followed by the Lieutenant replying with instructions for inserting his boot in the comms officers rectum, the channel was closed.

The days attempt to call home had resulted in failure. As he walked out of the hold to the stairwell standing in the centre of the ship, he wondered if more gin would make him feel better. He resisted the urge for a few moments, trying to remember he had an objective to complete. But he was too upset to resist for long.

With one last sip from his hip flask, Morgan stepped onto the bridge level of his ship and stood beside the transporter waiting on his guest.

He’d barely arrived at Sha Ka Ree before being sent back out again by Kirkpatrick to rendezvous with the transport ship Sakaria 183. He just had time to shower, fill out a report and liberate the gin from his roommates secret stash before receiving the orders. He’d spent too much time on his little ship.

The R-04 was a nice craft, a multi-purpose scout ship designed as a hybrid of Kolar and Federation technology. To say it was snug would be an understatement. Five cramped levels and a cargo hold. It seemed adequate on paper for it’s use. The problem was the amount of time he spent on it. He was beginning to get cabin fever. Eight people crammed into five small decks, most of which was engineering, multi-purpose labs, a closet called sickbay and a hanger bay that could barely hold a shuttle pod. Eight people all living on top of one another trapped within a few small rooms. There wasn’t even anything good to do which left him bored and restless on any mission that lasted more than an hour.

In his view the ship was nothing but a glorified Runabout. Maybe it had a few more features, some extra space and a far superior warp drive. But it was still one of the most irritating places he’d ever served on.

If it wasn’t for the cost to manufacture fourteen of these useless little Ravens they would have been scrapped. With the jumble of cramped technology he was surprised it even flew. But somehow it did and somehow he was stuck in charge of this one.

The worst part of it was, he was beginning to like it. He’d even named it. Nosferatu. One of his favourite holo-novels. It was either that or Vulcan Love Slave which didn’t quite match up to the Federations image.

“They here yet?” He asked, peeking through to the bridge.

Keeping her back to her captain, convincing herself that if she didn’t see Morgan, she couldn’t see him drunk on duty. “In visual range now, sir.” She replied. “I’m receiving orders to accept our passenger.”

Ducking back to the transporter controls, Morgan sighed. “Tell them we’re ready to receive.” He grumbled. Escorting VIP’s around wasn’t part of his job. He missed his job. Sometimes he grimly hoped for an accident so he could go back to search and rescue. At least it made him feel useful.

Hiding the flask in his pockets as the transporter came alive with swirling blue light he tried to look as professional as he had the energy to, watching the figure materialise before him. As the molecules came together and the shimmering light began to form a person his bored expression turned to a confused frown, his slump disappearing as he stood to attention. “Admiral Rogan?” He uttered, extending his hand as the fully formed Admiral stepped off the transport panel.

“Lieutenant.” The Admiral smiled, the stench of gin hitting his nostrils.

“I didn’t know… why wasn’t I informed?”

“I prefer to keep my travel arrangements discrete.” Rogan took a few steps towards the stairs, motioning for Morgan to follow. “May I have a word, James?” He asked, retaining his smile.

Nodding, Morgan brushed past the Admiral, altering the elder mans course. “Upstairs, in my office.” He suggested. “More privacy than the lounge.”

“Good…” Rogan followed. “I hope you’ve got more gin handy, I could use a drink after that journey.”

It only took a few moments to climb up to the top level of the Nosferatu. A cramped office space with separate bunk and facilities from the crew deck below the bridge. Morgan had lived in this space for the better part of a year. A part of him considered it his home away form home. Though to look upon it was a room filled with junk, books piled high hiding empty bottles, an old lamp clumsily placed on the floor as decoration for the clothes he had left there.

Pushing aside a pile of uniforms, he made some space on the couch to sit with Rogan, facing inwards towards the cluttered desk. He reached for a fresh bottle of gin and a not-so-fresh glass on the table, his eyes on the window behind him as he watched the Sakarian transport disappear in a flash of light.

“Have you been able to get an more information for me, Lieutenant?” The Admiral asked, trying not to wince at his gin being poured into a dirty glass.

As Morgan handed the Admiral his drink, he shook his head and reached into his pocket for his flask. “Three more ships assigned to Riesman’s task force all sent out on some training mission, or so I’m told.” He said, carefully pouring his stolen gin. “Two of them received upgrades back at Sha Ka Ree, some sort of refitted science labs. I tried to find out more but I was told it was all classified.”

“Is there anything Riesman hasn’t classified?”

“Well there has been a leak on the Independence situation.”

“Yes…” Rogan nodded, taking a mouthful of gin as he recalled his conversation with Kirkpatrick a few days ago. As soon as she mentioned the Commander had expected him to react to badly he’d need to be sent to anger management sessions. Instead she saw a smug grin and a nod. “Did you inform them discretely?”

“An untreatable transmission.” Morgan replied. “And don’t worry, if Riesman even suspected it was me I wouldn’t be here to smile about it. I hacked into the MOD’s tracking system, left a few false trails that made him think there were a few civilian ships flying nearby. He’s already got a team looking for them.”

Rogan put his glass down. He trusted Morgan, one of the few who did. The lieutenant had a chip on his shoulder the size of Titan, no ability to bite his tongue, showed little to no respect towards superiors and it was rare to find him without a drink in his hand. But still, he trusted him. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have involved him in his investigation. Since being assigned to Sha Ka Ree Morgan had become a loose cannon, he didn’t know what happened to the Lieutenant but he’d seen him slowly stop caring about his duty, his assignment, his career. His life. But never his loyalty.
What worried him was that he wasn’t technically minded, nor was he as efficient as he was a year ago. His only real concern was for his safety. “How long until he finds out the logs are faked?”

Shrugging, Morgan leaned back. “Can’t be sure. Long enough, hopefully. What about you? You’ve been on his radar for a while now.”

“I know… but I’m safe.” Rogan lied. “Besides, I’ve got backup coming. Someone I used to work with. In the event that anything goes wrong, report to him.”

“Who is he?”

Reaching for his glass, Rogan smiled. “I can’t say for now. But if I get taken down, you‘ll know.”

“Cryptic…” Morgan replied with a roll of the eyes. “So, you’re with us all the way home?” He asked. “Harry may join the dots together if he see’s you arrive on my ship.”

Rogan smiled. “Already taken care of.” The Admiral pulled his Link from it’s holster and began searching through his file list. “I ditched my ship on one of the moons orbiting Halious. Drop me off there then get back to work, just wait for my signal.”

Clinging to his chair, Colonel Horal tried to keep himself sable, his ship shaking as it took another hit. His weapons were down, his transwarp drive disabled, shields and ablative armour collapsing. All he had left were manoeuvring thrusters. The Agamemnon was dead in the water.

Thinking quickly, he ordered his tactical officer to fire a concentrated burst of energy through the tractor beam emitter.

Minimal damage. Damn.

The hull took another beating as the one sided fire fight continued. A few more shots and he’d be dead. He wanted to see the face of his attacker. If he was going to die, he wanted to know who had him beat. “Signal our surrender.” He ordered, though his communications officer just stared at him in shock. “We surrender!” He yelled again, snapping his crew into action.

“No response, sir.” His executive officer, Major Rozek, shouted back, making sure he was heard over the bridge exploding.

“But I have an idea…”

“Don’t keep it to yourself, Major.” Horal replied as he rushed to his officers station. As Rozek saw his commander rush to his position, he punched up his plan of action on the overhanging console. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing. “Do it.” Horal ordered as he rushed back to his chair, hitting the comm panel as soon as he arrived. “Engineering, I need an impulse burst on Rozek’s signal, how long do you need?”

“Give me a few minutes, I’ll see what I can do.” Came the reply from the burly officer down below.

“Good, prepare to eject the core and hit impulse on Rozeks mark.” Closing the channel, the Colonel looked towards his tactical officer. “I’ll need another energy burst. As soon as we hit impulse, fire on that core.”

“We might not clear the explosion on impulse.” His tactical officer argued.

Horal fixed his eyes on the view screen, watching his attackers. “If we die, we die fighting, Lieutenant.”

For Horal everything moved in slow motion. Engineering reported they were ready to switch to impulse then Rozek gave the order. The core was ejected. The ship burst into motion. Then a few moments later, before their attackers were ready to act, the ship fired a single blast of energy at the core lighting up the darkness of space like a grand firework display.

As the skies lit up the explosion rocked the Agamemnon, throwing Horal out of his chair, not stopping until he smashed into the bulkhead.

Then it all went black.

When he opened his eyes he could barely see. Blinded by the light it took him a few moments to adjust from the harsh contract of his dark bridge to his new bright surroundings. It took him a few moments to register his surroundings, only really clicking in his mind once he saw the face of the woman peering over him.

“How are you?” Amy asked, staring down at him. Although he outranked her, neither of them cared. Both of them worked on the city’s command staff, to them they were on equal grounds, the ‘power six’ had always run things together as a team.

Struggling to find his voice, the Colonel dodged the question, asking the first question to pop into his mind. “How’s my crew?”

“Most of them are fine, nothing a few days in Dr. Okarro’s care won’t fix.” She paused as Horal struggled to push himself up. “Brooker and Micheal’s didn’t make it.” She admitted, pulling out their ID tags from her pocket.

As Horal accepted the tags he sighed. “Major Rozek?”

“A few broken bones and a concussion. He’s just been moved form Accident and Emergency to a private room down the hall.” She replied. “He took command when you fell unconscious, your crew got the transwarp drive back online long enough to bring the Agamemnon home. Rozek said you were attacked…”

“…yes.” Horal interrupted, finishing her sentence for her. “By Starfleet ships. Four of them.”

“Were you able to identify them?”

“NCC-100198, NCC-98765… I think 77653 and 60320. I can’t be sure, but they’re in the log.” The Colonel cleared his lungs before he continued. “I was able to determine what they all have in common.”

Amy could only nod as she heard the Colonels words. Hearing the registration numbers, she came to the same conclusion. “They’re all from Bajor sector… I’ll consult with Admiral Rogan. He arrives in an hour.”

“Commander…” The Colonel uttered, feeling himself slip into unconsciousness. “…the rumours seem to have a lot more weight to them…”

Amy watched as the Colonel faded away. The rumours of internal conflict, of civil war. Those thoughts scared Amy, but with the Independence attack and now the Agamemnon, she knew it was time to start picking sides.