The chronometer set into the wall sludged its way through another endless minute as Persephone Post’s boot tapped out an impatient staccato rhythm against the deck. The thick pile of the dark carpet did little to mute the frantic, rabbit-like thumping and young Lieutenant Simmons twitching eye was now falling in line with the rhythm.

“Persephone, can you please stop?” He begged as he rubbed his brow.

“Stop what?” Post’s eyes remained locked on the doorway a short few metres down the corridor from their small bench. Its nondescript door appeared like any other on the myriad of passageways within Britannia’s vast bulk, save for the small hand-crafted metal sign that hung next to it.

‘The Radio Room’.

The team had been summoned to the strategic operations room almost half an hour ago, but only Rommigan and Akki had been permitted entry to the secure suite, whilst the other two had been relegated to waiting on the literal bench.

“The foot.” Simmons slid his small boot across the deck and over Post’s, silencing the frantic patting with its weight.

Post lept from the fabric bench, pointing in frustration down the corridor to the nondescript doorway.

“They’re only in there because T’Sunik & Hirisi is on Risa!” She cried in a childlike tone.

“Correct P. They are in charge of the team,” Simmons confirmed with a frustrated sigh. Post had yet to understand that her headstrong nature was a part of what held her back and continued to display it loudly and regularly. It was part of the reason he technically outranked her, despite being her junior by several years, both biologically and professionally.

“I don’t see why.” Post huffed, crossing her arms over her chest like a spoilt minor.

“Because they are next in line.” Simmons chided, it was a debate they had already conducted ad nauseum, yes it still remained Post’s seeming favourite subject of conversation. Why am I only an ensign? Why does nobody appreciate my talents? Why don’t they put me in charge?

“I could be next in-”

“-they don’t put ensigns in charge, certainly not on a ship like this.” Simmons could recite the conversation by rote now, the Harry Kim argument would be next.

“Harry Kim was an ensign,” Post pouted, her eyes still fixed on the doorway a few metres away.

“And the next time we’re stuck in the Delta quadrant, a lifetime away from the Federation , I promise we can make the case to the captain.” Simmons could feel the frustration radiating off her in waves, though he suspected the target was less her rank and more the ongoing lack of something interesting to get their teeth into. He sympathised; it was difficult to find ways to make your skill evident, especially on a ship whose crew numbered closer to a thousand souls than it did a hundred.

“I’d probably still be at the bottom of the food chain,” she sighed as she slumped back onto the bench, her fury abating slightly.

Simmons patted her thigh lightly; his nickname as ‘the Post-master’ amongst the crew was well earned. Apparently, his experience dancing around six sisters taught him some unexpected skills.

“You’re not at the bottom of the food chain. You’re assigned to the special operations team, you’ve got more clearance than some of the L-Ts, and you’ve got that cushy cabin on deck five.” Simmons feigned a minor offense. “I’m still down on deck twelve with Peterson.”

“Only because someone had to share with Akki, and she doesn’t need a bed,” Post murmured out the corner of her mouth, her ire continuing to deflate at his needling.

“Persephone, I think you’re being a little self-indulgent now.”

“I just want to a chance to prove myself,” she mewed, her attention finally slipping from the doorway and to the young man. “I want to do a really good job.”

“And you do.” Simmons trod carefully with his word choices, the bomb was almost defused. Now to cut the proverbial wire.

“But so does everyone else. It’s Starfleet, we’re all pretty awesome,” he concluded.

The balloon of Post’s frustrations that only seconds earlier had threatened to explode into a full tirade finally gave out the last of its air, collapsing into a shrivelled pile between them on the deck. Several seconds of silence passed as Post shuffled on the hard bench with embarrassment.

“I was being an arse again wasn’t I?” She whispered. “A big blue arse.”

“A little. Though you’ve been bigger.” Simmons offered her a kind smile. “Remember that time you had a go at Ensign Grisanick for taking your seat at last month’s concert?”

“He’s a bat who uses a hologram to move around the ship! He literally does not need to sit down!”

“You pulled the chair out from under him!”

“It’s not my fault they programmed his holographic interface with haptic feedback…”

The pair collapsed into laughter as the chronometer ticked over another minute, the drudgery of the minutes seemingly hastened by the rising mood.

“Care to share the joke?” Rommigan announced as the doorway to the radio room hissed closed, unnoticed at the end of the corridor. His golden skin, normally rippling with a low glow of warm energy, was dull and muted as a dark worry crossed his brow.

“Just remembering a postal moment,” Simmons replied with a smile.

“Grisanick?” Akki asked as she joined the trio of officers.

The pair on the bench nodded as their laughter quickly died down, the dark cloud the officers carried with them dampening their humour.

“I take it the news wasn’t good?” Simmons asked, as their light mood tumbled onto the deck next to the shrivelled pile of Post’s earlier frustration.

Rommigan shook his head minutely as he chewed his lip.

“It’s confirmed. The three civilian relay ships have gone dark. Risa space control logged their transponders going offline about thirty minutes before we noticed it.” Rommigan finally admitted.

“We are still unsure why it wasn’t flagged at the time,” Akki added, pre-emptively answering Post’s next question. “Risa operations are looking into it. In the meantime, we’re heading back to planetary orbit.”

“So we’re back to waiting.” Post kicked an imaginary tin can as she slumped against the bulkhead behind the bench.

“Not exactly. The Captain wants us to keep looking for the ships as best we can.” Akki chittered through her vocoder, its calm melodic voices at odds with her underlying nervousness. “They have disappeared from sensors completely.”

“Cloaking?” Simmons asked hesitantly. There were plenty of hostile groups that could lay their hands on cloaking devices and even the simplest could foil the aged sensors of Risa’s security network.

“Possibly, though with the current subspace interference, our sensors are woefully ineffective. Their methods of camouflage could be far simpler.” Akki’s antenna twitched nervously, a telltale sign of her worry that she had yet to master.

“We could use phaser fire to identify hidden objects, it’s been used before.” Rommigan mused, his mind beginning to pour over historical ships logs. “Or photon torpedoes set to high-energy bursts?”

“We can’t go filling the system with weapons fire,” Simmons scoffed with a frown.

“We might not have to…” Post had a glint of inspiration hanging at the corner of her eye.

“Care to share?” Simmons probed after several seconds of communal waiting whilst they watched the gears turn beneath Post’s hairless cranium.

With unexpected energy, Post lept to her feet and began marching down the corridor towards the main turbolifts in long confident strides.

“I’ll meet you in Holodeck 2,” she announced to the corridor as she strode away.

“And where are you going?” Rommigan called after her as she disappeared around a corner.

A blue orb appeared at the edge of the corridor as Post leaned back into view, her face crisscrossed with the resignation of having to be a responsible adult.

“The Belfry,” she announced before disappearing again back beyond view with an audible sigh.