“A K’Tinga covered in disruptor burns, a crew of tight-lipped Orions, and a Negh’Var scowling at us from across the border,” chuckled Captain Cassidy Cayde, his expression rather relaxed given the circumstances. “Pretty typical, wouldn’t you say?”

Captain Elise Drake, the always-focused chief of operations for Polaris Squadron, shook her head with disapproval over the link. “You seem a bit too comfortable here, Cassidy. This could quickly snowball into a major incident.”

“Every time we respond to something out here, it has the potential to snowball into a major incident,” Captain Cayde smiled, although a hint of frustration was laced into his tone. “It’s just the reality of the sector at present, and it’s a product completely of our own actions… or rather, our own inaction.” If Starfleet hadn’t turned a blind eye to the borderlands throughout the nineties, others would not have so easily taken root.

“Alright, I’ll give you that,” Captain Drake sighed. He wasn’t wrong, she knew. Even at present, she was tracking no less than a half dozen concerns across the sector, ranging from piracy to local dissidents to failing infrastructure. “But what are you doing about this particular situation?”

“Honestly, besides scowling back at the Klingons from our side of the border, not much,” Captain Cayde replied. “Commander Nitus already has the investigation well at hand.” Neither his answer nor his expression betrayed his disappointment at the dearth of intelligence the Paramount had collected thus far. He wasn’t one to throw a fellow commander under the bus, nor to worry headquarters needlessly.

“She’s young, Cassidy…” Captain Drake warned.

“Some might say the same about you, Elsie,” Captain Cayde countered with a wink. “We should not be so quick to judge.” He hadn’t doubted Elsie Drake’s competence when she first arrived at Archanis Station, nor would he cast doubt so quickly on the Paramount‘s commanding officer. 

“But the Paramount is new to this sector,” Captain Drake pressed.

“As were all of you when suddenly Starfleet remembered this place existed,” Captain Cayde reminded her. Before the crisis with the Hunters of D’Ghor, it had been little more than him and his ragtag troupe traipsing around the sector, a messy borderlands region that the Federation had mostly taken for granted and left neglected. “But I’d say you all have adjusted just fine, and so too will Commander Nitus and her crew.”

Captain Drake just stared at him. Why was he being so insistent? Cassidy Cayde wasn’t naive. He had to see the risks of their present situation, an impending interstellar incident if someone made a mistake. The situation with the Orion-crewed, civilian-aligned K’Tinga was also quite odd, and the whole thing made her nervous.

“Relax, Cap,” Captain Cayde assured her. “Have faith in your fellow captains, and know that, out here, I’ve got her back.”

That, at least, reassured her a bit. Cassidy Cayde knew the place better than almost anyone.

“If you’re so worried about us though, there is one thing you could do to help,” Captain Cayde added. “Those Klingons menacing at us, they’re not nobodies in a B’rel. Whoever is on that flagship, if things heat up, the Kennedy might be helpful.” A Norway class light cruiser wouldn’t help their tactical situation, but real problems were rarely solved by phasers and torpedoes.

“I’ve already dispatched them,” Captain Drake admitted, a twinkle in her eye.

“Of course you did,” Captain Cayde laughed. Always the planner, his colleague was. “That’s what I appreciate about you.” And he meant it too. Elsie Drake was quick, diligent, and did a job he wouldn’t wish upon anyone, coordinating and positioning assets so that the rest of them could do what needed to be done. “We’ll be in touch. Lincoln out.”

“You’re really not going to tell her, are you?” came a voice from behind him as the link cut off.

The aged captain turned slowly and smiled at his first officer, who’d let himself onto the observation deck where Captain Cayde had chosen to take the call. “Luke, didn’t they ever tell you not to sneak up on a man who’ll beat you to the draw?” It was all in jest, of course, and Commander Luke Rawlins, a frontiersman much like himself, was always welcome at his table.

“I dunno about that, old man,” Commander Rawlins laughed, willing to go tit for tat with his mentor. “But seriously, that Romulan and her Cali crew, they haven’t figured out shit, and even now, I understand there’s still some dissension among them on your orders to host a meet-and-greet for the Orions.”

“It’ll all be fine, Luke,” Captain Cayde assured him. “We’ll just have to make sure…” 

But the captain didn’t get a chance to finish his statement as suddenly the ship’s momentum shifted and the lights dimmed to indicate a change in readiness status.

“Yellow alert. All hands to battlestations.”

“You were saying?” Commander Rawlins grinned.

Captain Cayde didn’t reply. His Chief Tactical Officer’s words over the ship-wide comms told him what he needed to know. It was time to get to work. 

With Commander Rawlins at his side, the pair swiftly crossed the short distance from the observation deck, which lay astern on deck 1, to the bridge at the fore. There, they were confronted with a rushed scene as the bridge crew readied for what would follow.

“Helm, adjust heading, three three zero down six,” Lieutenant Commander Rao was ordering as he stepped off the command island, where he’d been serving as watch officer. “Bring us aport and bottomside the Paramount, and hold the flank.” In his mind, he was already envisioning the battlespace, positioning their Gagarin class heady escort to cover an angle underserved by the California class utility cruiser’s phaser arrays and torpedo launchers.

“Three three zero down six, and holding flanking position, aye,” confirmed Lieutenant Saadi from the conn. Her eyes were filled with focus, and she was ready for whatever would follow. This wouldn’t be their first rodeo.

“Report?” Captain Cayde requested as he stepped into the center of the bridge.

“Seven zero seconds ago, Klingon forces began a forward movement towards the border,” Lieutenant Commander Rao reported as his fingers danced across the tactical controls, warming the formidable offensive and defensive capabilities of the Lincoln on the off chance they might need them. “Two five seconds ago, Paramount began a forward movement of her own, signaling for us to follow.”

Captain Cayde still wasn’t following. “Did Paramount provide any explanation for the change in posture?” Such a move, even as a counterbalance to the Klingon’s movements, advanced them onto a knife’s edge. One twitchy trigger finger, and it’d quickly blow up in their face. Had the Paramount determined something new, or was this just a nervous overreaction?

“No explanation, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Rao replied. He’d simply brought them to alert status and moved the Lincoln forward out of an unwillingness to let the Paramount go it alone.

“Are the Klingons still on their side of the border?” Captain Cayde asked.

“Affirm,” Lieutenant Commander Rao confirmed. “At a distance of 1.5 AU.”

“Then what in the fuck are we doing?” Captain Cayde signed as he stared at the underside of the Paramount with its elongated pylons, bulbous nacelles and awkwardly deflector. “Are we trying to provoke them?” The Klingons could rattle sabers all they wanted, but when one responded in kind, it almost never ended well. “Get me Commander Nitus. Now.”