Captain William Levesley had expected his shore leave to be quiet.
The promenade of Deep Space Nine buzzed with the usual mix of traders, Starfleet personnel, and travellers passing between sectors. Music drifted from a nearby bar, and the oval observation windows showed the slow dance of ships docking and departing.
For the first time in months, Levesley allowed himself to relax. He was sat quietly at a small table on the upper promenade, PADD in hand and a steaming cup of tea sat on the table.
He was catching up on a few letters he had received from friends and colleagues who’s postings put them beyond the convenience of regular face to face chats over subspace and there was something about the written word that had a quant aesthetic to it.
Then his PADD buzzed with a quick quiet tone.
Not the normal tone.
A narrow, old-fashioned encryption burst — the kind used by people who preferred their messages not to be logged by station systems.
Levesley stopped walking reading and cast a glance around, nothing was out of the ordinary but his senses were now alert.
He tapped the PADD opening up the message that had been received. The realised it wasn’t a message but a live chat, that put whoever was sending the messages close by, though that was relative depending on if it was being routed through the subspace comm network.
“Levesley.” It read
There was a pause, filled only by the flashing of the cursor on his screen.
“Tin Cup.”
Levesley felt a cold ripple of recognition. That name hadn’t been used in years.
“Report to maintenance section Delta-Seventeen,” the typing said. “Sublevel corridor C. Twenty minutes.”
The channel went dead and Levesley thought for a moment. Whoever sent the message really was close by, very very close by. Levesley sat still for a moment as the noise of the promenade continued around him.
Tin Cup.
That had been his intelligence callsign back when he’d worked operations that never appeared in official mission logs. Assignments that involved long shadows and quiet denials. The last time he’d used it was during the Iconian War.
Very few people still knew it, it wasn’t like such things were widely broadcast. It was need to know information and such things were kept very very need to know.
He stood, leaving his tea untouched and walked toward the turbolifts.
Sublevel corridors of the station on the outer ring of Deep Space 9 were a different world.
The polished deck plating of the upper levels gave way to dull metal floors and exposed conduits. Lighting strips flickered occasionally, casting the corridor in a dim amber glow.
Delta-Seventeen had mainly used for storage and overflow, damaged from recent Terran Empire efforts clearly hadn’t yet been fully repaired. It was probably not high up on a maintenance list not with all the fleet wide malfunctions lately .No one came down here.
Levesley stepped through a partially sealed maintenance hatch. The room beyond had once been an engineering workshop. Tools and storage racks still lined the walls, covered in a thin layer of dust.
One light had been activated. A single figure stood near a portable console. Civilian clothes. But the posture was unmistakably Starfleet.
“Right on time,” the figure said.
Levesley stepped forward into the light.
“Using that name,” he said quietly, “is one way to guarantee I show up.”
The man turned.
Older. Grey hair at the temples. A face Levesley recognized from briefings that rarely had official titles attached.
“Commander Ralston,” Levesley said.
Ralston gave a faint smile.
“Not tonight.”
Levesley crossed his arms slightly.
“That usually means the conversation doesn’t officially exist.”
“Correct.”
Ralston tapped the console. A holographic projection appeared above it.
An asteroid belt. One rock highlighted in red.
“Three days ago,” Ralston said, “long-range intelligence detected unusual power signatures from this asteroid. Deep inside it.”
Levesley studied the projection.
“Mining?”
Ralston shook his head.
“Research facility. Hidden. Shielded. Running power levels far beyond what a simple outpost would need. We’d initially been made aware of the outpost’s existence by another asset, only now its lit up”
The projection zoomed in, revealing faint internal structures carved into the rock.
Levesley’s expression hardened.
“Whose?”
“Unofficially? We believe it’s a weapons development group operating on an broad mandate from the Breen Government. Officially, they deny knowledge of such a thing even existing.”
“Someone asked?” Levesley said still studying hologram.
“In a roundabout way, enquires were made through diplomatic channels. But that does mean we can’t take unilateral overt action.” Ralston said plainly. “But with their denial Starfleet Intelligence have been given permission to make the problem go away. Especially now activity has perked up.”
“That’s a polite way of saying you don’t want this tied back to the Federation or Starfleet as a whole.”
Ralston met his eyes.
“Exactly.”
The projection shifted again, highlighting a structural node deep inside the asteroid.
“Our analysts believe they’re developing a prototype weapon. Something… large scale.”
“How large?”
Ralston didn’t answer immediately.
“Large enough that Starfleet Intelligence would prefer it never leaves the prototype phase.”
Levesley exhaled slowly.
“And you want it removed.”
“We want it to stop existing.”
Levesley looked back at the asteroid projection.
“A standard strike group would light up every sensor in the system.”
Ralston nodded.
“That’s why we’re not sending one.”
Another hologram appeared. A sleek starship silhouette. Narrow, almost predatory with sweeping wings.
A Temer-class stealth vessel.
“The AKS Archangel is currently sat in the Denorios belt…” Ralston said.
“I can’t help but notice its name is strikingly similar to my current command of the USS Archangel,” commented Levesley, placing emphasis on the USS.
Ralston looked back at Levesley.
“…That ships captain is currently on shore leave.”
Levesley gave a quiet, humorless smile.
“So that’s why you called Tin Cup.”
“Your record in quiet operations speaks for itself.”
Levesley studied the tactical overlay appearing around the asteroid.
Defense grids. Sensor buoys. Automated turrets.
“This won’t stay quiet once we fire.”
“No,” Ralston agreed. “But by then it will be too late for them to stop you.”
Levesley was silent for several seconds. Finally he nodded once.
“When do we leave?”
Ralston shut down the projection.
“You already have your orders, Captain. The shuttle Coldstar is waiting for your prearranged sightseeing tour of the system”
He started toward the hatch, then paused.
“One more thing.”
Levesley raised an eyebrow.
Ralston’s expression was serious.
“This mission never happened.”
Levesley gave a small nod.
“Understood.”
Ralston stepped into the corridor and vanished into the darkness.
Levesley remained alone in the dim maintenance room. For a moment, he stared at the blank space where the asteroid hologram had been.
Then he tapped his combadge.
“Levesley to Coldstar.”
“Coldstar here, Captain.”
“I’m ready for my tour.”
A pause.
“Departure time, sir?”
Levesley turned toward the exit hatch.
“Immediately.”
And somewhere in the darkness of the Denorios Belt, a stealth ship waited to slip quietly into the stars.
