Commander Ryol’s face was stormy as T’Sunik finished his subspace briefing, rolling tides of disbelief and anger crashing against the edges of his square face.

“They have committed an act of war,” the Kretassan officer finally announced with a deep voice of thunder. “Especially if Dane and Dynem are dead.”

“I do not believe they are,” T’Sunik mumbled as he toyed with a carved wooden puzzle that sat on the desk. “In either case, we require more information before we can level any accusations and a decision from command about what it means for the negotiations.”

“You think Starfleet will want to carry on?” Ryol looked taken aback. The Commander had a well-evidenced polarity of right and wrong; the thought that Starfleet would continue negotiating with a species that had blatantly murdered officers and then denied it was almost beyond comprehension.

“That is a decision that is out of our hands.” T’Sunik squeezed the wooden block forcefully, channelling his barely repressed anger into the dark oak surface. His heart yearned to take to the surface of the moon and search each inch with his own eyes, but it was entirely possible Starfleet would order him to continue negotiations; they needed the Concord’s dilithium. Or more accurately, they needed others not to have it.

“I am still awaiting specific instruction from Deep Space 47,” he clarified, gritting his teeth. “Until then, I must continue with the mission’s objective to secure a trade treaty.”

Ryol huffed loudly in frustration, his cheeks bulging and collapsing with a forceful expulsion of air.

“And what can Skofnung do to help? We’re only a few systems away if you need some extra metal, though I’m not sure how well we’re equipped to fend off a flotilla of cruisers. Perhaps you need to call Helios.” Ryol squirmed at the admission of his own ship’s limitations, but the commander had always valued honesty, and foolishness was in neither of their natures.

“I need something only you can provide, Ryol. Your long-range sensor suite, how accurate is it?”

“I could spot the Praetor picking his nose from across the Neutral Zone,” Ryol replied proudly.

“How about biosigns from the edge of a star system?” T’Sunilk mused with a wry twist of his mouth.

“It would take some reconfiguration, but it’s doable, with some mobile platforms.”

“Like three shuttles and a dozen class 3 probes?” T’Sunik tapped a dimly glowing key on his desk console, dispatching a packet of data on Nuld’s search and rescue team across subspace.

“That’d do it,” The Kretassan commander smirked as his face lit up, the details of the plan unfolding in his mind.

“How long for the reconfiguration?” T’Sunik asked nervously. Everything depended on Skofnung’s speed and his own skill at obfuscating but not ending diplomatic efforts.

“It’ll be ready by the time we arrive. A day at most, even less time if Tor lets me push the engines above the red line.”

T’Sunik allowed a glimmer of a hopeful smile to dance across his lips; a day of delaying negotiations, he could do. It was time to channel his father.