Terax looked up from the records he’d been poring over in the sanctity of his office, isolated from the majority of sickbay. Other doctors, nurses and corpsman were going about their affairs, somewhat more frantic than normal. All dancing to the tune he’d assigned them.

Commander Kennedy had briefed him after the unexpected pronouncement of yellow alert. That conflict was likely in just over half a day. That the numbers didn’t look favourable to Atlantis. And so he’d done what any good doctor would do – he prepared. More precisely, he made others prepare while he dealt with other matters.

Atlantis had a large medical facility after all, but normally it was shuttered, unneeded for the minutiae of day-to-day affairs aboard ship. Like today, they usually had time to prepare and open the other bays. Check stock levels, prepare triage kits, pull medicines out of deep storage, all of it ready for the inevitability of wounded coming through the doors.

And Terax was luxuriating in the loftiness of his rank and position as chief medical officer by hiding in his office, casting his gaze through windows every so often to keep his underlings working. But as he watched for a moment, a senior nurse berating one of the junior doctors about proper stocking of a crash cart, he missed the indicator light on his computer.

The polite little notification of an incoming call must have blinked a handful of times before graduating to a civil little chime, gently asking for his attention.

Eyes fell back down, reading the notification. An incoming communique from the Meto Institute. Specifically, from that weaselly little administrator, Enab Von. He waited, counted to five very slowly and only then reached out for the screen, tapping at the accept button with all the trepidation he reserved for touching smile moulds.

“Doctor Terax,” Von said, that same fake gracious smile on his face that he’d presented every single time Terax and the Fleet Captain had gone to request a meeting, then to plead their case and arriving at near-demanding to be seen. That hadn’t been the most professional moment of Terax’s career, but Von had blinked when he finally called security in after five minutes.

“What?” he growled, crossing his outer arms and wrapping his inner around himself. Most other species in the galaxy looked so awkward crossing their arms, lacking that third arm expressiveness of being relaxed or wrapped to show their true emotional state. It was hard to tell anger or boredom amongst most of the crew.

“I have good news, Doctor,” Von continued, his tone like a Ferengi used-shuttle merchant. “A slot in Doctor Meto’s schedule has opened up for tomorrow morning. He’s reviewing the Fleet Captain’s medical records you forwarded right now and looks forward to meeting the Fleet Captain first thing tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding me,” Terax said angrily, shaking his head. Von wasn’t asking if they wanted the slot, he was telling Terax when to show up. First thing tomorrow morning in the city where the Meto Institute was based was roughly ten hours from now. There would be a mere handful of hours left before the unknown force arrived in system. And he shared in the pessimism of the senior staff that it wasn’t a relief force, or some wayward allies coming to help them.

“Why would I do that, Doctor Terax?” Von asked cheerfully. “Regrettably, Doctor Meto’s schedule is always very busy. That I was able to find some time for him to review your notes and an appointment slot is a feat of considerable effort. I’m afraid that if this is unacceptable to you and the captain, it could be another month, maybe two, before I can find some time for you.”

“Listen here. I know how busy your institute is. I know how busy Meto is. Don’t give me this run around you little –”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Terax,” Von said, cutting him off. “I have clients I need to meet with. We look forward to seeing Captain Theodoras in the morning.”

“It’s Fleet Captain, you little –” And the channel was closed off by Von, still wearing that smug little smile as his image blinked out of existence on Terax’s computer screen.

Before he could disappear too far down the spiral of anger threatening him, Terax was confronted by his door chime going off and a polite wave from the captain’s yeoman through the glass beside it. Soon enough, Fightmaster had entered his domain, standing at rest in front of Terax’s desk as the doctor brooded in his chair.

“What?”

Fightmaster nodded respectfully and then set a padd down at the edge of the desk. “I need some assistance with confirming a minor detail. I would ask the Fleet Captain herself, but I fear it is a sensitive matter for her and wish to minimise the amount of discomfort that maybe coming her way shortly.”

“Go on,” Terax said. Von had been sleazy and slimy. Fightmaster was exactly what he appeared to be. It was honestly refreshing to speak with him after Von. The man was professional, often direct, but polite as well.

“I need to confirm a name on the Fleet Captain’s medical records. I don’t have access, so I have come to you, sir. Could you confirm for me her maternal grandmother’s name?”

He blinked at Fightmaster, twice even. The yeoman was right about the medical records, but surely he had access to other resources to answer his question. But Fightmaster had come here to ask. Which meant there was indeed another shoe to drop. And probably a third one as well.

There was always a third shoe to drop.

“Hmpf,” he intoned, tapping away at his computer in quick order, bringing up files and submitting his hand for scans to verify he was who he said he was. And the digital minion that was the ship’s computer finally delivered what Fightmaster wanted to him. “Nule Asimi. Matriarch of the Ninth House of Betazed. Bearer of the Scepter of Vrinn.”

Fightmaster nodded attentively, solemnly even. Then reached for the padd he’d set down, tapped twice at the screen, read the contents once before spinning it and gently sliding it across the desk. “Nule Asimi, patron of the Meto Institute and chair of the Board of Directors. And a key supporter amongst the matriarchs for Prime Minister Ezea and her government.”

“How’d you find this out?” Terax demanded, grabbing the padd to confirm Fightmaster’s accusation. Well sourced new articles, communiques with planetary officials and all topped off by documentation with the seal of Betazed’s government on it. “Half of this is private records. I couldn’t even figure out who was behind the Institute. But you could?”

“Some people, Doctor, do not respond to your direct and honest manner,” Fightmaster answered. And there was the sliminess he hated of politicians and administrators creeping in. But it never seemed to stick around the yeoman for long. “And in other cases, aspects of Betazed’s governmental computer systems are in dire need of security overhauls.”

“And the rest?” he asked Fightmaster, waving the padd at the yeoman before setting it down and sliding it back.

“I’m not at liberty to divulge how I acquired it,” Fightmaster answered, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“She’s going to be pissed,” Terax said, after thinking for nearly a minute in silence.

“I suspected there was some political interference going on. I fear, if I had looked into this properly sooner, we could have found a route to the Meto Institute earlier as well. Unfortunately, it looks like it would be through her family here on Betazed.”

“Then she’s going to be really pissed about the call I took before you came in.” Terax shook his head as Fightmaster tilted his head with the unspoken question. “The Meto Institute has an opening and can see her first thing tomorrow when they open their doors.”

“A trap?”

“With what you have here, a trap,” Terax confirmed, saluting the padd with his chin. “Well Lieutenant, I wish you luck in delivering this news to the Fleet Captain. Would you like me to convey any last words to,” he snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “W’a’le’ki?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Fightmaster answered with a slight nod. “Thank you, Doctor, for confirming that detail. Knowing how the Fleet Captain prefers to set traps off by walking into them, would you be joining us tomorrow morning?”

Terax felt the grin on his own face start. The slight snarl at the idea of watching Enab Von finally get what was coming to him. He stopped himself from chuckling maniacally though.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I think I shall. I think I shall most definitely come along.”