The USS Farragut was never a quiet ship, even at cruise. The Nebula-class vessel hummed with life, from the thrum of the warp core through the deck to the muted chatter of officers tending their stations.

That familiar background was pierced by the sharp tone of an incoming communication. Heads turned instinctively.

“Captain, incoming transmission,” the operations officer announced. “Origin is a Sheliak vessel, grid two-seven-one by five-zero-one. Tri-Border Junction.”

Ayres sighed audibly. “Of course it is.”

A voice filled the bridge, resonant and cold, the sound of stone grinding over stone. The translation matrix barely kept pace.

“By treaty, we are now requesting Federation assistance under Clause Five, Section Forty-Six, Subsection Fourteen. The crystalline arachnids must be removed from the first planet in the Rhontaka system. By treaty, this is an urgent request, under Clause Nine, Paragraph 1. We will await your response for twenty-four of your hours.”

The channel was then closed from the Sheliak side. It was a typical Sheliak communique in terms of what the Federation and Starfleet had received from them on their rare and infrequent encounters. The Sheliak were silicon based life forms that in a way resembled living mineral formations, though they did have identifiable heads and appendages, for lack of a better term of reference, they were rock people.

Ayres frowned at the empty screen. “They always did have a gift for pleasantries.”

Standing beside him, Aloran’s expression was unreadable, the faint emerald light of the display reflecting in his eyes. “Clause Five, Section Forty-Six,” he murmured. “The emergency assistance provision from the old Sheliak Treaty. It’s rarely invoked.”

“Usually when they want something they can’t be seen asking for,” the operations officer added quietly.

“Exactly,” Ayres said. “The Tholians and Sheliak are clawing at each other’s throats, and now we’re supposed to play exterminator?”

“Or mediator,” Aloran countered, voice calm. “Depending on what the ‘crystalline arachnids’ are after.” He looked toward the communications console. “Open a channel to command. We need legal and diplomatic support. Now.”

Twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes later, the Farragut’s briefing room looked more like the aftermath of a bureaucratic battle than a strategy session. PADDs and treaty fragments were scattered across the table, annotated and cross-referenced in a dozen hands.

Captain Ayres sat back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “So Command wants us to sound helpful, act neutral, and not move an inch closer to the border than we already are.”

Aloran stood opposite him, the picture of composure. “Essentially. We are to acknowledge the Sheliak’s request, offer assistance in principle, and reaffirm the Federation’s commitment to border stability.”

“And the so-called blockade?”

“Ah yes,” Aloran replied, with the faintest flicker of amusement. “The not-a-blockade blockade. We will ‘maintain a defensive posture consistent with Federation responsibilities under the Treaty of Armens.’ Which is to say, we keep doing exactly what we’ve been doing.”

Ayres gave a short, humourless chuckle. “Smoke and mirrors.”

“Diplomacy,” Aloran corrected, as if the words were interchangeable.

A moment later, the communications officer confirmed the channel was ready. Aloran stepped forward, smoothing his uniform as the blue shimmer of the Sheliak emblem filled the screen.

“Representatives of the Sheliak Corporate Authority,” he began, his voice measured and formal. “Your request under Clause Five, Section Forty-Six, Subsection Fourteen has been reviewed. We acknowledge the urgency of your situation and extend our good will in assisting your efforts to contain the crystalline arachnids within the Rhontaka system. In accordance with our mutual treaty obligations, Starfleet will establish a defensive perimeter along the Federation border to ensure no interference from external powers.”

The Sheliak representative responded after a pause that stretched long enough to be uncomfortable. When it spoke, the sound rumbled like distant thunder through gravel.

“The Federation fulfills its obligations. The Corporate Authority will hold you to your pledge.”

The transmission ended, and the bridge lights seemed a little colder for it.

Ayres exhaled slowly, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Well. They bought it. For now.”

“They accepted it,” Aloran replied. “There is a difference.”

He turned to the main viewer, where the faint amber outline of the border map glowed across the dark. The Rhontaka system pulsed in soft warning red, just beyond Federation space, a single flickering light that seemed to draw the eyes of everyone in the room.

The Farragut forwarded a quick SitRep to the rest of their little flotilla and back to command and for the next few moments everything went back to the status quo.