“It’s just…I don’t often see uniforms down here, is all.” The voice belonged to former commander Ethan Wilder as he sat at the House of Hasara lobby bar. Standing next to him was Commander Charlie Hargraves, Director of Diplomatic Operations. He’d been given the task of tracking down the retired officer. It hadn’t been hard to find him,

“I don’t come down here often, so we’re even. Not my favorite place to be, Ethan.” He slid into the barstool next to him, ordering a lemon soda. “You know why I’m here?”

The older flight control officer rolled his eyes. “Apparently, you need a flight director or something. Why you think I’m willing to take the job is beyond me.” He took a long drink of the beer, burping as he finished, “I retired. It’s been the nicest five years of my life.”

Charlie sipped his soda, turning to face the older officer. “You know what happens if you don’t take the offer.” His eyes didn’t waver from staring at Wilder. “Fleet Captain Fontana doesn’t have the luxury of options. Or time.”

The face of the former flight director bloomed red, his eyes tightening on the commander, “I heard what you did to him—used that goddamned clause.” He groused, “And if I don’t go?” He turned his attention to the bottle in front of him.

Hagraves snatched the bottle and threw it against the back of the bar. The glass bottle shattering brought the talkative lobby to a halt, and Charlie leaned into Wilder’s face, “The brig will be your new home. I’m sure we could convince JAG to charge you with something creative. I’ve got an in with our local journalist. All the news that’s fit to print and all that. People are going to die if we don’t do something.”

Ethan’s face turned a darker shade of red, and his eyes finally widened. “Threats and blackmail aren’t the way of the Starfleet I knew.” The others in the lobby stared at him, and he could sense they would probably turn on him if it came to it. He’d found the line and blundered across it like a fool.

“We’re facing a genocidal enemy bent on establishing a bulwark of domination, Wilder. The Ethan I read about wouldn’t be sitting here acting like a whiny child. He’d be doing something about this.” Charlie pushed off the bar. “You have thirty minutes before I send Starfleet Security after you.” The diplomatic officer walked away.

Ethan glanced up at the bartender. A scowl covered her face. “We refuse you service, Mr. Wilder. Please leave.”

He stood, unsteady at first. “I don’t believe this. All over something stupid.” He flinched at the growing severity of her look. He needed coffee.

He had a decision to make.