Most Klingon warships would be, at the very least, frustrated that they’d been essentially allocated to babysitting a bunch of Starfleet vessels on scientific duties. Where was the glory in watching sensor screens and sitting around for someone to come to you? The silence was maddening, deafening, to most Klingons.

But the Mok’tal never complained. Never deviated. For damn near a standard hour, now, the old Bird of Prey had orbited the squadron under cloak, silent, all eyes on the sensor screen. To this faithful old dog of House Koloth, duty and honor were one and the same- there was none to be gained by complaining to those who do not listen, and contrarily, much to be gained by keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

So when Hel’ka barked that she had something on the scope, Mok’tal was not filled with cries of joy for a crew spoiling for a fight- but a quieter, anticipatory satisfaction. Kurino rose wordlessly from her center chair and joined her first officer and mentor by the console, glaring at the four unidentified contacts off the Bird of Prey’s starboard bow.

“Hail our Starfleet friends,” the Klingon barked, voice controlled and sharp but with an eager readiness to her smile. “It seems the people of the Expanse have come to greet us like warriors after all.”

Standing watch over someone else’s archeological expedition in the exciting new Shackleton Expanse was not the kind of mission that Al-Batani’s commanding officer had in mind when they’d been summoned to Framheim some days ago, but that was where they found themselves now. Hypatia, under the command of one of his own, was now taking the lead and that meant he would have to play second fiddle for once, but that was ok. After several months in Changeling captivity and even longer under the rehabilitation teams at Starfleet Medical, Vasoch Gor was just happy to be back at all. And not only back, but in command of his own ship for the first time since those early days on Hathaway, before the Dominion conflict, before the devastation of Frontier Day.

“Sometimes I find it hard to believe we’re here,” he whispered, staring from the ready room window, taking in the sights of the other ships of the squadron, each in close formation, each as spectacular as the day they were created.

Commander Tharia sh’Elas remained silent, cold. She knew exactly what he meant and whilst she agreed with him, she would let him have his moment of quiet reflection. She was the only other person on any ship in the near vicinity to have experienced what he had, and she too found it hard to imagine they would be in this position.

Turning from the window, the diminutive, pig-like creature looked across the desk at his Andorian XO. “Do you think it will ever get easier?” He asked her.

“I have to hope so,” Tharia nodded slowly, lips pursed as she gave it some consideration. “If it doesn’t, why did we even bother?”

Vasoch nodded slowly. Talking with Tharia about their shared experiences always felt more productive and supportive than months talking to therapists and commanders looking for tactical insights that would never come. It was those shared experiences that had caused him to reach out and offer the commander the role as his able deputy and second in command.

They didn’t have any time to talk it through further, the comm channel in the ready room summoning both senior officers to the bridge. Upon entering the command centre, a yellow-clad Bajoran rose from the captain’s chair and stepped aside.

“Mok’tal is hailing us,” Commander Peri advised, then returned to her station at the tactical wall.

“Maybe Kurino’s finally got bored and wants to join in the dig,” Tharia shrugged, moving behind the captain to take her seat to his right, drawing a laugh from the Tellarite.

“Let’s find out what the Klingons want,” For ordered with a nod towards Ops, “put Kurino on screen.”

“She’s requesting all commands, Captain…”

The laugh that had accompanied his original request suddenly dissipated at the understanding that their Klingon counterpart needed to speak to everyone, not just Al-Batani.

“Connect the squadron commanders,” his tone more serious than before.”

Across the squadron’s viewscreens came the dull and dark view of Mok’tal‘s bridge- Kurino sitting cross-legged in the center seat, one hand mindlessly twirling one of her mek’leths.

“Hypatia Squadron, this is Mok’tal,” she began, conscious enough to try and tone down the anticipation in her voice. “We have four contacts, likely of the Draxan Imperium, approaching your location from your port beam at low warp, estimated ETA about ten of your standard minutes. We are turning now to follow under cloak, but be advised- their weapons and shields are powered up. I do not believe they are here to share pleasantries and diplomatic invitations. We will keep you updated. Mok’tal out.”

Just like that, Kurino’s bombshell had been delivered and Starfleet were left to deal with the consequences. Whilst the tactical officer inside her screamed to raise shields and head to confront this potential foe in order to shield their people on the surface, the commander she had become won out as the Bajoran sat on the edge of her seat, hands grasped on the arm of her chair. Before she could chime in though, the Tellarite on the screen folded his arms defiantly.

“I know what you are going to say,” he wrinkled his snout, “so I’ll save you the bother. Commander Song, take Wasp and patrol the border. Be the visible presence compared to Mok’tal’s cloak and dagger approach. Do not engage.”

“Don’t need to tell us twice.” She may have been doing the strange oddity of a scientific survey, but Wasp was a combat vessel first and foremost- greeting angry neighbors was exactly up her alleyway. The little escort’s shields dropped for a moment, just long enough to extract her little three-person expedition, and then she spun on her metaphorical heel and punched the throttle, arcing past Al-Batani‘s blunt prow and rocketing off towards the newcomers.

“And the rest of us?” Elliot Mercer of Cardenas asked, happy to defer to the Tellarite on this occasion.

“We remain and keep the expedition on track, but we provide means of escape should the situation deteriorate,” Noli interrupted the Tellarite this time, causing the older man to raise an eyebrow.

“You really have changed,” Vasoch grinned, “but Noli is right. Business as usual until the situation changes. At such a time, Al-Batani will support Wasp as required, whilst Cardenas and Hypatia evacuate the science teams.”

Watching the various commanders from the squadron disappear from the viewscreen, Noli looked across to her XO. “And just like that, the mission changes…” she sighed.

Darek scowled at the empty screen. “Who put Gor in command?”

“Regulation 191, article 14,” Noli smirked, raising a brow. “In a combat situation involving more than one ship, command falls to the vessel with tactical superiority, should there not be a higher ranking officer present. The threat of the Drakan forces makes this a tactical scenario and command falls to Al-Batani in the absence of Fleet Captain Nazir and an appointed flagship.”

“You did your research,” Prenar laughed, shaking his head, making his way to his feet.

“What kind of commander would I be if I wasn’t prepared for all eventualities?” the rhetorical question hung in the air, a silent appreciation between the two marking how far they had come as a team in such a short space of time.

“I’ll alert the away teams,” Prenar pre-empted the orders of his captain, taking his leave and vacating the command pit to converse with Lieutenant Nes at tactical.

Relaxing into her command chair once more, the Bajoran blonde watched the starships on the screen shift position, a subtle reflection of the change in readiness for whatever might come. And for once, she was thankful to be on the bridge of a starship that meant she didn’t have to make such judgement calls.

And that was a sign of how far she had come.