“Madam Prime Minister, as I have said,” Tikva started before being cut off.

“No, Fleet Captain. It has been nearly six hours since the Tizona entered orbit and you have failed to update my office on the state of this so-called slow zone. Or how a Starfleet ship arrived in system. You must have something by now and I want to know.” Mevah Ezea, the Prime Minister of Betazed, had perfected the disappointed mother look. It was a side effect of being a mother and honed by years of political manoeuvring. And she was bringing it to bear right now.

She wasn’t angry, she was disappointed. Disappointed that she wasn’t being kept up to date on her schedule. Disappointed there hadn’t been a breakthrough or a resolution to this problem in four weeks.

Disappointed her motherly powers weren’t working on the one person in the universe she desperately wanted them to at the moment.

And she’s no doubt trying to pass pressure from the Cabinet of Matriarchs along.

Or just wanting something, anything, to tell them to make them go away herself.

“My teams haven’t provided me with any updates either. And I promised I would pass along updates as I got them. It has only been six hours, Prime Minister. There is, as I understand it, a lot of information to work through. As much as I would like to call my crew miracle workers, science, as I understand it, takes time.”

“Fleet Captain, I expect an update on how Starfleet intends to resolve this crisis. And soon.”

While Mevah Ezea had been speaking, the door to her ready room had whisked open, admitting Lieutenant Stirling Fightmaster, loyal yeoman and man most likely to be an ancient god-like being slumming it for a few years. He’d stepped in just enough to let the door close, then stopped, only moving to raise a hand with a red padd. At her own expression of concern, he nodded just once, then stepped forward to set it down on her desk.

“Excuse me, Prime Minister, something has come up.” The Prime Minister opened her mouth to protest, but it was cut off as Tikva jabbed a finger on her computer, closing the channel and disappearing the woman’s face. Something she’d been desperately wanting to do about five seconds into their conversation.

So yeah, we’re not the political sort, are we?

Duh. We’re the adventuring, exploring, bad-guy punching, kickass sort.

If that’s what we have to tell ourselves.

She reached for the padd Stirling had delivered, looking to the man to give him an order only to find he’d disappeared. She’d barely turned her head when he reappeared at her side, setting down a saucer with a cup of tea and a plate with two sandwiches on it. No footsteps had betrayed him; he’d just moved around her office as if floating just off the floor.

Which she looked down to check he wasn’t, only slightly disappointed to see he wasn’t.

“Thank you,” she finally said, flipping over the padd. “This accurate?” she asked immediately after reading the first line.

“Lieutenant Michaels confirmed the transmission twice. With the state of the clear component of the transmission, she says it is no surprise the attachment is corrupted. The computer took a fair bit of processing to make out what it did.” Stirling had retreated from her side to stand at the side of her desk, hands clasped behind his back.

“Where did this transmission come from?” she asked, re-reading the incredibly terse message on the padd.

“Point of origin in system was sixty-three kilometers inside the inner gas-giant’s atmosphere. The header on the transmission is Starbase Bravo.”

“Beckett,” Tikva grumbled, setting the padd down and opting to keep her hands busy by going for the cup of tea. One day she’d master tele-strangulation. “Is Lin back aboard yet?” With any other officer around, she’d have said Gantzmann, maintaining that professional/personal boundary. But Stirling wasn’t any other officer now. She’d actually gotten used to, and probably a little too dependent on, having a yeoman.

He’s hoping you get promoted. Then tags along as your first flag lieutenant.

It’s not a bad idea.

Promotion?

Hell no! Nope! Not happening. I like it where I am.

“Returned about an hour ago, ma’am.”

She sighed. Drew in another breath. Sighed again. Then looked at the sandwiches. Stirling’s very polite way of saying ‘you need to eat’. Which also carried the undertone of ‘I shall prevent interruptions until you do’.

Yes, mother.

“I want Kennedy, Lin, and Camargo in the conference room in five minutes. I also want you to patch in Captain Santisteban. Tell her to have her XO there as well.”

She’d had her sandwiches and cup of tea. Taken a few moments to glare at the padd Fightmaster had brought her. She’d tried getting the computer to try two other decryption protocols on the file attached to the message. Protocols they’d found buried in Atlantis’ computer after the whole situation in the Deneb Sector. All of it was to no avail. The file, whatever it contained, was unrecoverable.

“What are you hiding?” she asked of the padd before heading to the conference room.

“This has to be a mistake,” Santisteban said from the privacy of her ready room aboard Tizona. The space was, just like everything about the ship, small. And not helped by her XO looming over her shoulder so they could share a single screen for the call. “Just a code and a bad garbled attachment?”

We really should have given time for her to shuttle over and just have this meeting in person.

No, no. Message like this, break the news as quick as we can.

“Lieutenant Michaels is an outstanding computer technician,” Nathan said, coming to the defence of Atlantis’ deputy ops chief. “I don’t doubt her technical expertise.”

“Neither do I,” Tikva said as she settled herself into her seat after coming in and jumping straight to the point. “Code Forty-Seven straight from Starbase Bravo. Which means something dire is up. Dire enough to send out an information packet that we’re unlucky enough not to get. And so, without that information, I don’t feel at all worried about sharing with all of you that Captain Santisteban and both would have received it.”

She watched as Santisteban and her XO shared a look with each other briefly, Tizona seemingly not having received the message. “Starbase Bravo? So, they can pierce the Slow Zone and get messages to us?” asked Lieutenant Commander Naazim Al-Kamil, Santisteban’s executive officer, returning to the matter at hand.

“Yes and no,” Gabrielle said, leaning forward to make sure she was seen by all, including the pickup for the folks over on Tizona. “Went over some sensors logs and it looked like a transient micro-wormhole opened up inside the gas giant’s atmosphere, spat out the message and then disappeared. Only thing that makes sense that I’ve ever heard of is Project Pathfinder. Which was always a bit finicky and initially was subject to the whims of fate as to when you could send a message with it.”

Of course Beckett would have a one-way only way of sending messages across the galaxy instantaneously.

Yeah, can’t argue with orders if you can’t respond.

But the wormhole opened up inside a gas giant? Either they can’t aim for shit, or something threw off their aim.

We’ll figure out that particular mystery afterwards, yes?

Fine, fine!

“I remember reading about that at some point,” Tikva said with an idle flip of her hand. She didn’t need the specifics right now. Someone on Starbase Bravo had a way of sending out messages. Just a shame they’d dumped the Betazed system’s mail in a gas giant. “Not an option for us, is it?”

“Not without a pulsar, black hole or micro wormhole,” Gabrielle confirmed. “And we’d also need a considerable power supply as well as –”

“A host of other minor things,” Tikva added, cutting Gabrielle off. “I’d like you to look at keeping the sensors trained for these micro-wormholes. If one shows up, I want to send a data-burst back along it. Short and sweet, let Bravo Command know who is at Betazed and our current state of affairs.”

Gabrielle nodded vigorously. “I’ll get with Samantha and set it up.”

“Is that an option?” Nathan asked.

Gabrielle shrugged. “It’s a wormhole. It should go both ways. I think timing is going to be more of the issue. Spotting, identifying, transmitting. All before the wormhole closes. We’ll let the computer handle it all.”

“And in the meantime, Fleet Captain?” Santisteban asked. “Code Forty-Seven isn’t something command throws around. Especially Fourth Fleet.”

Tikva couldn’t restrain the chuckle, but refrained from a snort at least. “Captain, how long have you been in the centre seat?”

“Six months.”

She smiled as she locked eyes with the younger woman over the comm channel. “Admiral Beckett doesn’t send out coffee orders without making them code forty-seven.”

Exaggeration.

Is it though? Is it?

Santisteban got the joke at least, cracking a smile, her shoulders twitching at contained laughter. “Well, ma’am, an admiral’s coffee order is usually pretty important. But now I think about it, Fourth Fleet has seen a fair bit of shit the last few years. Guess code forty-seven has crossed your desk a few times.”

“Once or twice,” she confirmed. “I’m going to have to tell the prime minister. Probably the Cabinet of Matriarchs as well.”

“In person,” Nathan added.

“What’s that? A security concern? Captains can’t go on away missions? A first officer’s duty, you say?” Tikva teased, then shook her head. She got smiles from everyone for that at least. “Just had to find a silver lining.”

“Prefer to think of it as keeping you prepared for worst-case scenarios,” Nathan answered with his usual charm.

“In the meantime, Captain Santisteban, I think we’ll have to reconsider visits between ships. I’m ordering both ships to yellow alert. We’ll also reach out to planetary defence and see what contingency plans they have as well.”

“That sounds like a job for that strat ops officer of yours,” Santisteban said. “Naazim will liaise with Commander Gantzmann. Tizona will be ready, ma’am.”

“I have no doubt about that, Captain. In fact –”

“Bridge to the captain,” interrupted a voice from nowhere and everywhere. The warble to the words said ‘junior officer’ who had been hoping she’d get away with holding the bridge without incident. If just for five minutes. “Harpy 2 just called in. You’ll want to hear this.”

“Put it through,” she said, looking at Gabrielle. It was, after all, the science officer’s great idea to send them out.

“Harpy 2 to Atlantis. Possible bogeys in the slow zone. Repeat, possible bogeys in the slow zone. Returning to base.” Kelly Tabaaha’s voice was calm, collected. She was making sure she was heard and communicating her findings. But the barest sliver of worry laced her words. The same worry command officers knew they’d tried to disguise before. That they’d had to hear to many times.

“Roger that, Harpy 2,” Tikva said. “Send all information and make your way back to the hangar right now.”

“Understood, Atlantis,” Kelly answered before closing the channel.

“Well then. Code forty-seven and unknowns in the slow zone. Everyone happy if we jump to conclusions?” she asked, looking at her officers, then Santisteban and Al-Kamil. All of them were nodding in agreement.

Where’s a Klingon attack force when you need one? Or some Romulans? Hell, Mac’s Tholian girlfriend would be appreciated right now.

Uh, maybe that’s who is out there?

“Right.” She stood, hands on the table for emphasis. “We all have jobs to do. Let’s be about them.”

Nathan nodded, rising to his feet and heading straight for the door to the bridge. “Yellow alert!” he barked, triggering a chorus of klaxons throughout the ship. “This is not a drill!”