Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana gaped at the PADD he’d been handed, “That bad?”

Across the desk stood his Director of Security Operations, Commander Thasaz. She winced as she admitted, “That bad.” She remained at attention, “It’s the never-ending story of Frontier Day – it impacted ships and stations across the quadrants. Security’s been harder to find replacements – people are still remembering what it was like when an entire generation suddenly decided murder was the latest order to enforce. They also remember what it was like being on the other side – trying to keep people safe and alive in the middle of it.” Thasaz grumbled, “We’ll be at half-staff within a week, thanks to some favors I called in, but we’re getting rookies, just graduated cadets, and in some cases – cadets.”

Fontana scrolled through the report, “All while business is starting to pick up. What are you not willing to put on paper in your request, commander?”

She shifted her feet. “I’ve asked Hasara for assistance and sent messages to some old friends I’ve worked with over the years. Without a fully staffed and trained security department, I must focus on the upper levels, promenades, and major corridors—places where I can do the most good.”

Geronimo chuckled at the mention of the former Gul, “Hasara’s got the experience. He played in the darker shades of grey for a long time before he ended up in that colony where Ambrose ran into him. He spoke highly of him, and Walton had nothing bad to say about him. I suppose he brings his own…team with him?”

“It’s rag-tag, but they passed clearances on his end and mine.” She watched as he scrolled through the last of the report, “It’s the best I could do, Fleet Captain Fontana.”

He glanced up, “Your best is more than most, commander. Captain or Captain Fontana is just fine. I’ll keep asking for more from anyone who will listen.”

“She must be desperate.” The tall Klingon wiped the dust off the bar, shining it as he went.

Hasara finished his checklist and gently rebuked his associate, “Trov. Her desperation has given you the gift of gainful employment.” He glanced around the main bar and restaurant, “It has given me a chance to own and operate a hotel, restaurant, and entertainment center – something I’ve always wanted to try.”

“Do I really have to wear this ridiculous uniform?” A young, lithe Romalan woman came out from the back wearing an officious uniform that held spaces for PADDs to take orders and cleaning devices for the floor.

Trov chuckled, “Sinai, it looks better than most of your fashion choices. Be happy it doesn’t clash like the rest.” He muttered something about Romulan fashion sense as he puttered on around the floor, cleaning and clearing.

At one of the tables sat an older Ferengi working a console. He motioned Hasara over to him as he explained, “I’ve covered our tracks—anybody looks into this, they’ll find the paperwork filed months ago. Construction was well in hand as the station was taking shape. There’s enough in the profile, staffing, and the operating budget to appear clean, but also…bring in the folks we need to see and know.”

The former Gul patted his old friend on the shoulder, “Hagaso, you’re worth every bar of latinum.” He turned to the group, “We’re not on the books. We’re back to playing in the grey, my friends. There is only one rule – we protect the house that is this station and the people in it. We will be playing catchup until they get enough red shirts to do the job.” The others gave a silent nod. There was work to be done, palms to grease, and word to get out. “Let’s get to it.”