The dining hall was all glass, wood, and the faint smell of engineered wildflowers. It was Janoor III’s way of saying “we’re fine now. Really.” The lake sparkled like it had been paid to do so, while Ferengi stalls flashed neon and questionable deals. Inside, Task Force 21’s captains and crews trickled in, pretending very hard that this was just a friendly dinner, and doing their best to put on whatever passed as their happy face.

Harold Haltinger, the planet’s governor, paced the far front of the room. A year ago, the voters in the wreckage and debris had chosen him.  In that year, so much had changed.  So much had been built.  Others had arrived to call Janoor III home.  He felt competing emotions pushing him.  Sadness at what they had lost.  Happiness at what they had gained and done in the year since.  The doors to the dining hall swung open, admitting a lone figure who walked down with purpose. The man’s eyes fixated on Haltinger and remained there until he stood across from the governor.  “Captain Edwin Wagner, Executive Officer for Task Force 21.”  They shook hands.

“It is refreshing to meet in person, Captain Wagner.  Welcome to Janoor III.”

The man wasted little time, “We forwarded you the reservation list.  We’ve reminded them of the expectations of behavior while on shore leave.  The USS Cardinal, USS Morro Bay, USS Ulysses, USS Unification, and USS Zephyr are all expected shortly.  My office aboard the USS Emden will remain your point of contact for all matters.”  He smiled, carefully.  “I don’t think you’ll need us much, honestly.”

Haltinger returned the careful smile.  “I am of the same mind, Captain.”  Wanger stood at attention and then walked off to find his seat at the head table.  Harold turned his attention to the door.  Who was next?

The doors of the dining hall opened to let in an energetic trio caught mid-conversation. Captain Raku Mobra stepped in first, flanked by Commander Smythe and Lieutenant Commander Zaa. Their voices were brightened with excitement as they spoke.

Ikastrul’s laughter bubbled as they entered. “I can’t believe they fit that many caffeine options into one waiting room. I needed it after waking up so early.”

“We did get here from Eldor late last night. Hopefully you got some sleep”, Captain Raku said as they made their way inside. “I liked the katheka. Who knew a drink with so much root could taste good?” The trio shared a chuckle as they stopped just inside the great glass and wood space.

“Are we early”, Commander Smythe asked in a whisper.

Captain Raku quickly shook his head and stepped forward. “Captain Raku Mobra of the Cardinal. We’re glad to be here.”

“Commander Marlon Smythe. I look forward to seeing what Janoor III has to offer.”

“Ikastrul Zaa, counselor and third officer. I’ve been promised at least one course of food before mediating any shore leave squabbles.” The officers moved to greet and shake hands with those present before taking their seats. Lt. Cmdr. M’kath had temporary command of the USS Cardinal in high orbit of the planet. The security chief was running the ship as second officer.

Captain Raku sat separately from the others where COs were gathering.

Shortly after, the doors swung open once again, and in came Captain Jetta Dowe with Lieutenant Commander Sylvester Mikhailov. Compared to her, Commander Mikhailov looked like he could pick up the table and throw it across the room with just one arm.

”Aaah, hello! Hello! Wonderful to be here. I brought some treats from Cait—we just came back from there.” Captain Dowe smiled and set down the platter onto the table, as Commander Mikhailov  simply gave a wave and crossed his arms.

”A pleasure to be here.” Is all the Kzin muttered. Captain Dowe just rolled her eyes.

”Don’t mind him, he’s upset his team lost in Roller Derby.” Captain Dowe glanced back at him. “Introductions, right! Captain Dowe of the USS Morro Bay. The man behind me is my right hand man and chief security and tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Sylvester Mikhailov. Its wonderful to meet you all.”

”We’ve been awfully busy these past few days.” Commander Mikhailov said as he pulled back at chair for his captain. “It’s nice to kick our feet up and have a lovely dinner.”

Fleet Captain James MacLeod stood just off the center of the hall, a glass of still water untouched in his hand. His eyes weren’t fixed on anything in particular. Still, nothing escaped his attention —the movement at the doors, clusters of local officials exchanging polite banter, the Ferengi delegate feigning cultural curiosity near the buffet line.

Captain Steven Tancredi, Ulysses Division Chief of Staff, stood a few steps to MacLeod’s left with his arms folded behind his back. He wasn’t scanning the room so much as reading it. Patterns. Formations. Tension. Tancredi didn’t like noise, especially not the kind dressed in diplomacy.

“You’re quiet,” he said without looking at MacLeod.

MacLeod’s reply came after a moment. “So is the room underneath it all.”

Tancredi nodded slightly. “Too many senior officers in one place. “Everyone’s playing cautious.”

“Good,” MacLeod said. “Let them.”

Behind them, Lieutenant Takashi, MacLeod’s aide-de-camp, shifted his weight subtly. He didn’t speak. He never did unless required. He stood at the prescribed distance with a PADD tucked beneath his arm, containing the evening’s schedule. His eyes stayed forward, but he was tracking the room better than either of them.

A movement at the far end of the space pulled MacLeod’s gaze. Captain Tala Roshan had arrived, moving through the crowd with a kind of controlled grace that didn’t draw attention; instead, it made people feel they should give her space. She exchanged quick nods with a few familiar faces but didn’t linger for long.

She found MacLeod without hesitation.

“Fleet Captain,” she said, coming to a natural stop beside him. “I assume we’re observing, not participating.”

MacLeod gave a slight tilt of the head. “For now.”

Roshan’s posture remained upright, but her voice dropped slightly. “You trust this to stay friendly?”

“I trust our ships are in orbit and the locals remember who kept them breathing.”

“Practical,” she said.

“Consistent,” MacLeod countered.

Captain Julia Barrett approached from across the room. She joined the other senior officers of Ulysses Division, standing just off MacLeod’s left while sweeping the room with quiet discernment.

“This feels like a funeral with slightly better food,” Barrett said.

“That’s diplomacy. Grief in dress uniform. Let’s find our seats.” MacLeod gave the faintest nod to his senior officers.

The last to arrive was Captain Samson Bradley of the Typhoon-class USS Zephyr, accompanied by his XO, Commander Augusto Vargas. They walked through the main doors and into the sitting area, finding their seats with a nod to the others gathered. Bradley had done his share of checking on those who had been gathered, as he was sure the gathered had done as well.  He was curious to see how getting each of these personalities together on one planet would go.

The Governor stood from his seat and said, “Welcome to Janoor III. Dinner is served.” He clapped his hands, and the dinner service began.