“I think they’re trying to shake Hasara.” Commander Thasaz theorized as she sat in the half-empty Command Briefing Operations room. Five days had passed since the two deaths in the lower decks of Montana Station. They’d flooded the nearby decks with Starfleet Security while Hasara’s teams had worked the rest of the depth.

Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana stood at the front of the room, his trademark half smile gone. It had been wiped away with the first death, and his focus hadn’t wavered as the second body had been found. “Well, it failed. Hasara’s swagger hasn’t diminished. You think the killer’s stuck in your lockdown operations?”

The Romulan Security Director wasn’t happy. “I think we got lucky with how fast we moved and how much off the books help we had from Hasara’s group and the rest. They’re probably in one of those secured sections, waiting to get loose once we pull back the pressure.” She sighed, a rare expression of annoyance.

Fontana inclined his head towards Captain Samara Ki, who stood across from him, leaning on the back of a chair. He asked, “You’ve hesitated to flex your muscle on the station.”

Ki’s eyes were always passively watching, and her face betrayed nothing. It had protected her over the years, but she also knew it sometimes frustrated those who worked with her. “Commander Thasaz and I have discussed it. It can muddy the waters with operatives activated on station, and there is a significant risk if things become chaotic. There is a reason I have most of my assets in the field.”

Fontana grimaced, “I understand. It’s taken time to build them up.” He turned back to Thasaz. “How long will it take to do it slowly and deliberately?”

“Best case? A week. Worst case, it’ll be three weeks before we get it all cleared up.” She shook her head, “It won’t hold for three weeks – I don’t have the staff coverage to keep this thing stopped up that long – everyone’s already a little jumpy down there.”

From the corner of the room, a voice piped up, “We’re already fielding complaints from various groups and governments about the stoppage. As much as the lower decks operate under the most sensors, it still operates.” Commander Charlie Hargraves was working on his PADD. “Diplomatic department will run interference, but if you push this beyond a week, we’re going to start attracting all the wrong attention.”

Fontana turned to his team, “Then that’s how long we have. Thasaz, I authorize you to pull all officers with security training and clearances from other departments. Run it with operations and engineering in tandem – we’re going to need to have eyes and ears wherever we can.” Thasaz stood briefly at attention and was out the door. The rest of the group departed, leaving Fontana to walk and sit down beside Hargraves. “How bad?”

Charlie chuckled darkly, “I’ve got multiple complaints and grievances coming in from at least five merchant groups. Not to mention several Klingon companies expressing their displeasure. I’m counting on that number growing over the next few days. If Thasaz can hold to a week, I can manage my end.”

Fontana asked, “Can?”

The Director of Diplomatic Operations scoffed, “I do not doubt Commander Thasaz, sir. She’s as good as they come. The problem is – we only know what we know. For all we know, it’s not just one killer, but several. There are a lot of variables. You know me. The more pieces you get to a puzzle, the harder it is to make sense of where to start and how to finish. We’re just starting this one.”

Geronimo smiled. Despite his gruff manner, Charlie did love working on diplomatic operations. He had a mind for it; it had been their saving grace. “Well, the more of us that are working on the pieces, the better chance we have of finishing this one within the time limit.”

Charlie laughed out loud and stood, joined by Fontana. He said, “We’ve really mixed some metaphors, Fontana.” He stood at attention, “My team’s working every angle they can – I’ll see what other magic we might have in reserve.”

Geronimo watched the young officer leave the large room. He was nearing the anniversary of his assignment to Montana Station, and he quietly hoped it would pass without incident.