The mood was tense in Riesman’s office. As soon as Morgan entered he noticed the light conversation of the Admirals’ in attendance fall to an uneasy silence. Footsteps suddenly echoing through the room as he began walking down a long staircase to the communal area.

It was an intimidating room. It was very military, all business, with nothing too spectacular, but still with a large dominating presence that showed the power and authority of the Admiral as director of regional operations. Bookshelves lined the far side of the room, with a private area behind the staircase, and another private workspace in the corner of the room. Every time Morgan was summoned he wondered what the point was of having so many places to work when all Riesman really needed was the desk at the back of the room, oddly placed just off a huge corridor leading off into all the offices and workplaces of his staff.

Riesman didn’t say a single word as Morgan strutted around the couches full of the usual regime to a solitary chair sitting isolated in font of the dozens of books. He was sure the Admiral had never actually read any of them and that they were only there to make him look more impressive.

Taking his usual seat, he gave a smile to the Admiral, perched behind his desk with his trademark sour expression then glanced at the rest of faces surrounding him, the Admirals and Federation representatives with nothing better to do than attend his execution. Whenever he got into trouble they wee always there. But today there was a new face.
Sitting furthest away from him was Daniel Paik.

Despite Rogan’s involvement in the process, Paik was the man who was at the core of the negotiations and the man who led the operation. He made the policies and compromises that turned an alliance into a merger and as such he was a busy man with barely a moment to spare between the day to day running and oversight of all the regions activities as well as all the public relations work and never ending appearances.

Which brought his attention to another odd choice for the meeting, his right hand officer Captain Norah Grey, the woman who was his connection to the local population, as well as Starfleet officers.

“Lieutenant Morgan.” Admiral Riesman brought the young officers attention to him as he broke the silence. “Do you know why you were summoned here today?”

Morgan nodded. “That would be for my artistic rendition of an officer resigning, sir.” His tone was far too light for this audience. All he saw were unappreciated glares simultaneously wishing death upon him.

“You have a history of erratic and disrespectful behaviour against commanding officers and repeatedly show a complete lack of respect to this organisation and our chain of command.” The Admiral continued. “For the benefit of Dr Paik, could you remind us of the incident on 2405.1.17?”

Morgan took a moment to remember the specific incident. He was unusually proud that there were so many to choose from. “I believe that was the day I was arrested in a Lycocian spa. I was apprehended by local authorities when they realised soon after I assaulted a man who insulted my shoes, I had ‘borrowed’ an Admirals dress uniform and was not, as I claimed, an Admiral Harold Riesman. The owner of the establishment was increasingly upset when the arresting officer found me in their supply room engaging in intimate encounters with the spa’s accounts manager.”

The smile on his face was not shared by his peers and colleagues, particularly Dr Paik who looked a if a Klingon had just stomped on all his favourite toys. The Admiral kept his eyes locked on Morgan. “Do you understand why this was unacceptable behaviour?”

“It was his wife…?” Morgan asked. Again to deadly silence.

“Do you think that’s funny?” Riesman snapped.

“A little…”

Riesman tapped the Link on his desk, viewing a log of Morgan’s indiscretions. “The incident on 2405.3.26?”

“I’m a little fuzzy on that one…”

“On 2405.3.26 you commandeered a class B shuttlecraft and set course for Risa, however when hailed claimed to be en route to Earth to invade England. You were apprehended at Ree’Cha where you decided to use an airlock as a rest stop and found asleep in a service shaft.” The Admiral looked up from his Link. “You were detained for a week and sent for a psychiatric evaluation.”

Morgan nodded. That was a little insane. A bit too far over the edge. There was no way he’d make the trip to Risa in a shuttlecraft, even his rouse of going to Earth was a little far fetched with it being years away with conventional warp drive and no replicator or beer on board. “Well sir..” He began, making eye contact with everything in the room. “At the time I was suffering severe emotional distress which resulted in a complete breakdown of communication with the world around me, resulting in chaotic and disruptive behaviour which came from a need to self destruct following a harsh separation from my wife and child.” He paused as he saw the glares easing up. “Also, I had consumed a ridiculous amount of tequila and was so drunk I was convinced my name was Judith.”

“2405.5.14 you broke into the medical wing and hooked yourself up to sensitive equipment to recover from a hangover, 2405.7.10 you hacked into the communications relay to create a music channel, 2405.7.22 you lost a game of Tongo using the Nosferatu, Federation property, as collateral, 2405.8.09 you converted an unused generator complex into a whisky distillery, 2406.1.28 you gate crashed a handover ceremony and referred to the outgoing Prime Minister as ‘the one with the great rack’… need I continue?”

“I think you made your point.” Morgan sighed.

“Your behaviour has become beyond a joke and at a time when we’re dealing with the tragedy of Admiral Rogan, I’m tempted to toss you out the nearest airlock…”

“If this is your way of accepting my resignation…” Morgan was getting bored. “…then just get it over with so I can go home.”

Before the Admiral could comment, Dr. Paik interrupted. “Actually, I’ve asked the Admiral not to. James, your service record before you came here was tremendous. You graduated top of your class, went straight into the command track and despite a more reckless style had become a very valuable officer.”

“Did you notice everything you said there was paste tense?” Morgan replied.

“James, you’ve been through a harsh time, I can understand that.” Paik adopted his best diplomatic voice. “But we won’t stand back and watch you tear your life apart and we can’t in good conscience let you give up and run away without trying to help you.”

Riesman cut off Paik, his harsh tone doing little to hide his anger over the diplomats decision. “As of now you are suspended from duty until further notice and will attend counselling sessions thee times a week. Furthermore, you are officially barred from La Cala and all other bars or public houses until I say so. Any further breaches of conduct and you will be stripped of rank and put in a cell for ninety days. Do you understand?”

Rolling his eyes, Morgan nodded. “Am I dismissed?”

Riesman took a deep breath to try and keep his patience before letting out a simple “Go” to get rid of him. He watched as the disobedient officer pushed himself out of his chair, walked across the room and climbed the stairs to leave. It was only then he noticed the lack of regulation footwear, giving him the excuse to put another note on Morgan’s record.

As soon as Morgan disappeared behind the swishing door atop the staircase, Paik and Grey got to their feet ready to leave. “From now on Lieutenant Morgan is under my supervision.” He said, with a smug grin. He and Riesman’s relationship was becoming more like a war with his recent attitude changes. Where he once enjoyed making decisions together he now took great joy in putting the Admiral in his place. Which made the next piece of news even more satisfying to deliver. “And before I forget, I’ve spoken with the civilian council here, as well as the Prime Minister on Sakaria. Despite his unannounced visit, we believe Captain Lakotda is the right man to take command of Sha Ka Ree until we find a suitable replacement.”

“I’d already proposed Admiral V’Sal…” Riesman replied, glancing over to the Admiral in question who looked just as disappointed.

“The Kolar still has a high opinion of Lakotda. He’s been a decorated officer in both organisations. He represents both Starfleet and the Kolar and we believe that makes him the perfect man to lead this city, especially in this transitional period.” With Grey in tow Paik casually left, heading past the Admirals desk down the long corridor. “This is non negotiable, inform him immediately.” He said before the duo disappeared into the office blocks.

After the meeting Morgan refused to take any of his punishments in. He was lucky to not be in a cell right now with a dishonourable discharge, but he didn’t care. Without his family there wasn’t much driving him to get through a days work. Humanity were supposed to be a highly evolved race working towards constantly bettering themselves and the rest of mankind. But to him that theory was flawed. For him his drive to move forward with his life wasn’t this constant pursuit of this idealistic goal, but the love he had for his daughter.

A part of him wished he could say he was upset about the decision, but if he was honest with himself he felt rather indifferent. He wasn’t sure what he wanted or where to go. He felt lost. Confused. Nothing really made sense to him anymore.

But there was one constant in this strange stage of his life he knew he could rely on and as he walked into the Epicentre he could only smile as he saw her working away in the hub of the room.

As Amy spied him she shared his smile, the first time one had shown up on her face since Rogan’s death. “I’m surprised to see you.” She said as Morgan walked up the steps to the central command desk to sit opposite her. “I thought they’d have you shipped off by now.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid.” He sighed, peeling off his service jacket as he sat himself down. “They decided that instead of my resignation, I’d be suspended and sent to therapy. Dr Paik’s idea.”

“I‘m surprised you got off so lightly” Amy replied, tapping away at her console. “The mood isn’t exactly the best right now.”

“Any word on the investigation?” Morgan asked, thinking back to the message he had received from Rogan. He had kept quiet about it since the night of his death, as per Rogan’s orders.

“Nothing…” Amy replied, keeping herself distracted in her work.

Morgan paused for a moment before blurting out a question that had been burned in his mind since receiving Rogan’s message. “Do you know a Captain Kristan Lakotda?”

The name grabbed Amy’s attention instantly. “He commands the Dauntless, his ships docked here this morning… why?”

Why? That demanded reason. Morgan avoided the question. “Wasn’t he a friend of Admiral Rogan?”

“Yes… why?”

“I wanted to pass on my condolences.”

“Oh…”

“Where’s the Dauntless docked?”

“East wing, lower pylon.”

“Thank you.”

“So why are you really going to see Captain Lakotda?”

The question caught Morgan off guard. “I thought I got away with that lie.” He logged into the panel in front of him and pulled up the ship registry, hunting for Dauntless information.

“When have you ever been able to lie to me?”

“That’s true..” They both paused for a moment. “Captain Lakotda will be at the memorial tonight.” Amy admitted. “I doubt the Admiral would kick up a fuss about you showing up as long as you stay clear of La Cala. If he does just tell him you’re with me and I’ll take the heat.”

Morgan watched as she casually tapped away at her panel, unable to hold the question in the back of his mind. Unable to resist a cheeky smile on his lips, he let the uncomfortable words flow through. “Like a date?”

Amy could only smile as the line. “You wish, Morgan.”

After checking up on the development of a class of new Kolar staff at one of the Pike Academy’s integration centres, Chel’si made a decision that put a big smile on her face.

She decided to take a break.

There were days when she wished she could have been assigned to a starship instead of being send home to Sakaria. If she had the same title as her counterparts on the ships that passed by she would have had an easy life. On any regular starship the Operations Manager was responsible for the various departmental functions on board. This would often involve some occasional engineering work, maybe using the tractor beam or hailing a ship. As with most things, Sha Ka Ree was a little different.

She still retained the job of overseeing the various departments in the city, but where normally a department would report to the executive officer, on Sha Ka Ree they reported to Chel’si who would report to Kirkpatrick. Essentially this ended up meaning she was responsible from everything to crew quarters to the several engineering departments to recruitment. Sometimes she felt as if she and Amy ran the city while everyone else sat around drinking.

As she strolled though the primary research complex, giving a nod to the staff as she made her way through, her thoughts drifted to the one person who felt empathy for her. The one person who could understand the stress making her head feel as if it was going to implode. Her ever loving husband.

The two officers has met years ago while de Luca was assigned to Sakaria. She was drawn to his love and passion for the local culture, specifically that of her own tribe. As she climbed the stairs to his office from the lab below all the things her husband had fallen in love with flooded her vision. From the classic Osaar design of the light boxes on the staircase to their family banner hanging at the back of the room, he had immersed himself in their culture. He was no different than his decor. He had adopted the traditional image of her people, not just with his image and style but the ‘key’ her family wore around their neck as a symbol of their tribe and their marriage cuff on his arm instead of the traditional human wedding ring.

Even before Chel’si entered the room she could hear her husband’s fingertips clicking against his desk as he read through reports and findings from one of the many projects his research staff were working on. She knew that meant he was either concentrating or drifting off so it came as no surprise to her that he never noticed her entering the room until she startled him. “Interesting read?”

Snapping out of his trance Marc turned his head to see his wife sitting on the edge of his desk. “I have no idea.” He said, setting his Link down. “I really can’t concentrate today.”

“I know how you feel.” Chel’si replied as she stared at the stacks of paperwork on his desk. “The mood upstairs is a little grim. I doubt the service will bring a lot of peace to anyone’s minds until the investigation is over.”

“Is there no word from DCI Siaka?” Marc asked.

“Nothing confirmed.”

Taking a breath de Luca pushed himself out from behind his desk. Sha Ka Ree had been rife with rumours for months. Tall tales of dissent within the ranks. Conspiracy theories being thrown around. Mysterious activity on the outskirts of Kolar territory. The latest of which revolved around what was officially known as an incident, but what rumour called Admiral Rogan’s murder.

Throughout the years de Luca’s heavy involvement with the Kolar and their joining the Federation, time spent working closely with Rogan. His death was weighing heavily on his mind. The admiral was a kind, compassionate man. He strived throughout his life for peace and unity whether it was helping with the causes on Romulus, aiding in first contact scenarios or where his life ending at his greatest achievement on Sha Ka Ree.

It troubled Marc to think that the man could be murdered. He refused to believe in the possibility that such an act could be used against an honourable and well respected man. More importantly, he couldn’t find it within himself to believe a friend he loved and cared for so much could have his life end that way.

Walking past the shelves and display units filled with books and artefacts from all over his wife’s planet, what Marc saw as his collection of beauty and mystique, de Luca walked slowly to the replicator getting them both a raktijino almost on autopilot. “Do I still have a dress uniform?” He asked as he programmed the replicator. “I can’t remember the last time I wore one.”

Chel’si stared at him in disbelief. “What have you been wearing to all those functions and seminars?” She asked, following his lead to the seating area in between his desk and another shelf full of trinkets.

“I usually just turn up in this.” He said, looking down to his officers tunic, a uniform he preferred over the casual work uniform his wife was fond of. The standard operational wear.

“How long have you been doing that?”

“A few months… a year maybe.”

Chel’si shook her head before taking a sip of her drink. “I’ve been too busy to notice.” She confessed. “What do you do? Tell them you’ve rushed straight from the office and didn’t have time to change?”

Marc nodded. “Sometimes.” As she hugged into him on the couch, he reached his arm around her. “But I think Mike and Amy knew it just really wasn’t my style. They got used to it after a while.”

She smiled as she snuggled into her husband. “And Riesman?”

Relaxing into the soft leather Marc smiled back, closing his eyes. “I think we all stopped caring what he thought a long time ago. The way he’s been acting in the past few months it feels like a war, and that’s one of the victories we like to keep having when he’s around.”

“He’ll be there tonight…” Chel’si sighed.

“Centre stage with all eyes on him.”

“You could make another victory for team Rogan.”

Marc raised an eyebrow at the thought. “That’s an interesting idea. You think I could convince Amy to join in?”
Looking up at her husbands face as he opened his eyes, she smiled. “Commander Kirkpatrick is certainly holding a grudge. It’s possible.”

“Well Mike did like to keep things interesting…”

“That’s odd…” The words escaped Dr. Okarro’s lips unconsciously as he studied the body in front of him.

He had been working on the autopsy of Rogan’s remains for some time. A chunk of the body had remained intact and what else could be salvaged was stored along with the charred remains. It was a ghastly sight, but Okarro was programmed to deal with it.

The doctor was part of a genetic engineering program on his home world. When the Sakarians stumbled upon the planet centuries ago they accidentally activated the facility that created his kind. It took them years to decide whether or not it was morally correct to force the race into extinction due to laws prohibiting genetic engineering, a law which resurfaced in joining the Federation. But it was believed that the Voltare were the Sakarians responsibility and even now the Kolar had labelled their world as ‘protected‘.

Once upon a time the Voltare were soldiers, but the Sakarians had decided to give them the chance for them to contribute to society. Although they weren’t permitted to be soldiers they were encouraged and trained to be engineers, scientists, doctors. They had a great capacity for learning, thinking. They developed and trained much faster than any other species. But their asexuality and isolated early years often left them with difficulty in understanding social behaviour. Okarro himself had often found himself thinking more like a machine than a man. He truly struggled to find the right balance to make him fit in socially which made even the little things seem fascinating to him.

It often left him acting outside of etiquette or courtesy and driven purely by his enthusiastic curiosity. That same curiosity left him digging through anatomy, as he was Rogan’s body, as if it were a treasure chest. This time around he had good reason to.

Opening the chest with a laser scalpel, he tore open the torso and poked his fingers through the ribs. Okarro wasn’t one for using technology as an easily solution. Despite a more traditional approach being less effective, a part of him believed it was better to see, feel and touch, not to become too reliant on technology to solve a problem. There was much more satisfaction gained and bare essentials knowledge needed in doing everything for yourself. He’d take his scans and be careful, but a body in this condition was too much of a learning opportunity to leave it alone. Though friends of Rogan might disagree…

“What are you, my little friend…” He uttered to himself as his fingertips found something out of place. Pushing the ribs apart to get a better grip, he hauled on the mystery object and pulled it out from the dead mans chest.

Holding it up to the light, he squinted his eyes as he studied what seemed to be a tiny isolinear chip. Typically humans didn’t walk around with tiny isolinear chips stashed in their ribcage. Needless to say it was a little peculiar.

Carefully placing the chip into a dish, he worked away at sealing the body before covering it with a sheet.

Turning to a cleaning bath he cleaned off his hands before pulling off his scrub, covering his scaled torso with his Starfleet issued departmental shit before carrying the dish out to his office.

As he took a seat behind his desk, his eyes staring at the device, he tapped his commbadge and called the one person who could perhaps explain what it meant. “Okarro to DCI Siaka, please report to the Morgue.”

“What kind of shoes are they anyway?” That question had been stuck in Amy’s head for months. She had noticed Morgan had abandoned regulation footwear for quite some time now and it was beginning to annoy her. She didn’t care what he wore, thankfully he wasn’t her staff.

Morgan looked down at his footwear. “Vintage…” He said as he turned his attention to the Commander. “Late twentieth century. They’re a lot more comfortable than my boots when I’m on the Nosferatu. Besides… they’re red, they match the uniform.”

Amy shook her head as they turned a corner in the maze of shops within the Surak districts commerce centre. “So in your mind, if it’s coordinated the regulations don’t matter.”

“Exactly.” He replied. “More importantly why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”

“I’m still married.” She answered sweetly.

“You’re in the middle of a divorce.” Morgan shot back, making another turn.

Stopping to a halt, Amy tugged at Morgan’s arm and forced him to face her. Without saying a word she reached to his collar and pulled his shirt open just enough to see the necklace underneath. A thin strip of leather holding his own wedding ring. Trying not to seem as caught out as he felt, Morgan rolled his eyes and resumed walking.

“No argument?” Amy asked as she caught up to his side.

“I’m not getting divorced.”

“Maybe it’s time you think about it, you haven’t spoken to Lenara in what? Eleven months?”

“Can we not talk about this now?” Morgan sighed.

As the continued walking, Amy just nodded. “I just don’t want to see you stopping yourself from moving on.” As she saw him turn and glare, she smiled. “I don’t mean from your daughter…”

“I know what you mean…” Morgan stopped as they reached their destination. “I’m not giving up just yet, my dear.” He led her past a directory listing to the main complex of the glorified shopping mall. “Besides, talking about our insignificant others isn’t exactly the best conversation for a date.”

Hovering at the other side of the directory panel, which was currently flickering between a guide to the shops and the local news service reporting on Rogan’s death, Marc de Luca could only smile as he overheard Morgan. “Moving on so quickly?” He asked as the newcomers entered the memorial. “And with Matthew’s roommate. Bad form, Amy.”

“This is not a date.” She corrected as she tried to ignore Morgan’s smile. “Who’s here so far?” She scanned the room to try and identify a few of the faces in the crowd. It was hard to find anyone in the chaos.

Typically a service like this would be hosted in a function room or lounge, but with the scale of the incident and the death toll involved it had been decided to move it to a larger area, an arcade which was seen as a form of town square for the Surak district. A massive three levelled area with windows looking out into space opposite the main police building with shops and bars on either side. The service was being held in the centre on the ground floor, a public gathering area surrounding a monument, which was then sounded by stalls and a coffee shop which was handing out food and drinks for the event. With a coffee shop giving away free alcohol, that was Morgans loophole. He could drink all he wanted without climbing the stairs to the first floor where his favourite bar looked down upon the ground floor.

“A few of the Admirals, a few diplomats, reporters…” Marc took a mouthful of the whiskey he was cradling in his hands. “The usual suspects. You just missed the Klingon Ambassador and his staff singing a few songs in honour of the Captain.”

“I told you we should have came earlier…” Morgan commented as he locked his eyes on Riesman at the far side of the room. “I’m glad to see we’re not the only ones who ‘misplaced’ our dress uniforms.”

Marc smiled as he noticed the duo in their casual work outfits. “Admiral Riesman has already complained to me about my lack of respect…”

Amy grinned. “After hearing Rogan complain about the formal gear for so long, you’d think Riesman would have taken the hint and let us off with ignoring it’s existence.”

“Chel wore hers.” Marc pointed his glass towards his wife talking to a Vulcan in full formal robes near the buffet. “She’s been stuck talking to T’Lar for about an hour now. He’s been telling anyone who’ll listen about his study into the Tsunkatse and it’s negative effects throughout Sakarian culture.”

As he glanced over as Chel’si, Morgan could almost see the vain in her forehead about to pop. “Has anyone told him that she trained to fight in the Tsunkatse before she enrolled in Starfleet Academy?”

“I don’t think he’d care.” Amy commented. “He’s on a one man crusade to shut down the sport. Maybe I should tell him about your bid for the title.” She said, turning to Morgan.

De Luca raised an eyebrow at the Lieutenant. “You fought in the Tsunkatse?”

“Why are you so surprised?” Morgan asked.

“You’re a little out of shape.”

Morgan stared at de Luca unsure how to reply, then turned to Amy for support only to hear silence. “I need a drink.” He said before storming off to the coffee shop turned bar for the day.

As Morgan left Marc and Amy began to wander around the crowd. Neither of them were fans of this type of event. Despite this being a service for their friends and colleagues, with the amount of press and brass involved it felt as if it was merely a formality, a diplomatic event held so reporters could take home a story of hope and tell everyone it’s time to move on.

“Do you know Kristan Lakotda? Docked yesterday I believe.” Marc asked as he saw Morgan fading into the distance. “He arrived about an hour ago and Riesman wasn’t exactly pleased to see him.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “Was he doing his that weird forced smile again?”

“Yes… the Admiral doesn‘t seem to be able to hide his emotions too well anymore… he seems bored of being civil.”

“Captain Lakotda recently arrived on the Dauntless…” Amy’s eyes darted around the room trying to find him. “He was scheduled to arrive in the Gamma quadrant two days ago and upset the Admiral to show up here.”

“Dauntless… I know that ship. It’s older than I am.”

“Really?” Amy smiled. “It must be an NX class.”

Stopping in his tacks Marc could only glare at her. “I’m only ten years older than you.”

“Twelve.” Amy corrected. “Do you think Lakotda could take over Rogan’s position? Despite his surprise visit, being a Sakarian in Starfleet could help ease some tensions that Mike‘s death may cause.”

“It’s a bit grim to be making predictions so early.”

“Maybe. But this city needs a leader and I’ll bet Paik and Riesman are already making plans and you know Riesman won’t want to choose a new leader that didn’t fit in with his agenda.”

Shaking his head, Marc noticed the Admiral in question drawing everyone’s attention in the centre of the room. “Well it looks like the speeches are about to begin.”

“This should be fun.” Amy said, snatching Marc’s whiskey from his hands. “If I’m to be subjected to Riesman telling everyone how much he admired Jorell and his crew, I may have to get as drunk as Lieutenant Morgan…”

As Riesman began to make his speech, as predictable as Amy has expected, she noticed Lakotda behind him staring at the monument. Standing beside Ensign Lara Kunis, both of them reading the list of the dead. Both of them with their eyes fixed on the person they lost. “Tenagra thinks this all feels wrong.” She told de Luca, her eyes still fixed on the captain. “As if there a storm coming.”

The scientist could only nod. “I have the same feeling.” He admitted. “The Kolar joining the Federation was a huge move for both sides and brought in a new era of peace, but lately it feels as if it’s all devolved into secrecy and fighting. Private little battles for power and control. You know, for all the ships that have gone missing, all the strange things going on, not once has Riesman or his staff consulted with the rest of us.”

“Everything’s being dealt with by his Intelligence bureau.” Amy replied. “Last night I saw one of the Admirals trying to take control of the scene at Rogan’s house. Yet another power struggle.”

“The Kolar government are beginning to get concerned about the stability of the Federation. In recent months it seems as if Riesman’s trying to build his own little fleet, his own base of power.”

“I think they’re right to be concerned.” Amy kept Rogan’s, and now Lakotda’s investigation to herself as she continued. “Whatever Riesman’s up to, we’re all being kept in the dark. Either he doesn’t know the damage he’s causing, or he’s creating that rift intentionally.”

“Paik has started to wonder if those missing ships are out there, forming their own fleet.”

“Paik’s buying into the rumours?” Amy was surprised. “That’s a worry. If’s he’s getting suspicious, the Kolar will be too.”

Marc nodded. “I’m beginning to think we’re all doomed.”

Hours later, as the night began to wind down, only a few guests remained and the town square had almost got back to normal. The Admiral and his staff were the first to leave with the diplomats and politicians leaving as soon as the press did. Marc and Chel’si left together after a few toasts to the crew in the bar and Amy had left with Lara to walk her home.

With the crowd gone, Morgan was still sitting in the coffee shop with his eyes locked on Captain Lakotda, still standing by the monument with the list of the dead, eyes fixed on the news station above the names watching the reports and discussion revolving around Rogan’s death and the political situation. He’d watched profiles of Admirals and endless babbling passed off as political discussion before being hooked on a tribute to his old friend, Mike Rogan.

“I was there when the Independence was destroyed.” Lakotda turned sharply as he heard the voice coming from behind to see the scruffy Lieutenant Morgan breaking his concentration. “Rogan told me about you.” He continued. “He left me a message before he died, telling me that you were one of the few I could trust. He said you were his last hope.”
Lakotda smiled. “That’s a hell of a compliment.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” Morgan admitted. “The ship was attacked, I was ordered to hide the truth.”

“You’re risking your career giving me that information.” Lakotda replied honestly.

Morgan shrugged. “Good. I don’t want to be part of a government that lies as much as we have recently.” He extended his hand towards the Captain. “Lieutenant Morgan. We should talk.”

As the industrial zone turbolift lowered itself into Tenagra’s workshop, a wave of sound blasted through the cars thin walls. DCI Siaka winced as the doors clunked open, shouting at the engineer to turn off the noise as soon as she stepped onto the deck plate. It wasn’t until she climbed down into his chaotic workstation and grabbed his shoulder that Tenagra even noticed she had entered his private haven.

The man who had the job before him did the sensible thing. He kept his office near the Epicentre, the centre of control, so he could coordinate his department through delegation. From what Tenagra heard when he was working at Ree’Cha, the department was run efficiently without any problems. That was until his predecessor was released from service when Chel’si realised that he was delegating the workload so well he was free to spend his working hours gambling and drinking.

Delegation had made him lazy. Tenagra believed in a more hands on approach. To some opinions, too hands on.
Sha Ka Ree was a huge city and the Engineering department covered both civilian and military workloads. Individual departments, tech crews, development, everything from the officer in charge of transwarp installations to the person who cleaned the fuel dispensers. When Tenagra got the job, still on a trial run, he refused to just delegate. Throughout the week he’d keep his eyes on everything. He’d make sure every department was running perfectly. It could be double checking work, taking a stroll through the R&D departments to check on their progress. He could even be found making a surprise appearance to the cadets on field training from the Pike Academy. A pop quiz to make sure the possible future team members were up to scratch on their expertise.

There was a lot to cover and the down side was that despite his laid back demeanour it was the cause of a lot of stress. He knew at some point he’d have to pull back and give something up, but for now he wanted to be in total control. In his mind the best way to stay in control was to set up shop in the core of the city’s ‘Industrial Zone’.

Looking upon one of the massive generator cores, his workshop was within a maze of unused labs and bulky automated systems. It began it’s life as a rarely used workstation in an unmanned part of the core until he began to hide there, dragging back unfinished projects and using it as a base for his surprise inspections with most sub departments being within walking distance. In the past few months he’d dragged down desks, selves, storage units and layers upon layers of junk, bits and pieces of several ‘works in progress’. His plan was to turn the room from a blank canvas to a masterpiece. To look upon the complex now it more resembled a waste paper basket full of discarded sketches.

Siaka would object to the mess if she wasn’t used to some form of it in her own offices. She was sure Tenagra would describe his workshop in the same way she would her police station; organised chaos.

With a tap of a button the music stopped dead. Immediately the DCI got straight to business, giving a nod to the paperwork on his desk giving what she recognised to be a study of the item she passed over to him. Her lab had already checked it out, but she wanted a second opinion outside her force. Of course she expected to hear from him a few hours earlier considering it had taken a fraction of the time for her lab to figure it out. Had he been here all day listening to obscure music?

“What is it?” Siaka asked.

“Earth music, old stuff that my roommate listens to.” Tenagra rubbed his head trying to remember. He’s asked Morgan about the music he listened to from old Earth times and tried to investigate it, taking an interest. Being a good friend. He’d learned it to be ‘rock and, or roll’ and found the band he’d been playing today in a historical search for the best band of the era. “Spinal Tap.” That was it. He smiled as he remembered.

Siaka shook her head and nodded towards the paperwork again. “The files, Tenagra.” She reached out for the chip she’d left with him. “What did you find?”

“Oh…” As Siaka picked up the chip Okarro had given to her, Tenagra picked up one of the files sitting in front of him. “At first glance it‘s compressed data storage.” He smiled. “I played with it a little and figured it’s all encoded with some weird system I’ve never seen before . It doesn’t match anything I can access in any database, with it’s design it could be Starfleet Intel in origin.”

Siaka stared at the tiny isolinear chip. “That’s what my lab says. Well, a less eloquent way of putting it. It’s just a matter of cracking the encryption code. Any ideas?”

“That’s your job.” He said rolling his chair to the other desk to pick up another file. “With it’s design specs, even if it isn’t Starfleet’s technology, maybe they would have something on file that would match it?”

“Maybe…” Siaka sat on the edge of the desk. Time to change subject. “Do you have anything further on Rogan’s death?”

Five steps ahead of her, Tenagra handed her the file he was looking at. “I was right. It was a bomb.” He said clearly as she read the file. “Someone tampered with the replicator so that if he ordered a meal he’d get a bomb. An old Cardassian anti-terrorist tactic.”

“But there are safety protocols…”

“You should know better than anyone else, Detective, the right code, the right words, those protocols can be turned off.”

“By luck, unlikely. By research, traceable. By knowledge…” She paused for thought. That was the most likely option but it was one she didn’t want to face.

“..probable.” Tenagra finished the uncomfortable sentence. “They’ve covered their tracks. I can’t find the source of the hack job, when it happened, what the new programming was and especially not who wrote the program. To hide yourself so well takes a lot of knowledge.”

“And a lot of planning.” Siaka completed his thought before turning on her heel. “Thank you, I’ll be in touch if I need you again.”

Within moments she was gone. Within moments Tenagra was left alone in his workshop yet again. With a grin he switched on his music and got back to work.

Spinal Tap. Humanity was growing on him.