DARK TERRITORY

THE CRUCIBLE

CHAPTER ONE

I

Recruited

The Badlands

(2368)

USS Chevalier…

(Shuttle Bay One)

            Lt. Commander Pell Ojana ran her fingers over the smooth instrument panel, unable to stop the wistful smile spreading over her lips. “I wish I were going with you guys,” she admitted. Chief Engineer Roger Koenig grunted in reply as he ran a scanner back over the blinking cylindrical object attached to the runabout’s engineering console.

            It had taken Commander Koenig over twelve hours to integrate the plasma dissipater field into Palamedes’s shield matrix. Being Koenig, he had insisted on overseeing the entire procedure himself. And the stimulants coursing through his system didn’t make his normally taciturn disposition any sunnier. But she was well inured of Koenig, serving with him on the Cuffe before they both transferred at the behest of Captain Monica Covey.

            Covey had been assigned command of the Chevalier, one of the newer Nova-class ships, and Pell wanted to help her friend make as smooth a transition as possible, especially after their former commanding officer, Captain Diaz had tried to block the promotion. Pell suspected that Koenig come along mainly because of the challenge presented by the new bioneural circuitry the Chevalier sported.

            So far the move hadn’t been too chaotic. Being First Officer had been easier than the Bajoran expected, but she hadn’t completely forgotten the Cuffe, and she still missed the larger, more spacious Nebula-class ship. But more than the ship, she missed its new acting Chief Engineer, Donald Sandhurst. He was the one member of the troika that didn’t join the Chevalier crew. Pell’s nose ridges crinkled as she remembered the day Donald told her of his decision.

            She had talked to him since then, but things hadn’t been the same. There had been a disconnected quality to their discourse, and the gap appeared to be widening. Not wanting to think about Donald and the chasm between them, Pell swept her gaze around the cabin. Falx, sitting at the sensor panel, jumped. Pell had caught him looking at her. She gave him a wry smile.

            Operations Officer Falx blinked, his golden eyes shimmering, as he found himself once again at a loss for words. Despite his almost six decades of Starfleet service the Rhaandarite still was more comfortable with computers than sentient beings.

            With the shuttle crew’s lives on the line, not to mention what the success of the upgrade, Pell for once couldn’t poke fun at the lanky alien’s social awkwardness.

            In the copilot seat, Lt. Alec Danvers ran a hand through her reddish curls before replying. “Maybe you can convince the Captain to change her mind. There’s plenty of room aboard. The Palamedes seats six persons, and there will only be three on this ride.”

            “Yeah, I know,” Pell gave the Flight Control Officer a wry smile. “But you know how Captain Covey is. She hates redundancy, and with you, Commander Koenig, and Lt. Falx on this experiment, I’m really not needed. Plus, sending three senior officers into the maw has probably tied the Captain’s stomach in enough knots. I don’t want to add to her distress.”

            “Understood Commander,” Danvers agreed. “But your experience using the Badlands to evade Cardassian patrols might come in handy.”

            Pell smiled; her expression a bit wistful before turning sad. “I merely traversed the Badlands, and sparingly, when I helped ferry Bajoran refugees to freedom in the Federation space. You, living along the border on Ronara Prime, have a whole lot more experience with this part of space.”

            “Thank you,” Danvers said. “But you’re being too kind; as always.”

            “Here’s hoping you don’t run into any plasma storms or Cardassians during your journey.”

            “I thought we’re supposed to have a détente with the Cardassians,” Koenig’s voice dripped sarcasm.

            “That’s what Starfleet Command and the Federation Council would like to believe,” Pell replied, her voice hardening. “But there’s no honest dealing with Cardassians. I’ve seen how much their word means, or what they think about peace.”

            And she would know. Pell had grown up under the Cardassian lash, only striking out against them after her husband Soyam had died while fighting in the Higa Metar resistance cell against them.

            Pell had used the contacts engendered by her father Pell Ojan, who had been a member of the Occupational government, to smuggle Bajoran dissidents to the Federation. To honor her husband’s sacrifice, and to atone for her father’s sins, risking her life was the least she could do.

            She only hoped that her desire to join Starfleet and fight against the Cardassians during the recent wars as well as raise awareness about the wretched condition of her people had been as beneficial as her previous endeavors.

            Sometimes she wasn’t so sure, and Pell couldn’t help but feel guilty about mapping quasars and gaseous anomalies while her people continued to be enslaved. But as a Starfleet officer she went where she was ordered.

            And she was certain that Chevalier’s work on the plasma dissipater would make traveling in the Badlands much less hazardous. Despite the recent gains made by the Bajoran resistance, she hoped that she could convince Starfleet to share the plasma dissipation technology with the Bajorans. It would allow for Bajoran ships to evade Cardassian patrols inside the Badlands almost indefinitely.

            “Time’s a wasting Lt. Commander,” Koenig prodded. Normally, the terse man would’ve received an equally curt reply. Instead Pell smirked at him, her thinking for once aligned with the grizzled engineer’s.

            “You’re right.” She said, the statement stunning Koenig. He actually looked up from his work, blinking as spasmodically as Falx had done a few moments earlier. “Wasn’t expecting that huh?” Danvers giggled. Koenig tried to frown, but he couldn’t.

            “No.”

            “Glad to know I can still keep people guessing.” She clasped Alec’s shoulders and gave her a firm squeeze. “Good luck to you all.”

***

USS Chevalier

(Main Bridge)

            Captain Monica Covey leaned forward in her seat, her stomach tightening as she watched the Palamedes glide away from the Chevalier. The intense, colorful palette decorating the sky before them pulsed with plasma fire and funnels.

            Despite the endothermic upgrades Chevalier’s shields had received before this mission, she knew that even they might buckle in the reach of space Lt. Danvers was nudging the Palamedes toward.

            “Beautiful isn’t it?” Lt. Commander Pell whispered beside her.

            “As beautiful and deadly as an asp,” Covey replied, not taking her eyes off the screen.

            As much as she had looked forward to her first truly important assignment since being awarded the command of Chevalier, Covey had been on edge as soon as the ship had entered the Badlands.

            The storm ravaged region of space had been a literal hellish graveyard for countless ships. The plasma dissipater hooked into Palamedes shield matrix was supposed to be an answer for that. Starfleet Research and Development had created a device that would absorb and redirect the terrible plasma eruptions that had befallen many unfortunate voyagers through the Badlands.

            “Lt. Hasegawa, hail the Palamedes,” Pell ordered, the Bajoran once again displaying an uncanny ability to read the captain’s mind. But after serving together for five years, she guessed the woman should know her fairly well.

            “Aye Commander,” the ramrod Chuine Hasegawa, standing to the right of both Pell and Covey answered.

            “Koenig here,” the man replied, annoyance coating his voice. Covey smiled at Pell.

            “Nice to know you’re chipper as usual Roger.” Covey had also served a long time with Chief Koenig and she knew the man’s bark was worse than his bite; well at least it had been with her. She had heard some unfortunate stories about his engineering crew though…

            “Everything is fine here.” The engineer responded without being asked. “The shield modulation is holding steady. The integration of the dissipater with the standard shielding technology is nearly….flawless.” The man seemed to spit the word. Koenig was a man who never believed that a good job was enough. He was always searching for ways to improve upon perfection. His dissatisfaction had led to the Cuffe’s energy efficiency and output ratings increasing a percentage or half percentage each year while Covey had been aboard. Roger Koenig was a man who could literally draw blood from a stone and she knew to allow such a talented worker their idiosyncrasies.

            It was one of the things she had learned from her former CO, Captain Sabrina Diaz that she had incorporated into her management of the Chevalier. Of course, Diaz being a bit of an iconoclast thrived in a more fluid environment. Covey had learned how to cope, but she was glad to have the opportunity to put her own mark in the exploration annals.

            “Activate the plasma dissipation field Roger,” Covey commanded.

            “Aye.”

            “Keep the hailing frequency open too.”

            “You got it.” A bubble sparkled around the sleek, fixed wing shuttle as it neared an undulating cloud of plasma. The captain held her breath as the ship entered the cloud. There was a soft hiss of static, and Hasegawa said with as little inflection as possible,

            “We’ve lost contact with Palamedes.”

            “What?” Pell asked, swiveling around in her seat to look at the Tactical Officer. Covey gripped her armrests, thinking a prayer as she continued to look at the screen. The looming mass of gas and plasma was fairly large. The Badlands were known to wreak havoc on ship communications and sensor systems.

            Lt. Falx had theorized that Palamedes might experience similar mishaps. Covey knew that and had accepted it, consciously at least, but she couldn’t help the roiling unease as the seconds without contact stretched out. “Do what you can to reestablish contact Gail.”

            “Yes sir.” Covey had to restrain herself from ordering the helm to take the ship into the cloud to retrieve the runabout. Despite the endothermic upgrades Koenig had applied to Chevalier’s shields, the ship would be no match for the intense heat and energies that would lash into them. So, Covey had no choice but to do one of the things she hated most: Wait.

            After the chronometer ticked past two minutes, Covey slid out of her seat and approached the Operations Console. Ensign Monyyak, a greenish blue Benzite twittered at the standing console, the captain’s approach making him nervous.

            Covey couldn’t help but smile as a memory of her own anxious start as a cadet aboard the Shantung sprang to mind. “At ease Mr. Monyyak,” she coaxed. “What is the circumference of that cloud?” After the Benzite mumbled a reply, his voice escaping his lips in little puffs of vapor, courtesy of the breather clipped to the neck of his uniform, the captain frowned.

            Even cruising at impulse speed, Palamedes should’ve been clear of the large cloud by now. Turning away from the ensign Covey looked across the bridge. “Gail, try hailing them again.”

            The woman shook her head a few moments later. “Nothing Captain.”

            “Something’s not right,” Covey said as she stepped back down into the command well. Retaking her seat, she leaned over to Pell. “What do you think Ojana?”

            “Captain, I’m not sure,” the Bajoran admitted. “Palamedes still shouldn’t be in the cloud this long.”

            “Is it possible that Palamedes has already bypassed the cloud and we have lost contact for another reason?”

            “It is possible,” Pell conceded, though the tone of her voice belied the statement.

            “But you don’t think that has occurred?”

            “No Captain I don’t.”

            “Me either.” Covey sat up straight. “Helm, move us closer to the mass.”

            “Captain, our shields can’t withstand the heat and radiation extant in that cloud.” Lt. Hasegawa protested.

            “He’s right.” Pell added.

            “I didn’t say we were going into the cloud…yet.” Covey replied. The Nova-class ship moved closer to the cloud. “All stop.” The captain ordered after Chevalier came within 20,000 kilometers of the boiling mass.

            “Lt. Hasegawa, try hailing them again.” Pell ordered.

            “I’m getting nothing Commander.”

            “Frinx!” Pell swore.

            “Watch that,” Covey chided.

            “Suggest a scan?” Monyyak shakily asked.

            “Do it.”

            “Radiation has made the sensors ineffective,” the Benzite sounded, and looked, crestfallen.

            “Launch a Class-2 probe then,” Covey ordered. “Relay its findings directly to my armrest console. Despite the large size of the Chevalier, and the permanent, though comforting background noises of the bridge, the captain imagined she heard the bullet shaped probe eject with a whoosh from the ship, streaking into the cloud.

            Covey breathed a sigh of relief after the information from the probe finally began scrolling down the small screen inset into one of her chair’s arms. Pell couldn’t help but lean over to take a peek at the information.

            Both of their faces grew tight with concern. The probe was hadn’t encountered Palamedes. There was thankfully no sign that the ship had been disabled or that it had been ripped to shreds inside the cloud. The downside was that Palamedes had seemed to vanish.

            The tightening in Covey’s stomach quickly formed into a lead ball. She looked at Pell, their years serving together imbuing them with a non-verbal communication akin to telepathy. “Helm, take us into the cloud.”

            “Captain, the shields…” Hasegawa protested.

            “We have a duty, a responsibility to find out what happened to Palamedes.” Pell rushed to Covey’s defense.

            “Perhaps we should send a higher grade probe.” Hasegawa offered, his dual roles as Tactical and Security Officer making the safety of the ship his highest priority.

            “I’d prefer to check it myself.” Covey replied.

            “But what about the danger to the ship?”

            “Is totally understood,” Covey said. “On the first sign of danger of the ship I will order Chevalier to exit the cloud. But three of our senior officers are somewhere inside that cloud and I’m sure you, me, and everyone aboard is willing to take a little risk to insure their welfare. Correct?”

            “Yes sir.”

            “Good. Helm, move us in…slowly, one-quarter impulse. I don’t want our dilithium emissions to ignite the plasma.”

            A veil of darkness, limned with infernal crimson overwhelmed the main viewer’s photoreceptors.

            “Mr. Monyyak, anything you can do about that?” The captain asked.

            “Compensating for lighting disparity,” the Benzite said. Minutes later the bridge lighting returned, pushing the darkness back beyond the screen. But it didn’t help Covey erase the feeling that the ship had ventured into a vise. There seemed to be a weight resting on the ship, her ears picked up on the tiny groans as the heavy liquid and gases pressed against the ship’s shields.

            “How is structural integrity?” Covey called out, her voice voluminous in her ears, and made more so by the uneasy silence that had settled over the bridge.

            “Structural integrity is at eighty percent,” Monyyak replied.

            “That’s good,” Pell offered. “I thought it would be much worse.”

            “You can feel it too huh?” Covey asked. “It’s like we’re in the grip of the hand of a god.”

            “Like all those James Kirk used to run into,” Pell smiled. Covey rolled her eyes. Despite the authentication of the fabled Captain Kirk’s log entries, and the verification by his crew and other Starfleet notables, Pell frequently drew her ire by discounting much of Kirk’s five year mission aboard the Enterprise a century earlier as the tales of a master raconteur.

            “Cute,” Covey quipped. “But yes, something like that.”

            “Perhaps the cloud will speak to us next, and ask one of us to be his mate.”

            “Very funny,” Covey gave Pell a wry smile. She was glad that her Exec was lightening the mood seeping through the bridge. The captain could see that a few other officers were sniggering or fighting to maintain straight faces.

            Ojana’s selection as First Officer had been her best decision yet as captain. But Covey was starting to wonder if her order to dive into the plasma cloud might rank as her worse the further they went in.

            “Are sensors picking up anything?” Pell asked Monyyak.

            “No sir. From this juncture the cloud appears to be empty.”

            “That’s impossible,” Covey remarked. “Our sensors would’ve detected when they emerged from the cloud. We need to go further in. Palamedes might be in danger.”

            “And we most assuredly will be if we follow that course of action,” Hasegawa replied. “Captain, if Palamedes has encountered a disruption that has overloaded the interflux device then our shields wouldn’t stand a chance against it.”

            “Don’t you think I know that Chuine,” Covey retorted. “But we’re going in anyway. I don’t leave crewmates behind.”

            “Mr. Monyyak, prepare a tractor beam. We might have to pull the runabout out of this muck,” Pell said.

            “Good idea,” Covey replied, glad that Pell had helped take the edge off of her stand off with Lt. Hasegawa. Tension among the crew was the last thing they needed to be focused on at the moment. “Helm, take us in further, maintain one-quarter impulse.”

            “Aye.”

            As the Chevalier inched deeper into the writhing mass, the oppressive feeling coiled around Captain Covey. She prayed that some of her idol Kirk’s luck rubbed off on her. By the time Chevalier reached the middle of the plasma cloud she knew that it hadn’t.

***

USS Chevalier

(Several hours later…)

            “Prepare another Class-2 probe,” Covey ordered, sensing Lt. Hasegawa bristle behind her at the command. It would be the fourth probe he had sent into the maelstrom surrounding them. So far, none of them had reported back anything significant. It appeared like the Palamedes had vanished into the ether, and that was unacceptable to the captain.

            “Probe is ready,” Hasegawa replied, his voice tight.

            “Target search grid 221-G,” the captain pointed at the main viewer. A bright red grid was superimposed over the stretch of space on the viewer. It was the only area yet to be investigated. “Launch.” The normal rumble Covey usually felt in the deck plates at the release of a probe or torpedo was lost in the persistent trembling of the overstressed structural integrity field as the gases and energies of the Badlands bore down on them.

            “May the Prophets guide this one true,” Pell said softly beside her, sliding up to the edge of her seat as the probe shot into a thick thunderhead, the dark mass illuminating as the probe penetrated it.

            Covey sat up in her seat, wishing she could show her eagerness like her First Officer, but knowing it was unbecoming of a Commanding Officer. She had to look like she knew what she was doing at all times, even when she wasn’t. Covey knew she was taking a big risk keeping the Chevalier in the center of this spatial tsunami for as long as she had. Without the added layer of safety of the plasma dissipater, all it would take to buckle the ship’s shields or vaporize them outright was an angry lash of plasma energy.

            Monica waited five tense minutes before asking, as nonchalantly as possible. “Anything yet Mr. Hasegawa?” She turned primly in her seat to glance at the Tactical Officer.

            His eyes drilled his instrument panel. Hasegawa looked at her a few seconds later, his dark eyes registering no emotion. “Sorry Captain.”

            “Do we still have contact with the probe?” Pell asked. “Perhaps it’s defective and we need to prepare another?”

            “Probe is functioning, and our link is strong.” Pell nodded, and then looked at Covey. For the first time, the captain saw her First Officer’s brows furrow with concern, and doubt glinted in her eyes. Covey shifted her gaze away, afraid that her own worries would reflect in her eyes. She would never be able to live with herself if she had stole Roger away from the Cuffe to die in this forsaken reach of space. She would continue her search as long as possible.

            Covey turned her gaze back to the screen, willing space to cough up the Palamedes and its crew intact. Her wish was answered seconds later when Hasegawa announced, his voice cracking with excitement. “The probe has picked up a signal, a Starfleet signal.” A group cheer broke out over the bridge. Covey reached over and squeezed Pell’s hand. She stood up, tugging on the front of her red and black duty uniform.

            Stepping out of the command well, she approached Hasegawa’s station. He promptly stepped to the side to allow her to see the information scrolling down his screen. It was a Starfleet signal all right, the chevron binging on the small screen. But Covey’s smile turned to a frown when the confirmation number appeared. “It’s from the escape pod,” she mumbled. The escape pod was trudging through the massive plasma cloud, too far away for a beam out, which would’ve been too risky at this distance due to the cloud being chock full of ions, and they had a nasty habit of disrupting transporter beams. However, a more concentrated beam from a shorter distance might do the trick; the thought flitted through her mind, a plan quickly forming in its wake.

            “Excuse me sir?” Hasegawa asked. Covey rubbed her chin, before looking at the man. She blinked away her fears and said loud enough for Hasegawa and the bridge to hear. “It’s not Palamedes, but an escape pod. Something happened out there. Let’s bring our people home and find out what it was. Mr. Hasegawa, prepare a tractor beam in case I can’t get them with my flyby.”

            “Your flyby?” He asked, his face immediately clouding. “Captain, I can’t allow you…”

            “That’s right,” Pell spoke up. “Do I have to quote regulations Captain?”

            “You can quote them to me on the way to the shuttle bay,” Covey said, turning towards the bridge’s turbolift, “you’re going with me. Mr. Hasegawa, you have the bridge. Make sure you have the tractor beam ready.”

            “Aye sir,” the man grumbled, but had blessedly decided not to belabor the argument.

            Pell quickly joined in her the turbolift. Before the doors closed on them, Covey sang out, “And if we encounter any problems, don’t try to rescue us. Get Chevalier the hell out of here.” The doors slid closed before she heard the response, but Covey had confidence that Hasegawa would follow her orders. The man always did the right thing. She wished she could say the same thing about herself.

***

Shuttlecraft  Safir

            Despite the turbulence, the ride to the rim of the writhing bloom of plasma had been pretty smooth. Covey was also grateful that the pinging of the shuttle’s sensors attuned to the escape pod’s distress signal had remained constant. It would only be a matter of time before the escape pod made it through the muck and they could nab it with either the Safir’s tractor or transporter beams.

            Deciding against waiting in anxious silence, Covey asked, “So, how’s Donald?” She didn’t know if the unexpectedness or the content of the question made Pell blush. But the woman turned redder than an Earth tomato.

            “With all due respect Captain, now is not the time…”

            “Can you really think of a better time?” Covey asked, cutting the woman off. “And since we’re away from the ship, call me Monica.”

            “Listen Monica, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

            “So things between you two are that great huh?”

            “No…it’s not like that. I just haven’t talked to Donald in a couple months.”

            “Just because things went south between Captain Diaz and I doesn’t mean that you and Donald had to get caught up in our squabble.”

            “Well, actually it did. I mean, there was a definite feeling of picking sides among the crew. And Captain Diaz practically accused you of trying to steal her senior officers.”

            “There was no ‘practically’ to it. She did accuse me of trying to steal them. And she was right.” Pell looked at her, her green eyes widening in shock. Monica suppressed a chuckle.

            “You don’t mean that.”

            “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “I mean, I did ask you, Roger, and Donald to join me. Plus, after announcing my own intentions to accept promotion, the end result would’ve gutted her staff.”

            “She still would’ve had Dr. Chace, Simus, and N’Saba.” Covey rolled her eyes at the mention of Seb N’Saba the supercilious Alshain Science Officer.

            “N’Saba, despite his admitted brilliance, is hardly a person to put in the plus column.” Pell looked wistful, a wicked smile spreading across her face.

            “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that one.”

            “Since you’re not going to dish about Donald, learn anything about Diaz’s replacement staff?” After their spat, Covey had restrained herself from collecting scuttlebutt about her former ship. But she knew that Pell kept in contact with several officers and enlisted onboard, outside of Sandhurst.

            “Well, let me see. Of course you know that Donald is the acting Chief Engineer. The new helm officer is a Lt. Hunal, formerly from the Resurgam. A real good choice from what I hear…”

            “What about the XO?” Covey couldn’t help but be curious about the person that had replaced her.

            “From everything I hear Calvin Hudson is a good choice. Has a strong background in diplomacy, and is seen as something of an expert in border world issues. That should suit Cuffe well in its new assignment along the Cardassian-Federation border. I hear that the peace talks are in real trouble right now over the territorial status of the border worlds. Both he and Captain Diaz have relatives living along the border, so I’m sure they share a common bond.”

            “Hudson sounds like a good fit then,” Covey smiled. “I hope he turns out to be more loyal than I did.”

            “Don’t talk about yourself like that Monica,” Pell chided. “It was time for you to move on. Believe me I understand better than most the danger of trying to hold on to something beyond reason, to hold back the ceaseless march of time. It’s impossible.”

            “For mere mortals like us,” Covey smiled wanly. “But there are other races, like the Q for example that altering time is nothing but a snap in the finger.”

            “It must be something about serving on ship’s named Enterprise that made their CO’s more fanciful.” Pell joked.

            “So, now you’re saying you think Captain Picard is pulling the leg of Starfleet Command a la Jim Kirk?”

            “I’ll believe giant hands or heads appearing in space when I see it,” Pell replied.

            “Pretty skeptical attitude coming from a follower of the Prophets,” Covey said, her smile softening any potential edges in her words.

            “Hey, at least the Prophets left us with something tangible, their Tears being guideposts into the Bajoran history and soul. At least until the Cardassians stole them,” her face darkened and she became silent.

            Sensing the change Covey reached out and squeezed Pell’s shoulder. “Didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

            “No need to apologize,” Pell replied, her eyes beginning to glisten. “It’s just…” She paused when the pinging on the console turned to shrilling.

            “What is it?” Covey leaned forward.

            “The pod is breaking the cloud,” Pell’s sadness evaporated. “Look,” she pointed out the window as the small, battered hexagon-shaped vessel was spat out of the cloud, as if were a morsel of disagreeable food.

            “How many life signs?” The captain asked.

            “Two I’m afraid,” Pell sighed, her body trembling. Covey suppressed her on shudder at the terrible news.

            Instead, the captain turned quickly to her console, with a tweak to her original plan. She activated the tractor beam capturing the pod. “Hail them,” she ordered Pell.

            “Escape pod, this is Lt. Commander Pell, please respond.” A voice crackled over the speaker, but it was so garbled that they couldn’t understand it.

            “Shall I repeat the message?” The Bajoran looked to her for guidance.

            “No Ojana, I’ll just reel them in.” She manipulated the beam to pull the pod closer. Once it was within range, she activated the transporter beam. Two large, entangled shapes materialized seconds later.

            Covey put the shuttle on autopilot as she hopped out of her seat to check on her crew, Pell a millisecond behind her. Commander Koenig and Lt. Falx slowly broke their awkward embrace, wincing. Both sat on the floor of the shuttle, Koenig rubbing his neck while Falx massaged his long forehead.

            “Roger, Falx, are both of you alright? What happened to Danvers? Where’s the Palamedes?” Questions poured out of the captain, while she simultaneously pointed for Pell to get the emergency medical kit.

            “The only thing injured is my pride,” Koenig growled.

            Not understanding the engineer’s cryptic response, Covey bent down, and asked the man again, this time more slowly. “Are either of you injured? Where is Lt. Danvers? Where is the Palamedes?” Pell bent down beside the engineer, waving a medical tricorder over his head. He swatted it away.

            “Hell if I know,” Koenig snapped, his vehemence making Covey recoil. But she decided to address that later with the man, in private. She turned away from him to Falx. The Rhaandarite was now sitting on the floor, confusing reigning on his face.

            “Mr. Falx, do you know what happened?” He blinked several times before answering.

            “Lt. Danvers used some type of gas to incapacitate us before apparently hijacking the Palamedes. We both awoke inside the escape pod about twenty minutes ago. The coordinates were already programmed and locked in to Chevalier’s last known location.”

            “She did a damned good job too,” Koenig mumbled. “Even I couldn’t break her code.” Covey sat back on her haunches, stunned. Pell gasped.

            “How is that possible?” The Bajoran asked, her voice saturated with shock. “Why?”

            “If you ever find out, please inform me,” Koenig snapped. “But in the meantime I suggest we get back to Chevalier so we can track her down.”

            “No,” Covey said without even realizing it. Her voice sounded tiny in her ears, as if she were listening to herself from a great distance, her tongue divorced from her mind. Everything numbed for a few seconds as her brain shorted out, unable to process Alec Danvers betraying her crewmates or stealing Palamedes. It didn’t seem real. Danvers was a vivacious free spirit, and both she and the captain were even more fanatical about spring ball than Pell, who had introduced her to it years ago.

            She just couldn’t fathom what Falx had said with his usual deadpan delivery. Her imagination already generating possible reasons: mind control via parasites, Cardassians, Ferengi, or Romulans? Maybe Danvers had been replaced by a duplicate, some type of shape shifter? Stranger things had happened to crewmen in the Fleet. The curiosity was killing her, twisting her stomach in knots. She had to know what had just happened, why the world had tilted, but Covey also knew she had a responsibility to her ship and crew that trumped her own desires. She exhaled loudly, before shackling her mind back to the here and now.

            “ ‘No?’” The other three officers said in unison.

            “We can’t risk this ship anymore than we have. Whatever is going on here, Starfleet Command needs to be informed immediately.” She looked at Pell. “Are both of these men all right?”

            “Yes Captain.” Pell put the tricorder back into the case and snapped it shut. “There discomfort is all ready wearing off.” Covey stood up and headed back to the pilot’s seat.

            “When we get back to Chevalier I want you both to head to Sickbay just to be on the safe side.”

            “But what about Danvers?” Koenig asked, clambering to his feet. “We’ve got to do something. I put a lot of sweat into that plasma dissipater.”

            “Well, look on the bright side,” Covey said over her shoulder, “at least you know the plasma dissipater was enough of a success that someone found it worthy enough to steal.” And I’m burning to find out why, the captain thought, but decided to keep to herself.

***

Ronara Prime

(Seventy-two hours later…)

            “Any word yet?” T’sehai asked; the hopefulness in her voice incongruent with her cool Vulcan features.

            Jack Danvers grunted, not even looking at the woman. He kept his gaze instead on the tiny transistor, eagerly awaiting, praying for its communication beacon to light with news from his granddaughter. He no longer cared about the success of her mission; He only wanted her back safe and sound. She was all that he had. The Cardassians had taken everything else. Hopefully they hadn’t taken her too.

            He didn’t even want to think about what they might do to her if she had been captured. He had read plenty accounts of how Cardassians treated their prisoners and slaves, particularly the females.

            “It has been three days since she left. The team should’ve made contact by now.”

            Tell me something I don’t know, Danvers thought, glowering at the prim woman. As if reading his mind, T’sehai’s right eyebrow arched and her skin turned a nice pale shade of green.

            “I am a touch telepath, but even I can sense your emotions from across the room.”

            “That’s good to know,” he spat. “But I don’t give a damn. All I care about is Alec right now. She’ll make it. I know she will.” Danvers smiled grimly. Alec was a lot like her mother. Morgan had been a tough one, with a zest for life that would’ve shamed an Orion.

            She died, along with her husband at Setlik III during the infamous Cardassian massacre. Alec was spared only because she had spent the summer on Ronara Prime with him and his wife Adeela. His son Peter had taken up the old Danvers standard, and fought and lost against the snakeheads in the Beloti Sector. Adeela had pretty much given up after that, whittling away to nothing, succumbing to a rare strain of Clarke’s Disease two years shy of Alec joining Starfleet.

            Jack had never been more proud or scared in his life when she showed him her acceptance letter. He had done two tours in the Fleet, barely getting as much as a scratch. But the Federation had been largely at peace during his run. The Cardies had had their hands full subjugating the Bajorans before deciding to sink their fangs into fresh territory.

            And now after all the havoc they had caused, all the tragedy they had wreaked, Federation politicians wanted to cut a deal with them, using Ronara Prime and the other border worlds as bargaining chips.

            The idea of Cardassians setting up shop on Ronara Prime, taking control of a colony his family had helped settle, sickened Jack. He wasn’t going to let that happen, and Alec had shared his desire. So did a group of others living on the front-lines. They had formed the Brigade, committed to scuttling the proposed occupation by revealing that the Cardassian Union had no intentions of peacefully coexisting with the Federation. The snakeheads were merely biding their time, gathering their forces, replenishing their strength before they struck again.

            The starry eyed Federation delegates seemed blind to that truth. Jack had lost his blinders a long time ago. And sadly, Alec had never had a chance to even develop scales over her eyes that life would peel away slowly. They were ripped away during her childhood.

            With infinite Vulcan patience, T’sehai had seemed content to let the silence grow thick between them, before speaking again, her voice soft and oddly laden with compassion. “Jack, what do we tell our Contact?”

            Jack had never met this mysterious Contact, despite his status as the ‘leader’ of the Brigade faction on Ronara Prime. The Vulcan served as a go-between for the various cells and the shadowy benefactor, or coterie of supporters that supplied them with weapons and intelligence about Starfleet and Cardassian ship deployments and the status of the diplomatic talks.

            Once Chevalier, the starship Alec served on, was chosen for the plasma dissipation tests, the Ronara cell had received more attention than it had in months. And T’sehai had practically relocated to the planet from her home on Volan III.

            Their Contact had handed the Brigade classified intelligence with proof that the Cardassians were testing a quantum flux weapon on their side of the massive Tong Beak Nebula that cut a sector spanning swath through a large part of the Federation-Cardassian border.

            From what the reports dispelled, quantum flux could be used for dimensional travel, hypothetically, it could land a Cardassian fleet at Earth’s doorstep in the blink of an eye, almost like the vortex technology that allowed the Xindi to slice a trench through Earth, costing seven million deaths, over two centuries ago.

            Jack, T’sehai, and the heads of several other cells held an unprecedented meeting to develop a plan to stop the testing permanently. T’sehai had informed them that the information was giving to her only because the Contact revealed that Starfleet Command would not lift a finger to do anything or even protest the experiment.

            The plan was to use the Palamedes to punch through the Tong Beak Nebula on the Federation side, using the nebula to cloak its arrival. The plasma dissipation upgrade would shield the runabout from the dangerous effects of the nebula as surely as it would under similar conditions in the Badlands. Alec, with a select group of Brigade fighters for back up, would destroy the ship and its quantum flux capacitor. Alec knew that doing so would make her a criminal in the Federation’s eyes, and throw away her career, but her devotion to what was right was more important.

            Jack had been extremely worried as the time of the plasma dissipation test approached, afraid that the dissipater would not work and that Alec would be devoured in one of the plasma clouds even before she got a shot at the Tong Beak.

            He hadn’t been able to stop the tears when the runabout had landed in Jank’s Field, about two kilometers away from his home. She had always loved to play there, and on other Brigade members had protested at its selection.

            The grim men and women of the strike force had been waiting patiently, each a different species: Edoan, Tiburonian, Andorian, Orion, and Terran. It was an appropriate symbol of how broad-based the Brigade was.

            Alec had dashed out of the runabout, throwing her arms around him, her laughter more musical than a Vulcan harp. He had escorted her to his hovel, where she changed into civilian clothing, removing her gold and black Starfleet uniform for the last time. There hadn’t been much time, and Alec had nodded vigorously to the questions he peppered her with. “Yes, yes,” she had said hurriedly, “It’s going to be all right Papa.”

            “Are you sure?” he had asked, wishing he could take her place more than anything in the world. But piloting wasn’t his forte. He was a man of the land.

            “I got this far didn’t I?” She had responded, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “We’ll knock that Cardie ship right out of the sky, and I’ll be back for breakfast.”

            That had been forty-eight hours ago. Two days.

            Forty-eight hours of waiting, two days of cold porridge sitting forlornly on his stove.

            “She’s not coming back is she?”

            “Are you saying that my granddaughter is a failure?”

            “No, of course not Jack. I haven’t received any word about the success or failure of the mission. It’s not about that, not right now…” She crossed the room, and placed a hand on his forearm, her touch surprisingly warm for such a cold woman. Jack thought about removing his arm but changed his mind. He needed the contact, the connection to something alive, right now.

            She gasped as he pulled her into his arms, and held her tight. The dead eye of the transistor beacon looked as he buried his head into the crown of her hair, his tears mingling with the rich spice scent of T’sehai’s dark hair.

***                 

Tong Beak Nebula

(Near Cardassian Union space)

Two weeks later…

            Gul Muchesi Namek of the Central Command Vessel Ekuva couldn’t believe his good fortune. He only removed his bulbous helmet once he was confident that atmosphere had been restored in the ship, not trusting his chief technician until the instrument panel inlaid within his own EVA helmet glowed a comforting orange.

            He took in a strong whiff. The frigid air smelled appropriately dead. Investigating unusual, anomalous activity in the Tong Beak Nebula, he hadn’t expected to find this. Glancing around the floor of the science vessel, he saw an array of species and outfits, those of the Cardassian Science Ministry mixed with fanciful variety of Federation civilian garb. The fabrics all draped corpses, their faces contorted in varying degrees of rage, some dying clutching phase weapons or with their fingers at each others throats.

            Namek’s heart swelled with pride that these Cardassians had fought the interlopers to the very end. He had never thought much of the science divisions before. He knew he would have to readjust his appraisal. They had done a better job than the Hideki-class ship that had been escorting them. Its debris was ringing the ringing the tiny ship.

            He made a dramatic sweeping gesture in the direction of the carnage littering the deck, for the benefit of the smoldering eyes at his back.

            “I’m sure the Obsidian Order will make great hay of this,” he replied, not even hiding his disgust. Nor did he look behind him. If Intelligence Observer Baqan Oduara had wanted to stab him in the back, the spy had had ample opportunities to do so by now. He had been assigned to Ekuva almost five years ago, and the two men had developed something of a passing respect for the other’s abilities.

            After a few minutes without a razor sharp retort, Namek did look over his shoulder. Though he deigned to call any Obsidian Order minion a friend, Oduara’s silence was unsettling.

            Oduara wasn’t even behind him. Instead the whip thin man stood at the captain’s armrest, tapping frantically at its inset keyboard, his eyes moving rapidly back and forth as he devoured its scrolling information at warp speed.

            “The permanent documentation file says that the assailants came from the Nebula,” he said quietly, more to himself. “And left the same way.”

            “Impossible,” Namek said, quickly making his way over to Oduara, stepping over a corpse to do so. “We don’t have any shielding strong enough to survive the Nebula’s plasma eruptions and neither do they.” But Oduara shook his head. “What?” Namek prodded, with both growing curiosity and anger. He hated to be left out of the loop, especially where military matters were concerned.

            If the Federation had developed shielding technology strong enough to traverse the Tong Beak Nebula, it left a long stretch of Cardassian border unprotected. For centuries, Tong Beak had served as a natural barrier against invasion. But if that was no longer the case then the Union was in a severely weakened state.

            Namek had been one of the most vocal critics of the Central Command’s recent peace overtures to Starfleet, and now his suspicions appeared to be right. The Federation was distracting the Legates with a meaningless peace offer while developing ways to invade through the back door. A brilliant stratagem, he had to admit to himself, even if Cardassian minds hadn’t developed it.

            “Come now,” Namek pressed Oduara. “It is a disservice to our people and the Union for the Order to sit on such vital information.” The observer looked up from his fervid reading, with haunted eyes glowing like coals nestled beneath his heavy brow.

            “The Federation, Starfleet are the least of our worries.” The man said, the neutral tone of his voice chilling Namek. It was absent of the sly, mocking tone that the man usually used. It held no emotion at all. Without saying another word, he turned sharply on his heel. “I must confer with the Central Command,” he said without turning around.

            If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was scared, Namek thought, the absurdity of the idea making him even colder. But thankfully, he didn’t know what he was supposed to be spooked about…yet. Right outside the open door to the bridge, Oduara disappeared in a transporter beam.

            Aware that his landing party was filled with attentive observers, searching for any signs of tension or weakness from either him or Oduara to report to the Central Command, Namek hid his seed of doubt behind a steely veneer.

            “Alright,” he barked. “Collect these corpses for transport back to Ekuva, and uplink the ship’s data to our computer. After you are finished, set plasma charges.”

            Not wanting to careen out of the room, but eager to get back to his private quarters, where he could listen in on Oduara without interruption, Namek calmly stepped into the bridge’s adjoining corridor. His stomach twisted with both curiosity and dread as the transporter claimed him.

***

Volan III

(Federation/Cardassian Border)

            Lt. Gennaro Laurent watched his compatriots from the Emissario stagger up the crowded thoroughfare without him, joining the other revelers milling about after the conclusion of the playoff game between the visiting Pike City Pioneers and the local Homestead Royals. He had told them that the last pitcher of Kinajian Lager that they had consumed at their last sports bar had overwhelmed him, but the antioxidants coursing through his bloodstream had repelled the alcohol’s more devastating effects. Plus, he didn’t think they would really mind enjoying the winnowing remainder of their vacation without having him around. He knew that Captain Deng, at the suggestion of the ship’s counselor, had suggested Commander Langley and the close knit senior staff finally include the ship’s Chief Engineer on one of their jaunts.

            He waited until the clique was thoroughly devoured by the crowd before heading in the opposite direction. He flipped the hood up on his tunic so that no one would see him, partly to hide his presence and partly to avoid any more gawking or comments at his ruined face.

            As he shuffled along, his limping gait natural, Laurent couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. A man with an appearance as noticeable and hideous as his was in the spy business.

            But so far he must be doing something right, because he hadn’t been caught yet, and he continued getting more important assignments. He did have to wonder though if the latest opportunity had more to do with the Emissario taking shore leave along the Federation-Cardassian border than his previous information collection experiences.

            In any event, it was still a fortuitous opportunity; a serious chance for advancement with the section. His Starfleet career was as much a shell as his body was, both damaged beyond repair at Wolf 359.

            Now he fought the real war, to make sure that the Federation would never be as weak as it was before the Borg incursion. Laurent checked for any observers before he dipped into the pre-arranged meeting location: a dank little bar aptly named “The Hole”.

            It had been the first stop for the Emissario crew and he had already scoped it out thoroughly. He had to admit that his contact had picked an appropriate meeting place. It had been buzzing then, but was a frenzy of activity now, with the game concluded and thirsty patrons of all different types of species, even Cardassians, looking to figuratively drown themselves in the Homestead victory. People were streaming in and out of the Hole, and the inside was filled with the roar of conversation and clinking of bottles.

            His contact was sitting alone, her elfin ears twitching in response to the din around her, but her face remained impassive. Laurent tried to gently navigate around the bodies clogging the aisles and standing in his way, but eventually he resorted to rougher tactics.

            And whenever the affected person turned to him in protest, he merely pulled back his hood and smiled. It was enough to douse the coals burning in the stoutest heart. Finally reaching his target, he sat down in the booth beside her. She had already ordered two drinks, both untouched.

            After exchanging the appropriate passwords, Laurent pulled off his hood, confident that a Vulcan would not be taken aback by his appearance. He was wrong.

            The woman did the best she could to maintain the glacial set of her hawkish features, but he caught the flash of revulsion in her dark eyes. “Any news?” He asked, more gruffly than he intended.

            “No,” she replied, her accent clipped, her voice typically devoid of emotion. She recovered real nicely, Laurent thought. “The Palamedes has yet to report in.”

            “I know,” he replied. The woman’s right eyebrow arched. Laurent couldn’t help but chuckle. He loved it when Vulcans did that.

            “Does what you have to tell me amuse you?”

            “No,” he shook his head, his face becoming as impassive as hers. “Not at all. In fact it complicates things a great deal.” He leaned closer to her. The Vulcan hesitated briefly before following suit. His lips at her ear, an arm around her shoulder like a paramour, he whispered, “Danvers’ mission was only partially successful. The Cardassian science vessel was destroyed, but from we have gleaned from our friends in the Union, the ship was being escorted by a warship, Hideki-class. Our intelligence hadn’t anticipated that. Despite the extra protection, Danvers and her team were able to board the science vessel and take the quantum flux capacitor into their possession.

            But it appears that the Palamedes endured some damaged, either from the science vessel or the warship. We are certain that it never came out of the Tong Beak Nebula.”

            “So, the quantum flux capacitor is lost to us?” The Vulcan asked, nonplussed. “What does that mean for the border planets?”

            “Several corpses were recovered. I anticipate that the Cardassians will be seeding the border worlds with their spies. The Directorate thinks it’s best if the Brigade lowers its profile. Make sure that happens.”

            “That will be difficult,” the woman replied. “Danvers and her team were all natives to this system, with familial ties and deep roots. Their families and compatriots will want more of an explanation. And they will want revenge.”

            “That’s not my concern,” Laurent snapped. “Keep the Brigade’s activity to a minimum until you are otherwise notified. And if the cells balk, threaten to cut off their supply of weapons and intel.”

            The woman nodded. “I will carry out your directives.” Laurent nodded, smirking.

            “Good. Make sure that the Brigade cells know that we have not abandoned them. We share their desire for a strong, united border against Cardassian imperialism. But the Directorate has to read the tea leaves, you might say, before plotting their next move.”

            “Understood.”

            “Excellent. Now I have one more question.”

            “Yes?”

            “Are you hungry? I’m famished.”

***

Minos Korva

(Three months later…)

             Commander Terrence Glover barreled through space, the planet’s gravitational field reaching greedily to claim him. Fighting the pull of Minos Korva, he craned his head to see if his partner had followed him out of the spacecraft.

            The pull of gravity too strong, Glover allowed his body to go limp as he hit the atmosphere, the bright, blue reflective suit taking the brunt of the fiery reentry, but he still broiled, sweat drenching his body. Though the faceplate on his helmet had been specially designed to repel the blinding sparks caused by his contact with the atmosphere, he still shielded his face against the brightness.

            He removed his hand once the burning was replaced by a frigid coating of air. Reentry was the most dangerous part of orbital skydiving, followed by the landing. With one part down, he only had to worry about the landing. He was more worried about his partner.

            He spoke into the helmet’s microphone. “Captain Awokou, how are you doing?” He twisted around to finally catch a glimpse of the man rapidly catching up to him, small curls of smoke peeling off his red diving suit.

            “Fine,” the older man huffed. “Just dandy.”

            Glover chuckled. Banti Awokou had been First Officer on the Kitty Hawk, the first starship Terrence had ever served on. The stern, imposing man remained his mentor. He trusted his counsel even more than his own father who was a Starfleet Admiral and commander of Deep Space Five.

            So when Awokou had called him from his extended leave to journey to Minos Korva, Terrence couldn’t refuse him. At first he had thought Banti had requested to see him to ask him to serve as First Officer on the Phoenix, his new command. As much as Glover admired and respected the venerable commander, he had his sights set on the captain’s chair.

            He had played second fiddle long enough, and had spent the previous two years fleshing out his service record with prestigious postings on the Klingon warship Dorna as an Exchange Officer and as a Flight Instructor at Starfleet Academy, and a mentor to the school’s Nova Squadron. Until just this year his team had been the last Nova Squad to win the Rigel Cup from the rival Red Squadron.

            Terrence had been very proud of the new squad, the current Rigel Cup holders, particularly team leader Cadet Nick Locarno. He couldn’t help but recognize similarities between himself and the driven young man. He regretted leaving them, but he was sure that Locarno could guide them in the right direction until the Commandant found another mentor.

            Glover was sure there were only great things ahead in Locarno’s future. He was no longer so certain about his own prospects. When he arrived on the Phoenix, he was greeted by the ship’s First Officer, a rather comely Xyrillian named Lian’ne.

            And Awokou had been pretty mum about why he called on Glover. Terrence knew that the captain would tell him when he felt ready to, so he decided to occupy his time with sport until Banti made up his mind.

            Glover had made a date with Commander Lian’ne for a skydiving session, but had been surprised when Captain Awokou had shown up in her place.

            The man had mysteriously claimed that Lian’ne was occupied with some important work, and had begun to suit up. Terrence had never known Awokou to engage in skydiving even once while they served on the Kitty Hawk, or anytime after, but the man was handling himself with assurance.  

            He glided gracefully along the air currents, doing pirouettes. Glover chuckled. Awokou had been a martinet aboard the Kitty Hawk, almost a mirror image of the gruff, uncompromising Captain Gorik, the surliest Tellarite Glover had ever encountered.

            But he had definitely mellowed with age, or command. Terrence had never realized the man could be so graceful, and he had never thought about dancing among the clouds himself in all of his years of skydiving.

            He stretched himself, the hard currents buffeting against him, hitting his body with the force of blows. The last time Terrence had felt so alive was his occasional zips along Titan’s Turn in a shuttle with artificial gravity turned off.

            The commander defied the grip of fate, his muscles straining as he matched Captain Awokou move for grueling move. Being the self-proclaimed orbital skydiving expert, he couldn’t allow even his mentor to outshine him.

            They carried on like that for a few minutes, pushing their bodies to the limit, until an alarm trilled inside Glover’s helmet. He instantly pulled the ripcord to the parachute and gritted his teeth as it ejected from his backpack and jerked him briefly skyward again. Seconds later, Captain Awokou followed suit.

            The rest of the journey was fairly unexciting after that. Both men made rather gentle landings along a grassy and thankfully empty plain on the planet’s northern continent.

            Doffing his cumbersome pack, Glover’s helmet hissed as he unhooked it from his neck. Holding it in the crook of his arm, the commander took in a great gulp of air before speaking.

            “I thought you said you were new to this?”

Awokou smiled, sliding gracefully out of the straps of his backpack.

            “I recall saying that I had never jumped over Minos Korva before.”

            “Hmm…perhaps I heard wrong.”

            “Perhaps you did Terrence.” The older man smiled.

            “Good jump though,” Terrence pulled off one of his gloves and stuck his hand out. Banti wrapped both his gloved hands around it. He shook vigorously, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

            “It’s very rare that Terrence Glover admits being bested.”

            “Things have changed.”

            “And that’s what concerns me.”

Glover tensed, his brows knitting, “What is that supposed to mean?” Awokou continued to smile, but his words held no mirth.

            “Why are you wasting your time?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You should be aboard a starship, not babysitting cadets.”

            “I’m waiting on a command.” Banti guffawed, causing Glover to frown. “What’s so funny about that?”

            “The great, magisterial Terrence Glover is waiting for Command to anoint him?”

            “There’s no need for sarcasm.” Glover said, a distasteful hint of whining in his voice. “It’s just that I’ve served with distinction aboard Kitty Hawk, Renegade, and even aboard a Klingon vessel. In addition to that, I’ve taught at the Academy. I deserve a command. Particularly with the dearth of qualified commanders after Wolf 359, the Admiralty would be remiss not to consider me one of its top choices.”

            “Still not gun shy about your perceived abilities, huh?”

            “Not when they are backed up by facts, which they are.” Glover winced at the hardness creeping into his voice. Was Captain Awokou trying to provoke him on purpose?

            “If you believe you’re so ready for command, why have you turned down several Exec positions in the last few months?”

            “Because I don’t want to play second fiddle anymore,” he admitted, adding, “Been keeping tabs on me?”

            “Something like that.” Banti said. “And you know that good leaders must be good followers.”

            “I’ve heard that,” Glover replied, “and I’ve told the cadets the same thing. But I don’t really believe it. Leaders lead. Always have and always will.”

            “And you don’t think you can lead being an Exec anymore?”

            “No, I don’t.” Terrence knew that Banti Awokou appreciated honesty more anything else. The ability to be completely truthful with each other had been the glue that cemented their long friendship.

            “With an attitude like that you’ll never make it to the center chair.”

            “I will if the old guard sets out to pasture.”

            “‘Old guard’? Like me huh?”

            “No, no, of course not sir.” Awokou waved away Glover’s denial.

            “Don’t bother.”

            “Why have you called me here sir?”

            “Because I need you…well, not me per se.”

            “Then who?”

            “Admiral Nechayev.” The revelation intrigued him. Why would the tough, uncompromising Admiral Nechayev have need of his services? And why couldn’t she summon him herself? And not use Captain Awokou as an intermediary.

            “What’s going on Captain?”

            “You know about the recent peace talks with the Cardassians correct?” Glover nodded. The Federation had been in a series of hot and cold conflicts with the Cardassian Union since for over a decade. The Kitty Hawk had squared off against the snake heads on more than one occasion during Glover’s time aboard the ship.

            “I take the nod for a yes,” Awokou paused for confirmation before continuing, “Admiral Nechayev has been tapped to represent the Federation in the talks.”

            “Good choice.” From what little Glover knew of the woman, much of it coming from his father, Nechayev couldn’t be bullied, and would stand up well against the Cardassian penchant for mind games and hidden agendas.

            “One of the proposals to end our conflict with the Cardassians is the creation of a Demilitarized Zone along our main border with the Cardassians, near the Badlands.”

            “Okay.” Glover knew very little about that portion of space, aside from what his old friend Pell Ojana shared about it. However, the Bajoran remained fairly tight lipped about great swaths of her past.

            “I need you to keep this between us, but one of the most controversial aspects of the projected peace deal is a swapping of some of the planets currently on either side of the border.”

            “Swapping?”

            “Yes, some planets currently under Federation sovereignty would switch to Cardassian control, and vice versa.”

            “You can’t be serious.”

            “The price of peace is seldom cheap.”

            “But…the border planets took the brunt of assaults during the war. How can we ask anymore of those people? After they fought for survival against the Cardassians, the Federation is now willing to hand over their planets to them just like that?”

            Awokou scowled. “It isn’t just like that. I know Alynna, and I can assure you that this proposal doesn’t sit particularly well with her either, but we can’t maintain the adversarial status quo.”

            “We shouldn’t be making any concessions to the Cardassians,” Glover declared. “The Federation News Service reports daily on how they are on their last legs on Bajor. The Union is crumbling. Let it fall. We shouldn’t be helping them by giving them more territory.”

            “I don’t like this either Terrence, but the Federation isn’t giving the Cardassians anything; we are merely exchanging territorial authority, planet for planet.”

            “And I’m certain this is going over well with the people in the border planets?”

            “The plan hasn’t been shared with them yet.”

            “What? I can’t believe that! How could Command think to leave them out of these talks?”

            “Leaders must lead remember?” Glover sucked his teeth, unable to mount a comeback.

            “I’ve prevailed twice today,” Awokou beamed. “Who would’ve thought?”

            “So, where do I factor into this?”

            “Though the DMZ plans haven’t been officially released yet, the Admiral is certain that some aspects of it have been leaked. There are a lot of Starfleet veterans who live in the border region, or have built homes there, and thousands of others that despise the idea of making ‘concessions’ to the Union.”

            “Like me?”

            Awokou ignored him. “For the last year, there has been an alarming increase in violence and sabotage on border worlds, both Cardassian and Federation. One of the most serious is the suspected theft of a runabout that we still haven’t been able to divine the reasons behind. Furthermore, several large caches of weapons have been discovered by local authorities on several border planets. Weapons of Starfleet manufacture.”

            “Where did they come from?”

            “We suspect that some Starfleet officers are working in collusion with disgruntled elements on border worlds. What the Admiral fears is the rise of an organized, armed resistance to the peace plan.”

            “You’re joking right?” Glover asked. “You’re talking about the Sons of Liberty or Minutemen type groups?”

            “Yeah,” Awokou nodded, “Like the Maquis or Partisans, something like that.”

            “I can’t believe in this day and time people would lose such faith in our government to protect their interests.”

            “But didn’t you just express disapproval against the peace plan?”

            “Yes, but disapproval and armed revolt are two different things.”

            “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

            “Why?”

            “Because the Admiral needs your help, I need your help.”

            “What is it Captain?”

            “Are you familiar with Captain Sabrina Diaz of the Starship Cuffe?” Glover rubbed his chin.

            “Yes, Captain Diaz had wanted me for the XO job aboard her ship, but I was at the Academy then and I turned her down.”

            “And that position went to Lt. Commander Calvin Hudson.”

            “Yes,” Glover smiled, remembering his old Academy friend. He hadn’t seen him in almost two years. He had allowed life to get in the way of his friendships, reducing his face time with many of his friends, Cal, Ben Sisko, and Pell to rushed subspace communiqués. “Cal did tell me about that.”

            “I take it you haven’t spoken to him recently.”

            “No.” Glover frowned, detecting something ominous coiled underneath Awokou’s statement. “Has something bad happened?”

            “I think you should talk to him, that’s not my place.” Before Terrence could think about it his hand shot out and grasped the captain’s bicep.

            “Perhaps you should tell me about it.” Awokou stared at the offending hand before glaring at Glover.

            “And perhaps you should remove your hand from my person Commander.” Recoiling as if he had touched a hot spanner, Glover shrank back.

            “My apologies Captain.” He looked downward.

            “When I said it was not my place, I meant it. Hudson had been the admiral’s contact aboard Cuffe, but he has taken a leave of absence. He recommended you to Nechayev, and she in turn asked me. I seconded that and she sent me out to recruit you.”

            “Recruit me for what?”

            “Starfleet Intelligence suspects that Captain Diaz might be involved in a ring of rogue Fleet officers supplying stolen weapons and tactical information to the saboteurs.”

            “You really can’t be serious.”

            “I’ve never been more serious.” Awokou’s grim face was deader than deadpan.

            “And you want me to be a spy? That’s not my line of work. What about someone from SI?”

            “If Diaz is a rogue, she would spot an Intelligence agent right off. Diaz is a grizzled, wily veteran, who saw several tours of duty against both the Cardassians and Tzenkethi. She’s abrasive and very perceptive, a lot like Captain Gorik.”

            “If she’s in any form similar to Gorik, then how do you expect me to slide under her sensors?”

            “For one, Hudson was able to gain Diaz’s trust, and he was informed to recommend you. Second, her former Operations Officer Pell Ojana is also one of your closest associates. Talk about a small galaxy? Third, Captain Diaz is well aware of your service record, and your personal history. She knows about your work with the Bajoran refugees and your actions against the Cardassians. She can rightly suspect that you wouldn’t hold them in high regard or trust them further than you can throw them.”

            “And she would be right.”

            “That makes you the perfect candidate for this assignment.”

            “I’m not sure I agree with that assessment.” Awokou put a grandfatherly hand on Glover’s shoulder.

            “I don’t trust the Cardassians anymore than you do, but I respect the law, same as you. I didn’t condone the actions of Ben Maxwell, the Phoenix’s last captain, whether they were proven right or not, and I can’t support using violence to solve problems. It’s antithetical to our way of life.”

            “I agree with that, but I just don’t feel right about deceiving Captain Diaz, coming to her under false pretenses.”

            “To be frank, this peace deal is more important than your personal feelings,” Awokou replied. “And Admiral Nechayev has told me that successful completion of this mission will result in your getting your choice of captain’s assignments.”

            An electric current ran through Terrence. “Say that again?”

            “The Admiral is giving you a chance to write your own ticket,” Banti said. Glover had fought all his career to distance himself from any perceived special treatment he might receive being the son of the admiral, and perhaps his struggle had been a bit too successful.

            But Nechayev’s offer gleamed before his eyes like a golden carrot. He felt his mouth starting to water. His own ticket? And all on his merits and talents…it was just too tempting to ignore. A glorious future flashed before his eyes.

            “What would I have to do?”

***

CHAPTER TWO

Minos Korva

(Late 2369)

USS Cuffe

(Transporter Room One)

            Captain Sabrina Diaz gestured stiffly in the direction of her acting Chief Engineer. “Mr. Laurent,” she said, her throat dry, “Lt. Sandhurst will show you Main Engineering and set aside a workstation for you. Unfortunately, I have a previous appointment.” Though she didn’t want to, she stuck out her hand. Laurent engulfed it in his larger hand, the skin feeling as parched as her throat. He smiled a lipless smile. “After your tour I do want you to stop by my ready room. We have a few things to go over.”

            “Thank you for personally welcoming me aboard Captain. I promise not to be too much of a bother to either Lt. Sandhurst,” he paused to nod in Sandhurst’s direction, “or you.”

            “See that you don’t.” Sabrina replied, trying to pump her voice with levity, but failing. The most she was able to muster was a smirk. Laurent stared at her blankly, a slash that was either a smile or sneer on his face. “Mr. Sandhurst…” she replied after a few awkward seconds.

            “Of course ma’am,” Donald replied, patting his fellow engineer on the shoulder. “Before we head to Engineering, how about I show you your quarters first?”

            “That sounds fine.”

            “Great,” Sandhurst nodded cheerily. “Captain might we be excused?”

            “Of course gentlemen,” Diaz said, her mind already on other things. “Don’t forget to stop by the ready room Mr. Laurent.”

            “I won’t.”

            “Good, I’ll see you then,” Diaz said, working up a wan smile. Laurent nodded curtly before turning back to Sandhurst.

            “I’m ready when you are.”

            After both men had exited the small transporter room, Diaz turned to the portly Tellarite manning the transporter station. “Something on your mind Balk?” She could tell by the man’s wrinkled snout and furrowed brow that he was struggling to keep his tongue. She had served with him for a long time, and was surprised by his restraint in this instance.

            “Off the record ma’am?”

            “Shoot.”

            “Lt. Commander Laurent…what happened to his face?” Balk asked, with customary Tellarite tact.

            “Why don’t you ask him?” He shrugged.

            “I would but he might take offense.”

            “You think so?”

            “After serving with Terrans for as long as I have, I have noticed that your species can be extremely thin-skinned.”

            “Is that so?”

            “Yes.” Diaz shrugged in response.

             “You’re right. But I think it’s something you should ask him. I’m sure he’s used to the question by now.”

            “So you’re not going to tell me, is that it?”

            “You got it.”

            Balk snorted, and then mumbled, “What till you want the latest shipboard gossip.” Diaz leaned over the transporter console, pretending not to have heard him.

            “What was that?”

            “Oh nothing captain.”

            “Good, keep it that way.” She smiled at her old friend and squeezed his hairy paw.

            “Perhaps you could at least impart to me an inkling of what your meeting will be about?” Balk was the resident Chief Gossiper onboard. Sabrina had often kidded the man, telling him that he should’ve gone into the Communications division. He was one of her prime conduits for informal information aboard ship and across the Fleet.

            Diaz tensed, scowling. “We’re going to have more visitors.”

            “I take it you’re none too pleased about the incoming arrivals?”

            “Something like that,” she replied cryptically. “You’ll see what I mean when they get here, if I’m not able to do anything about it.”

***

USS Cuffe

(Captain’s Ready Room)

            “Why this ship? Why not one of those new bioneural numbers? We’re only partway through our conversion to bio-gel circuitry. I don’t know if Cuffe can handle the strain of accelerating the conversion process along with new dissipater upgrade and then traveling through the Tong Beak Nebula.” Captain Diaz sat up in her seat, propping her elbows on her polished black desk. She glared into the screen of the small monitor on her desk. “Are you setting me up to fail?”

            “Have you informed your crew of your new mission yet?” Rear Admiral Nicandro Viamante answered her questions with one of his own. He rubbed the thin, neatly trimmed salt and pepper mustache as he awaited a response. His smugness infuriated her, but Diaz did her best to conceal her feelings. She hid her anger behind a neutral expression and modulated voice.

            “No, I haven’t. I didn’t see the reason to get them all riled up if I could pass this mission on to another ship. Where is the Enterprise or Excelsior when you need them?”

            “That’s one less problem you need to worry about, because you have your orders. Has Lt. Commander Laurent arrived yet?”

            “Yes sir,” Diaz said tightly, “He arrived at 1500. Lt. Sandhurst is giving him a tour of Main Engineering as we speak.”

            “I take it that the Lieutenant hasn’t been informed yet that Mr. Laurent will be taking control of the Engineering section for the duration of this mission.”

            “No, he hasn’t.”

            “You’re slipping Sabrina.” The insult burned her like a hot poker.

            “I think it’s the folks at HQ that have slipped and hit their heads. One of the reasons you’re sitting where you are and I’m sitting here is because of my less than sterling record when it came to agreeing with Command’s decisions. Not to mention our daughter’s very vocal condemnation of the Cardassian-Federation peace talks outside of the President Jaresh-Inyo’s residence.” She was proud that she hadn’t ripped the man’s head off in her reply.

            “Sonia’s protests have nothing to do with why you’re still a captain after all these years. Don’t blame her for that, like you’ve blamed her for so many other things. About the only thing you two agree about these days are the peace talks.”

            “And I’m sure having your ex-wife and your eldest daughter on record as being critical of Jaresh-Inyo’s pet project has slowed your upward mobility at HQ huh?”

            “Here we go again,” he exhaled loudly. “You need to stop the blame game.”
            “I’m not blaming anyone. I’m not the one that chose career over family.”

            “But you are the one that never let anyone forget it, slaving yourself to your job, neglecting our children.”

            “How dare you!” Anger splashed over her like lava. “How dare you accuse anyone of being a work slave? When you sided with the JAG to hold me negligent for the training accident on the Unmei, what was that but choosing a forth pip over me?”

            “You’re forgetting that I argued in favor of you getting another chance at the captain’s chair with the Cuffe, and so far you haven’t messed it up. But this border world advocacy is not winning you any new friends.”

            “Friends? You call those snakes you coil up with at HQ friends?” He held up a placating hand to the small screen, almost totally obscuring his face.

            “This mission can go a long way toward rebuilding the ties the Unmei tragedy shredded. Its failure or success has serious ramifications for the future of Alpha Quadrant relations. This is also Admiral Nechayev’s baby, and she would be very supportive of anyone that helped her get the peace treaty ratified.”

            “I really don’t see how that’s possible, or desirable now, especially after that stunt the Cardassians pulled two months ago, kidnapping Jean-Luc Picard as part of their designs to annex Minos Korva. Why is Nechayev still pushing this bankrupt accord?”

            “Because everyone has superiors that they have to satisfy every now and then,” Viamante remarked coolly. “That’s the way of the galaxy.”

            “Don’t I know it,” Diaz sighed. “I thought my being appointed head of the Minos Korva taskforce was a sign that my days in the doghouse were over. I guess I still have more miles to go.”

            Viamante smiled, “Don’t we all.”
            “When should I be expecting my guests?”

            “The Liger is en route from with the passengers. The ship should arrive within the next fifteen hours.”

            “I guess that gives me enough time to put on a happy face.”

            “You were always quite the performer.” He remarked but Diaz decided to leave that one alone.

            “How is Nadia?” She asked instead. She hadn’t seen either of her daughters in years. Viamante visibly relaxed at the mention of their youngest daughter.