“No.”

The singular word killed the mood of the conference room and all eyes turned to the man who spoke it. Lieutenant Commander Evan Malcolm sat in his chair, arms crossed, a glass of water in front of himself in defiance to everyone else’s mug of coffee or tea. He was also in an intense stare down with the man at the head of the table.

“Let me rephrase that, Lieutenant Commander,” Captain Charles MacIntyre said, words sharp and clear. “I’m ordering you to work with Lieutenant Commander Lake to synthesize a small amount of benamite crystals in order to power a quantum slipstream drive.”

“No, sir.” Evan’s response was just as show stopping as his single word statement. “It is an unacceptable risk to the safety of this ship and crew to attempt to do so. I won’t do it.”

“Goddesses Evan, you’re an ass,” Sidda barked out. She was going to say more, but MacIntyre put out a hand, stopping his executive officer from saying anything more.

“Do you have an alternative proposal, then?” Mac asked his chief engineer.

Evan kept the staring contest going for a few seconds, then sighed, shaking his head. Not in defeat, but in disbelief at what he was about to say. “I propose, this is so stupid, we give Lieutenant Beckman’s plan a try.”

Willow, seated at the table purely because this entire conversation was about navigation and getting Republic somewhere actually useful, hadn’t been paying attention completely. Her awareness snapped back to the room at the mention of her name; her eyes whipped from looking into the middle distance out the conference room windows to Evan, blinking hard a few times.

“What?” Willow finally spluttered out.

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Catalina Saez, Republic’s fighter wing commander, chimed in. She carried the bravado of her profession but erred more on the side of acceptable behavioural and uniform standards. Which is to say she was slouching in her chair and never once showed any sign of wanting to kick her feet up on the table. At least not in front of the captain.

Mac didn’t say anything. A glance from him kept Sidda from saying anything, either. Evan’s attention swiveled from Mac to the young fighter pilot, who sat up straight, leaning forward over the table, elbow planted and a finger pointed right at Evan from directly across from him.

“You’ve been shitting on Beckman for what, months now, about her gift, and now you’re ready to accept it and rely on it?” Cat was barely avoiding laughing. “Hell, just two days ago you were absolutely pissed that her flying was going to damage your precious engines, despite her being the only one who can somehow see a way through this Blackout nonsense.”

“Lieutenant,” Mac said harshly.

Cat continued, ignoring the warning. “And then, when given a way to move around without relying on Golden Girl, you baulk because it might, possibly, maybe blow up the ship?”

“Golden girl?” Willow asked of no one, barely a whisper, as her eyes wide at the thought of an accidental nickname.

“Lieutenant,” Mac barked this time. “That’s enough.”

This time it got through to Cat, who looked like she was ready to turn on the captain, before relaxing and settling back into her seat. “Sorry Captain.”

“We’ll talk later about this,” Mac warned. Then he turned his attention back to his chief engineer. “There will be no more complaining about Lieutenant Beckman’s demands on the warp engines. I want maximum speed available at her request. When she’s off duty, we’ll maintain mid-range speeds unless maintenance requires us to stop. Understood?”

“Since the Lieutenant seems to be better able to sense the subspace distortions than the sensors, I would prefer we don’t proceed at warp speed when she is off duty.” Evan’s words, at face value, sounded like a request. But the tone he used made it clear he was telling his captain what was going to happen.

Mac wasn’t letting Evan get under his skin. “I will take your advice into consideration,” Mac answered. He gave Evan a chance for a rebuttal, or even just a snort of discontent, to which the chief engineer didn’t take up. “Now, Lieutenant Beckman, your idea. Please repeat it for Commander Sadovu.”

“Uh, well, pretty simple,” Willow shuttered, found her stride, then snapped up straight in her seat, pulling it forward to the table with her. “Radio Free Perseus snagged us some info from the Cardassians. Well, snagged, more like traded. We swapped maps with a few of their border patrol ships. Safe corridors, dead zones, areas that are just slow. And when I put it all together, I found two large corridors of free and clear space that could get us all the way to the Badlands.”

“And the catch is a chunk of space where neither we nor the Cardassians know the lay of the land?” Sidda asked. “But luckily for us, we have a smidgen of divinity aboard.”

The gentle jibe caught Willow, who couldn’t help the hand that snapped to the side of her head, fingers intermingling briefly with the bioluminescent laurel that had over the last few days become even more and more real. “I don’t know…”

“I’m teasing, Lieutenant,” Sidda said as Willow had trailed off. “So, we blitz along where we can, navigate the middle ground, then keep running. And when we hit Badlands, then what?”

“We should then be in a position to swing back to DS47 if need be. Or, ideally, patch into the subspace relay network and get a message to Betazed and Atlantis.” Mac’s confidence in the plan was the practised confidence of a captain. One with a plan and certainty it would work.

“Oh, that won’t be happening,” Willow said. And as all eyes turned on her, she resisted the urge to sink into her chair, away from all the officers looking at her. “Just, uh, well, the Blackout has engulfed Betazed. Completely.”

“Here we go,” Evan muttered, rolling his eyes. “Supernatural senses?”

“No,” Willow shot back. “The Cardassian data had a list of systems they know on the Federation side that are cut off. Attributed to a rather patchy FNN broadcast.”

“And we’re to trust the Cardassians?” Evan continued.

“They’ve no reason to lie about it,” Sidda countered. “And besides, they’d need to know we were specifically wanting to reach out to Betazed if they wanted to lie to us. And yes, before you go there, they could have just randomly picked it. But give me a break, Malcolm, and stop thinking everything is big and scary and out to kill us.”

It was Mac who noticed Willow’s faraway look again, like she’d left the room. “Lieutenant,” he said, directed at her. “What are you thinking?”

Willow blinked, snapping back to attention. “I can get us to Betazed.”

“How?” Mac asked, patiently.

“There’s a way. We can’t get there using warp drive. But there’s a way.” Willow stood up, walking down the length of the conference room, past Mac and to the large wall mounted monitor behind him. A few quick key taps, and she had a local star chart up. It was awash with purple hashing, red blemishes, and green belts, all detailing the different conditions of subspace.

“Golden girl,” Cat spoke up. “Use your words.”

“Here,” Willow said after looking over the chart for a few seconds. She pointed at a spot in space, middle of nowhere, right inside one of the purple hashed out areas. “Path to Betazed starts right here.”

Cat was up on her feet, joining Willow, examining the map. “Three lightyears. Best speed, including the slow zone, make it five hours?” Then she leaned into the map, checking something. “Cheeky.”

“What?” Mac asked, having swivelled around to face his junior officers and the map.

“Willow wants to take us to an Underspace opening from last year,” Cat said with a wicked smile. One she threw past Mac, down the length of the table, to Evan. “Want to reconsider the QSD?”

“Enough,” Mac growled. “Benamite refinement is, I have to agree, an incredibly risky proposition.” He stared at Willow for a moment, judging her. She stared back and then nodded twice, silently telling him what he wanted to hear. She could do this. “Last we knew, Betazed would only have had one ship in system, Atlantis. DS47 is big enough and ugly enough to take care of itself. We’ll head for Betazed, regroup with the Fleet Captain, then figure out where to go from there.”

“I’ll get on it now,” Sidda said, rising to her feet and heading for the bridge. “Lieutenant Beckman, get some rest. I’ll be seeing you in five hours, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Willow answered. Then nodded to Mac as he rose and departed as well. She ignored Lieutenant Malcolm as he slipped out.

“Right. Relax. Drinks are on me,” Cat said as she threw an arm over Willow’s shoulders.

Willow tried to shrug it off, to slip away from the other woman. “I’d rather not,” she said, trying to be polite. She still didn’t like Cat, or most of the fighter pilots. But she failed, the slightly stronger woman expertly guiding her towards the door out, away from the bridge.

“Nonsense! Besides, the gang have been dying to catch up with you,” Cat said. “And I’m not taking no for an answer!”