“And the last order of business we have is the handover of this New Maquis situation from Captain MacIntyre.” Vilo Kendris didn’t even look at the padd in her lap as she spoke, addressing the last of her fifteen points that she had walked in to Tikva’s ready room to discuss nearly an hour ago. In fact, she had only ever looked at the padd three times throughout the entire meeting, no doubt just to refresh her memory of the next few points.

“Oh, that,” Tikva grumbled, looking out the small window of her office and straight at the bright arc of Deep Space 47’s dorsal surface, the ends of Republic’s nacelles just peaking over that artificial horizon. “Disgraced Andorian doctor turned bioterrorist with a penchant for going after Romulans and Mac wants to hand it over to us, yeah?”

“Correct. My conversation with Commander Sadovu outlined the reasons for his request pretty well. She is…to close to the issue.” Kendris kept her cool as she spoke, though Tikva could sense the ratcheting of tension behind the façade. The notes from Mac had highlighted the extent of T’Halla Shreln’s crimes and it couldn’t be easy on the Romulan exchange officer. “Doctor Shreln’s presence amongst the New Maquis is a problem as well after her actions against the Cardassian Union. And I must admit, I would relish in bringing someone like this Doctor Shreln to justice.”

“Federation justice,” Tikva warned.

“Of course,” Kendris answered with a nod of her head. “Which is why I am not volunteering to lead any such mission to bring her in, so as to eliminate the possibility of any blame should something untoward happen.”

Tikva couldn’t help the snort or the smirk. Kendris’ dry response was just ‘oh so perfect’. And her response drew a slight smile from Kendris too. They were getting to know each other’s boundaries better and better such that it was a shame their working career was on a limited lifespan.

“Alright then Commander,” Tikva’s attention shifted from the window back to her executive officer, “I want you to brief Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va on everything we have. Go through everything, find something we can tug at to get our investigation underway.”

“Understood. I was also going to suggest we depart for the Badlands immediately and start patrolling along the Expanse edge, ranging inwards as need be. Perhaps we may get lucky and apprehend someone from the New Maquis, or we scare some sufficiently that they run without covering their tracks too well.”

“Lot of luck in there. Put a request in with 47’s people and with Starfleet Intelligence for everything they can share about the New Maquis.” Tikva stared at Kendris for a moment, trying to read the woman’s expression, then shook her head in defeat. It was like trying to read Lin when she was on duty. “And yes, give the order for all hands to return to the ship. It’s about time we push off and get back into space.”

“Especially after that particularly embarrassing defeat to the Sagan’s volleyball team?” Kendris asked as she stood.

“That game was unfair and you know it,” Tikva protested.

The squadron had been at DS47 for nearly two weeks now, making repairs, taking on supplies, having some well-deserved R&R. Inter-ship events had been encouraged to help the crews build up contacts and camaraderie. But the latest event, a volleyball tournament with numerous teams from each ship, had more than a few voices crying foul at the antics of the crew of the USS Sagan.

“I wouldn’t call it unfair, Captain. Suspicious perhaps, but not unfair. How an entire Academy championship volleyball team ended up on one starship is certainly a question worth asking. But credit where it is due, they did play remarkably well.”

“That’s it. I’m calling in favours with Starfleet Intelligence. I want to know just how in the various hells Stenz pulled this off. This is a conspiracy of the highest order!”

It was bound to happen that Deep Space 47 was going to eventually end up with a locale that didn’t meet the clean, pristine and sophisticated vibe that the rest of the relatively new starbase had going for it. Though really the nightclub that had opened on the Galleria sometime over the last few months was being compared to everything else around it and usually by people who experienced the Galleria during the peak ‘day’ hours and less so the ‘night’ hours.

Station night was marked by a dimming of the lights across the Galleria, a general slowing of most business with some still plying their trade at all hours to account for all folks. But anyone within sight of the club Badlands couldn’t ignore it at night. The gaudy neon light over the entrance, the closed door, the actual bouncer who was having an amicable conversation with a couple of station security while giving everyone a once over as they passed – the club didn’t blend in at all with the daytime restaurants, coffee shops or the growing bewildering array of shop fronts and civil infrastructure a small township in space needed.

In a testament to the technology in place not a sound escaped the club unless the door was open and even then sounded muted and warped. If it wasn’t for the flickering orange light above the door, Badlands could have just been another particularly swanky joint found across Federation starbases the galaxy over. Everything that could be reasonably done to make the place unobtrusive to the casual passerby had been done.

Inside was another matter.

The general ambiance was dark, broken up by a variety of lights going through a random series of motions. Loud music dominated the air, bass thumping through the air and patrons alike in an effort to try to unify everyone’s heartbeats with near brutal insistence. Conversations were shouted directly into someone’s ear if you wanted them to have a chance of hearing what you had to say, or held entirely by body language alone.

Badlands most certainly did not fit the village aesthetic.

It was packed with the younger populace of Deep Space 47 and the visiting ships. A mass of people dancing, singing, shouting and talking. It was teeming with life and vibrancy.

And in all of this, drowned out by the noise, a quiet chirping was taking place. The faint whistle of commbadges overpowered by the raw noise of Badlands and its patrons. Attempts by outside parties to reach those inside made futility against the roaring mass.

“Amber!”

The shout sounded like it was half a kilometre away, but was barely a couple of steps in reality.

“Amber!”

The repetition got Amber’s attention and she turned, breaking away from the man she was dancing with to see who was calling her name. A waving hand trying to get her attention was a lost cause amongst the dance floor. Instead, the beckoner had opted for something a touch more direct – pushing people out of the way with little regard.

In the flickering, pulsing lights, Rosa Mackeson’s green skin merely faded to a dark hue. But the glitter makeup she’d adorned herself with caught the various lights and cast her in a prismatic spray as the lights passed over her. Rose pushed the last person between the two of them out of the way and leaned in to shout into Amber’s ear.

“We gotta go!”

“Hell no!” Amber shouted back, pulling the man who she’d been dancing with close by his shirt. “We just got here!”

Rosa rolled her eyes in exasperation before she produced her comm badge, flashing it at Amber and her boy-toy, before she held it up to Amber’s ear, where the chirping could be heard. Then a tap with her thumb and the recorded message played once more. It was a struggle to hear, only possible because it was right up against her ear and Rosa’s hand cupped both for a modicum of shelter.

“All crew of the Atlantis are ordered to return to the ship immediately. Departure is set for 0300.” Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va’s voice was unmistakable in the pronouncement.

Then, to drive the point home, there was a slight pause before a purely artificial feminine voice spoke from the commbadge. “The time is 0217 hours.”

“Oh come on!” Amber shouted in exasperation, her head rolling to the side and away from Rosa. She sucked in a breath and then released the man she had been dancing with, shrugging her shoulders and throwing a thumb over her shoulder at Rosa. “I gotta go!”

Whatever was said in response was drowned out by the music and the attempts at conversations around them. Rosa had to watch as Amber stretched up and kissed the man, time slipping along before intervention was mandated and she had to pull the shorter woman away, offering the Amber’s partner for the evening an apologetic shrug as they slipped through the crowd.

“Seriously,” Amber protested as the two slipped out of the club and onto a near-deserted Galleria, starting their trek towards the docking lounge that Atlantis was berthed at. “Couldn’t wait just a few more hours?”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Rosa countered. “I don’t set the schedule. You’re lucky I even heard my commbadge at all in there.”

“And lucky I didn’t have to go in there after you both,” a voice spoke up from behind them.

“Ah! Stirling! What the fuck?” Amber exclaimed as she jumped, clutching at her own chest in shock at Stirling Fightmaster’s sudden appearance behind them.

Where Rosa and Amber had dressed up and made themselves ready for a night out, fully intending on not coming back until Badlands started kicking patrons out, Stirling was as ever a professional, standing there on the Galleria in an immaculate uniform. But where they were used to seeing him with either a padd in hand, or hands clasped behind his back, he was instead holding a carry tray with three large cups sitting in recesses and a non-descript brown bag in the other, both of which he held up to the two women.

“Caramel latte, two sugar, almond milk,” he said to Rosa, using a nod of his head to indicate which cup. “Black, no sugar,” he said to Amber, repeating the order she often growled at a replicator first thing in the morning. “And a bearclaw each.”

“Why?” Rosa asked as both she and Amber descended on the offerings, leaving Stirling with his own cup and the tray, dutifully tucked under an arm.

“How?” Amber asked. “How’d you know where we were?”

Stirling tilted his head at Amber, the unspoken question of ‘Really?’ not needing to be said aloud. But he answered her anyway. “It is my duty to know where everyone of the crew is at all times should the Fleet Captain have need of your presence. As such, I have access to interrogate your commbadges for your location.”

“Of course you do,” Amber muttered, then sipped at her coffee, sighing afterwards. “Okay Three, this isn’t bad.”

“Beans’d It I understand is the best coffee place on the station,” Stirling commented, then looked to Rosa. “As to why am I here – Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va wants Silver Team to assemble for a briefing at 0800. I came to retrieve you both to make sure you were on the ship, but also had a chance to rest before the briefing.”

“Rest? And you brought us coffee?” Amber challenged.

“You’re a nurse, I’m sure you can deal with it,” Stirling responded flatly, then stepped around both women, continuing the trek they had started before he interrupted them. “Shall we ladies?”

They both watched Stirling walk away, sipping idly at his own drink as he went. “Did he just tell me to deal with it?” Amber asked.

“Yup,” Rosa answered. “Our boy is getting growing up. Getting snarky. I love it.”

“I hate it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will too when he tries it on me someday,” Rosa responded after a brief laugh. “Right, come on Amber. Don’t want to get left behind.”