While no stranger to crowded places full of exotic lifeforms, Deep Space Nine was more than Corvin ever could have anticipated. The station was teeming with all walks of life, and the main concourse was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder full at this time of ship's day. His eyes were still heavy from a lack of meaningful sleep, but he managed to keep pace with the group in front of him, taking in the sights and sounds of the station.
The brief sleep he did manage prior to coming ashore had been wrought with grief, as he finally subconsciously processed the pain of losing his homeworld in what had only been a matter of days for him. Equally concerning to him had been the loss of nearly five years back home, and finding out that every single one of his old Blue Squadron comrades had died except Deek and one other, the Bothan Dy'yr Kry'sak, who had since been transferred to an A-wing squadron. The Bothan had been among the dozen Pathfinders sent through the wormhole to find him, and was one of the first to console him after learning of Alderaan's demise. Dy'yr, one of the first non-humans to join the Rebellion, had a hot hand in an X-wing, and Corvin thought the speed and maneuverability of the new A-wing interceptors fit him like a glove. The stress of almost five years of combat missions had slightly dulled the bluish tint of his silver fur, but not his tenacity and sharp wit. Dy'yr had been invited, along with Deek and Corvin, to be given a tour of Deep Space Nine from Captain Garrett and members of his bridge crew. Miles, Rick, Commander Palmer and Lieutenant Mendon accompanied the Captain and his guests as they strolled the main concourse. The Captain had spent the last few hours back and forth between various sections of the station and his own ship, coordinating repair teams and tracking down what supplies he could, to shorten the list he would present to Captain Sisko later in the day. His knee still ached, but he found the youthful energy of his extended shore party made him forget all about his injuries, for the most part.
"There's more people than I expected, but this is certainly nicer than most of the space stations I've had to live on," Deek said. "A poorly-run Empress- class station over Malastare doesn't hold a candle to this gem."
"That place was the worst," Dy'yr agreed with a soft growl. "Kriffing station manager never turned the heat on once. Davik nearly lost his toes to frostbite, remember?" he added, chuckling to himself.
"So he claimed!" laughed Corvin. "Davik had the cold tolerance of a ronto on Ando Prime!" The three pilots all laughed together.
"You missed out on our quaint, cold little vacation on Hoth, Corvin," Dy'yr put in. "That ice ball made Ando look like a resort world. Davik's blood would have frozen solid there." They all laughed again, but then in unison, sobered. Captain Garrett stopped the group, and put a comforting hand on Corvin's shoulder.
"Davik was your friend, wasn't he? The one who died at Malastare?"
Corvin nodded, choking back a lump in his throat. "Yes," he croaked out. Garrett looked over the pilot's shoulder and smiled.
"Well, then let's drink to his memory." The Captain spun Corvin around and waved his other hand at the bright, bustling entrance to a cantina, by the name of "Quark's." Dy'yr flashed a sharp-toothed predator's grin, and Deek and Corvin nodded in agreement.
"Just be aware, the proprietor may be a little... eccentric. Just don't take anything he says at face value and you'll be fine." Commander Palmer added as she strode past the pilots and stepped into the bar.
"Captain, not that I'm one to shy away from social events, but I was hoping to get a chance to visit with some of my old Enterprise shipmates." Mendon, who had been rather quiet during the first portion of the tour, stood on the opposite side of the threshold. "So with your permission..."
"Permission granted, Mendon. Give Worf and O'Brien my regards," The Captain motioned down the concourse and Mendon waved a dual-thumbed hand at the group as he separated and went on his way.
The inside of Quark's was comfortably lit, albeit a little on the dim side. The long, sterling bar ran along the wall to their right as they entered, with a massive, long-faced dower alien with a bald head and large jowls occupying the seat closest to the door. The alien turned its head to them as the newcomers entered, nodding sternly before turning back towards the bar. The rest of the bar patrons paid the humans little mind, though Dy'yr drew several stares, still able to stand out amongst the menagerie of alien life seated at tables or leaning against bulkheads. Dy'yr smiled, and breathed out a low, growling laugh.
"You'd think these people had never seen a Bothan before."
"Ah, well if it isn't the Captain of the good ship Osiris and his command staff!" an overly friendly, over-eager voice cut through the din of conversation, and a short, lavishly-dressed alien with dull brown-orange skin, giant protruding ears whose lobes were connected to his brow-lines, and a ridged, bulbous nose sifted his way through the crowd. He opened his arms in a friendly and welcoming gesture, flashing crooked, pointy teeth as he smiled. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Nonetheless, welcome back to Quark's!"
"It's Orion, Quark," Garrett corrected the bartender, proprietor, and namesake of the cantina.
"Yes, yes, of course, my mistake, hoo-man," Quark partially bowed, parting his hands a little further. "My sincere apologies, Captain. I see you've brought guests with you this time." Quark eyed Corvin, Deek and Dy'yr in turn. "Interesting bunch. They don't look Starfleet... well, except maybe the fuzzy one." Quark cocked his head in Dy'yr's direction, prompting a mild snarl from the Bothan.
"I jest, of course," Quark continued, straightening up and smoothing the lines of his jacket. "All forms of life- and currency- are welcome here at Quark's!" He chortled to himself as he passed his gaze over the group, his smile inviting, but his eyes glinting like a seasoned conman choosing a mark.
"Do you take Imperial credits? That's all we've got," Corvin said sardonically, holding up a couple of the rectangular coins for Quark to see. The bartender hesitated for only a moment.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure which Empire you could be referring to. But nevertheless, I'm sure we can work out some sort of fair exchange rate for-"
"Don't worry, Quark. We'll take care of the bill today," Commander Palmer cut the Ferengi off before he could get any further along his train of thought. She drew an orange velvet pouch from a pocket of her uniform, produced a pair of golden metal strips from it and held them up for Quark's examination, shaking the clutch to jingle the rest of the contents inside. "Gold-pressed latinum. No exchange rate needed, correct?"
Quark's smile broadened at the sight of the tokens glittering in the bar's light. "Of course, of course! Wonderful! Shall I find you a table, then?" Garrett and Palmer nodded, and Quark whisked them away to a quiet booth in the back corner of the bar, and he produced a datapad from the folds of his elaborately patterned jacket.
"Now then, what can I get you fine folks to drink this afternoon?" He asked.
"We'd like to honor one of our fallen comrades," Corvin said. "Do you have anything like whiskey, do you know what that is?"
Quark bellowed with laughter and braced himself against the booth. "Oh, that is rich, rich indeed, Captain Gary! Where did you find these hoo-mans?!"
The Captain merely stared daggers at the Ferengi barkeep. "First thing: it's Captain Garrett. Second thing: our esteemed guests have come a great distance to be here, and they are not quite so familiar with things we may or may not share with them here in the Alpha Quadrant. Thirdly: do you always laugh at your guests when they tell you they are mourning?" He fixed Quark with a stone gaze, and the bartender glanced around the table, reading their sour expressions, his own facade wavering at Dy'yr's subtle snarl and the rippling of his fur. Quark then smiled apologetically, parting his hands.
"Of- of course not, Captain. I meant no offense. Please accept my sincerest apologies, gentlemen. I'm... sorry for your loss." Quark stammered, seeming to struggle to get the last bit out, then he continued. "Rest assured, my esteemed patrons, that the fine art of whiskey distillation is indeed practiced here by many cultures. To show there is no ill will, I happen to have several bottles of a rather lovely Aldebaran variety in my private reserves. Shall I fetch one for you?"
The pilots shared a look at each other, then nodded. "That sounds acceptable. Thank you." Deek responded.
"I live to serve, my friends. One moment, please." Quark swept himself away from the table, disappearing into the crowd, leaving the seven of them alone in the spacious booth.
"Well, I can't say I've ever seen Quark sweat like that before. Well played, sir," Rick clapped his Captain on the shoulder. They shared a laugh together, and then made small talk for a minute or two before Quark returned with a tall, narrow bottle filled with a vibrant green liquid, and enough crystalline blue tumblers for everyone at the table.
"As promised, Aldebaran whiskey. And a rare 2338 vintage at that. Not many bottles like this still kicking around the Quadrant," Quark proclaimed with a self-indulgent chuckle, holding the bottle before him label facing out, the bottom held in his left palm as he supported the neck with the crook of his right thumb and forefinger. He displayed the bottle to everyone at the table, then gingerly set it down in the center.
"Now then," he continued, the datapad suddenly in his hands again, "for the bottle of whiskey, plus priority seating fees and the tableside bottle service surcharge, I believe the bill will run you-"
"Hold on a second, Quark," Garrett cut him off. "You offended my friends, and insulted them as patrons. I should think in light of this, you would consider waiving any additional fees." He said, placing his hands firmly on the table. He held up one hand to forestall a protest from the Ferengi. "And if the service we receive is exceptional from here on out..." he motioned to his First Officer seated at his left.
"I could be persuaded to leave a very generous gratuity for said service. You'll find us to be nothing short of exceptional patrons, of course." She finished the Captain's sentence, offering Quark a warm, friendly smile, letting her hand trace lines across the script engraved on the golden ingot of latinum lying in front of her on the table. Quark began to open his mouth as if to offer protest anyway, then pondered to himself, and his jaw snapped closed. They watched with amusement as he forced a cheerful smile back on to his face.
"Rule of Acquisition Fifty-Seven:" Quark began, with forced enthusiasm. "Good customers are as rare as latinum: Treasure them. Very well, Captain. I'll give you a few minutes to... to toast your dead, then I shall return." Quark began to back away from the table, bowing nobly. "My condolences, and my apologies once again. Please don't hesitate to ask for anything else." With that, Quark spun on his heel and stormed back into the bustling bar.
"I've never seen Quark that agreeable before," Miles said with a whistle as he reached for the bottle of green whiskey and uncorked it.
"That was agreeable?!" Deek marveled. "I'd hate to see him on a bad day." He chuckled and began to pass around the tumblers of the verdant liquor as Corvin poured everyone a portion.
"I'm more surprised at how generous you are with other people's money, Captain," Dy'yr commented, gesturing with his glass to the ingot in front of Commander Palmer. "Especially a subordinate. Is that normal?"
Garrett laughed. "Yes and no, Mr. Kry'sak. See, most of the Federation races no longer have any need of currency in most of our day-to-day affairs. The Ferengi are, at present, not members of the Federation. A currency-driven economy is alive and well in their territory, and it may come as no surprise that the acquisition of wealth is the driving force of their existence and culture. We have no need for the latinum ourselves except when dealing with them, so the Commander and I have learned it's better to play Quark's game this way."
"I won a bunch of the stuff playing dom-jot on our last stop here, just before... well, just before we met you, Mr. Corvin." She leaned over and smiled at the X-wing pilot. She gestured with her glass to a game table where the hulking alien that had greeted them at the door was stooped over, aiming a long polymer rod braced in the crook of his left hand at a ball just beyond the tip of the rod. He struck the ball, and the resounding crack as the first ball collided with a colored one across the table cut through the din of the crowd, and while they couldn't see what happened, the large alien threw his hands up and cheered, along with about half of the onlookers watching the game. He slapped one of the bystanders on the back and raised his glass, cheering again.
"Just don't let Morn over there talk you into a game. He'll take you to the cleaners." She added. Corvin took another moment to look around the cantina and observe some of the other table games being played. A pair of pointy-eared Vulcans sat in a secluded corner, a sphere constructed of tiny metal rods between them. The object of that game seemed to be to construct a pattern based on the opposing player's moves. Corvin watched them, and it almost seemed mathematical in nature, though he couldn't quite comprehend how the game would be won or lost. At the other end of the bar, several species came together at a green felt-covered table passing pieces of flimsi between each other. He guessed it was a card game of some sorts, which got him wondering if he might teach the Orion crew how to play sabaac if they found the time. Past the dom-jot table, a human and an Andorian took turns throwing darts at a target board set up on a wall. And not far from that, a group of Tellerites- short, bearded aliens with large nostrils- were gathered around a table that had spinning wheels with Ferengi script built into the recess at its center. Two Ferengi appeared to control the game table, with the Tellerites simply betting on the outcome of the wheel spins. Corvin watched as one of the aliens threw his hands up in disgust, having apparently lost a rather large sum of money, a fact evidenced in turn by the Ferengi running the game smiling broadly, and scooping up what appeared to be a sizable pile of latinum away from the angry, stout alien. He decided that trying his own hand at gambling in this place was probably not an endeavor that would end well for him.
Once everyone had a portion of the whiskey, they all raised their glasses in unison, almost meeting in the center of the table.
"To Davik," Captain Garrett said, hefting his glass a little higher.
"To all whom we've lost," Corvin amended. "May they be one with the Force," he continued, clinking his glass to the Captain's, prompting the rest of the table to join them.
"To all whom we've lost." they all responded at once, then lowered their glasses and drank. Corvin let the sweet, spicy whiskey pool on his tongue for a minute, letting the vibrant bouquet open his sinuses and slightly numb his tongue before swallowing. The whiskey burned its way down his throat into his belly, and he felt the warmth in his gut.
"Well, it's no Whyren's Reserve," he mused, turning the blue crystalline glass in the light and watching it play over the whiskey. "But that's some good stuff."
"Just go easy. This'll strip the paint off of bulkheads with enough time." Garrett set his own tumbler down and leaned back against the booth. Each person at the table sipped their whiskey for a minute more, and moments later, Quark arrived back at their table, with a small appetizer platter that gave off a fragrant, spicy aroma. He set it down in the center of the table, compliments of the house, though Commander Palmer made sure to slide a generous stack of the latinum strips towards the end of the table, which disappeared into the Ferengi's pocket almost immediately. With the gratuity secured, Quark retreated back to the bar to assist a pair of new arrivals to the cantina.
"So tell me," the Captain spoke up after a moment, eyeing his chief engineer and helmsman. "How did that little project of yours in the holodeck go? That was quite a whirlwind of activity you had going on in there."
Rick sat up straight in his seat, letting the strip of meat he had plucked from the plate of food dangle from his fork centimeters from his lips. "How'd you hear about that?"
"I stopped by the Holodeck just before we made spacedock, but the lot of you were so enraptured with your work you didn't notice me come in. I couldn't quite tell what you were working on, but it seems like your fighter will be getting quite the overhaul." He pointed with his glass at Corvin.
"It's no big deal," Rick said, chewing on the bite of food, before throwing back the rest of his whiskey and hissing contentedly between his teeth. "We've only just figured out a way to safely marry two completely different methods of faster-than-light travel, fit it into a two cubic meter steel coffin, strap laser cannons and a missile launcher to it, and send it out into battle without becoming a flying antimatter/proton bomb."
"No small feat, indeed," Dy'yr whistled softly, and raised his glass to the engineer.
"It's just theoretical at the moment, but our simulations worked out, it should be completely safe to implement in earnest." Miles interjected before draining his own glass. "We actually need to talk to Captain Sisko to see if there's any material he can spare, to save our heavy replicators some work."
"Fair enough. Speak of the devil, I believe that moment may come sooner than I thought." Garrett motioned with his glass at the entryway of the bar, and the group noticed Mendon returning with a large, dark-skinned man in tow. The newcomer was nearly a head and a half taller than the Benzite, with an oversized ridged forehead. His jet-black hair was drawn back in a short ponytail, and he sported a neatly trimmed goatee. Over his black and maroon Starfleet tunic, he wore a shining silver balderich that ran from his right shoulder to his left hip, two silver medals pinned to the upper right portion. His iron gaze was offset only by the lukewarm smile he offered the group as he and Mendon approached.
"Captain Garrett, welcome back to Deep Space Nine." The large man stood before the table, his stern poise giving the unmistakable aura of a warrior. "I am certain you've heard this many times today, but we were not expecting the Orion to return so soon."
"A pleasure to see you, as always, Commander." Garrett nodded. "We had a few unexpected guests drop in. Some forced us to seek repairs, but this bunch here has been much more helpful." The Captain motioned to the fighter pilots seated next to him. "May I present: Lieutenant Darick Corvin, Commander Deek Solgan, and Flight Officer Dy'yr Kry'sak. They're... not from around here."
The large man eyed the two humans and one alien he did not recognize. Corvin swallowed hard at the intimidating presence the big man cut. But as Corvin winced slightly, the giant's smile warmed, as he bowed his crested head slightly at the newcomers. "Greetings. I am Worf, son of Mogh," he introduced himself. "I have heard from Lieutenant Mendon that the three of you are combat pilots," he said, deepening his bow. "Among my people, warriors are held in the highest esteem." Worf rose from his bow. "May your foes be strong enough to keep you sharp."
"You're a Klingon, aren't you?" Dy'yr asked.
"Correct." Worf responded.
"We had an encounter with some of your people within seconds of arriving in your galaxy." The Bothan said, a sardonic grin on his face. He raised his glass to the Klingon, and threw back the remainder of its contents. "Almost fought them, but another Federation ship was able to talk them down."
Worf grinned as well. "It would have been a glorious battle, to be certain." He then turned his attention back to the commanding officers. "I am sorry to interrupt, Captain Garrett, but Captain Sisko is ready to see you now. If you and Commander Palmer would like, I will escort you to his office now."
"Much obliged, Commander." Garrett said, collecting his datapad, and he sidled his way out of the booth with his First Officer. "Please, lead on. Rick, you'd better come as well, if you want to requisition anything for that project of yours. Mr. Mendon, I'm sure you're more than welcome to take our place here." Garrett motioned to the seat he had just vacated, and Mendon sat down.
"It would be my genuine pleasure, Captain." Mendon said, his filtration device pumping out another burst of air more suited to his lungs as he eased into the booth.
"Well then, lead on, Mr. Worf." Garrett motioned towards the bar's exit, and the Klingon nodded in agreement. Rick slid out of the booth next, and as Commander Palmer vacated her seat, she turned and deposited the various denominations of latinum on the table.
"Just in case you gentlemen need it. Take care." She said, her warm smile putting them all at ease. As the senior officers left, Corvin glanced at the pile of money, back at his pilot friends, and smiled broadly.
"Dy'yr, you still keep a sabaac deck close to your heart?" he asked, the smile twisting into a wry grin. The Bothan showed his own toothy grin again, producing the deck from an interior breast pocket of his Rebel flight jacket without a word.
"Now then, Mr. Chase, Mr. Mendon: Since you and your comrades have been so generous in showing us the delights of your galaxy, I think it's time we reciprocate with something from our side of the universe." He took the deck from Dy'yr and began to shuffle it. "And as long as we have a big pile of cash sitting here..."
/
"All things considered, I suppose we should take what we can get." Rick frowned at the datapad in his hands as he, Captain Garrett, Commander Palmer and Worf left Sisko's office. The meeting had gone on for well over an hour, as the commander of Deep Space Nine detailed plans to draw out Admiral Karath's remaining fleet, as well as negotiating over supplies Rick needed for the X-wing conversion project. On the former front, Sisko could offer little more than sympathy and two spare ships, stationed near the Imperial's last known location. The latter business had gone much smoother, with Rick getting just about everything they needed to safely work on Corvin's X-wing.
DS9's main concourse was noticeably less populated than it had been earlier in the day, with the four of them able to walk comfortably side-by-side without bumping into other pedestrians. They kept their pace slow but constant, backtracking to Quark's to pick up the rest of their people.
"It's honestly more than I thought we were going to get," The Captain said, plucking the datapad from Rick's hand and going over it once or twice himself. "Like Ben said, between the Cardassians and the Voyager search, there's not too many ships that can be spared."
Orion's chief engineer huffed. "Having a Galaxy- class in our corner can't hurt, to be certain, but that old Ambassador- class relic? She's held together with paint and a prayer."
"It at least allows us to match forces with Karath, plus you're forgetting about our friends on the Valor." Garrett replied.
"Still, we're not exactly matching him with warship-caliber vessels. Those Star Destroyers seem built entirely for combat."
"If it is warships you're after, you'd be better off seeking Klingon assistance." Worf said with a brief chuckle.
"You think Qo'Nos would actually send anything to help us?" Palmer retorted. Worf merely furrowed his brow.
"The way you've described them, this... Empire seems devoid of honor. My people would likely take great joy in destroying them." He frowned slightly. "However, the Klingons have their own problems, I think convincing them to assist may be difficult."
"Still, it could be worth a try if we cross paths with them again," Garrett mused, handing the datapad back to his chief engineer. "For the moment, I think it's time we collected our party and got back out there."
As they continued on, Commander Paxton placed a hand on his chin and stroked it for a moment. "We could always call the Borg..."
/
"I don't believe it," Corvin stared down at the cards, mouth agape.
"Beginner's kriffing luck," Dy'yr snorted, his teeth clenched.
"Can't say I've ever lost in such spectacular fashion," Deek sighed, pushing his cards away.
"Have I offended?" Mendon asked, cocking his head to the side. The goal of sabaac was to acquire a hand totaling as close to positive or negative twenty-three as possible without going over. Players bought in to receive chips, placing bets each turn around the table, drawing cards or folding as the game progressed. There was not enough latinum to split amongst everyone to keep the buy-in and pots exciting, so they had all agreed to pool the precious metal as the sabaac pot, which could only be won with a score of plus or minus twenty-three exactly, a "pure sabaac." Individual hand pots, usually money- or in their case, chips replicated for a nominal fee by Quark, representing monetary value- were paid in and won by players each round. The chips held no real value other than bragging rights in this instance, so the real prize was the sabaac pot.
The seventy-six cards in a sabaac deck ranged from negative seventeen all the way to fifteen. Cards were dealt both to the players, and to the table, the latter to count towards everyone's totals. Upon hearing the rules, Miles had compared it to a pair of Earth card games: Texas Hold 'Em poker due to the communal card pool, and Blackjack for the limit on the value of cards a player could hold before bombing out, or "busting" as he had described it. Both games also involved rounds of betting, with the victor receiving the pot at the end of each hand. Corvin agreed the games sounded alike, but that was where the similarities ended. As Dy'yr explained the concept of the shift, Miles' eyes widened with both surprise and intrigue.
Sabaac cards were more than simple pieces of flimsi or paper, they were linked to an electronic signaler, and the face of the cards had simple holographic screens showing the card's values. The signaler for Dy'yr's deck was built into the ornate wooden carrying case. Randomly activating during a round and indicated by a red or green light on the signaler, a shift would cause the value of a single communal card on the table to swap to that of any other card yet to be played, drastically changing the round if a shift occurred. Several hands had already been altered by shifts, but the sabaac pot had remained untouched.
On this hand, a shift had come into play, turning the high value Ace of Coins, with a value of plus fifteen, into one of the two Idiots in the deck, which carried a value of zero. Deek, who up until the shift had a hand totaling negative eight, thought he had won the sabaac pot, with the shift removing the fifteen and dropping him all the way down to a pure sabaac- negative twenty-three exactly. But as everyone else laid their cards down, Mendon had frowned, complaining that his cards were of extremely low value, and the shift had doomed him. As he revealed his hand, Corvin, Dy'yr and Deek all gasped.
Among the cards in Mendon's hand were the Two of Sabers, and the Three of Sabers. And the Idiot in play on the table. "Twenty-three." Mendon had gotten himself the Idiot's Array, an extremely rare hand that beat any other combination, including the pure sabaac Deek had laid claim to. The Benzite had unwittingly won the game, and all the latinum in the sabaac pot.
"No, you haven't offended, Mendon." Corvin reassured him. "But remind me never to enter a tournament against you. You've got scoundrel's luck." Everyone chuckled as Dy'yr packed up his cards. Mendon beamed with joy as he collected the latinum, though he admitted he was likely to return the money- minus their bar bill- to Commander Palmer. The group then looked up as Captain Garrett and the rest returned to the table.
"You've all been busy," the Captain remarked.
"No less than usual, sir!" Miles remarked as they began to pour themselves out of the booth. "I'm guessing we're done here?"
"Right on the money, Lieutenant," Commander Palmer said. "We've got everything you'll need for your engineering project, and some reinforcements to help us track down the Imperials."
"Well, then what are we waiting for? Let's do this!" Corvin said, beaming.
Miles straightened out his tunic, and drained the rest of his glass of Aldebaran whiskey. "Were there any other ships available to assist us, Captain?"
Captain Garrett handed his helmsman the datapad in his hands. Miles skimmed the contents, and whistled when he read the names of the two ships assigned to join their hunt for the Empire.
"The Gold Beach is a fine ship, but the Agincourt? I thought she was in mothballs."
"Most of the Ambassador- classes are, yes. But Sisko tells me these are the only two ships to spare. Gold Beach is just returning from a patrol out in the Setlik system and currently has no assignment, and the Agincourt was pulled back into service to help defend along the Cardassian borders, but it looks like Command is moving the Providence in to take it's place, their crew has a little more experience in that region."
"Every bit helps, I suppose. What about the Hamill, the ship that met with the Valor and those Klingons?" Miles remarked, as he moved to return the datapad to the Captain, but paused when he saw the orders appended to the bottom of the screen.
"Fleet Captain, eh? Congrats on the promotion, sir," he said, finally relinquishing the pad.
"It's... only temporary. But thank you, Mr. Chase," The Captain said, taking back the pad. "As for the Hamill, it would seem they're heading back out on the search for Voyager, and could not commit to flying with us, but their Captain did say we could call him for backup if the need arises." Garrett poured himself a shot's worth of the whiskey still remaining on the table, and drank. Setting the glass back down, he motioned to the door of the cantina. "Back to the ship, all of you. We're outbound within the hour to meet up with our new fleet."
Miles saluted briskly. "Then we make Admiral Karath answer for his brutality at the Starbase."
"Our official orders are to disable the ships and bring in their command crews alive, if possible."
Behind Miles, Corvin balked slightly at that remark, and the other Alliance pilots were visibly unhappy as well.
"If I may, Captain: Admiral Karath will make no such effort to spare our lives," Dy'yr said in a growling tone. "He is a rancor amongst nerfs, and will not hesitate to slaughter all of us given the opportunity."
Captain Garrett patted the canine alien on the shoulder. "In Starfleet, taking lives is our last resort. We will see justice done one way or another, but we will only destroy Karath and his fleet if there is absolutely no other way to accomplish our mission."
"We understand, Captain," Corvin said. "We may not fully agree with it, but we'll follow you as long as it means the Admiral can no longer prey on anyone again."
"I'm glad to hear it, Mister Corvin. Come on, let's go meet our backup."