Star Trek: Talespin Episode 2: To Catch a Pirate

by Ghost Wrider 117

Voyager is sent to investigate the disappearance of several ships along a major shipping lane, and eventually pits Rebecca against an old foe.

Captain's log, Stardate 56453.3: Voyager has been dispatched to an area of space near the Bassen Rift where several freighters have seemingly disappeared without a trace. All five of the missing ships were making what is known locally as the "Master Run", the primary shipping lane from Bolarus to Gamma Pavonis. Starfleet Command suspects foul play, but to attack such a heavily traveled route practically in the shadow of Starbase 10 would take someone who is either reckless or crazy…or both.

---

Rebecca walked into the mess hall picking at a bit of imagined lint on the shoulder of her uniform. She was doing her best to look bright eyed and bushy tailed, but she hadn't yet had a cup of coffee. And while there were a lot of things she could say about her husband, both good and bad, at 0600 the highest praise she could give him was that he made the best cuppa Joe in the Alpha Quadrant.

The mess hall was only lightly occupied at the moment, but as the 0700 shift change approached it would become a madhouse. She walked behind the counter to see Baloo hard at work preparing breakfast. She was amazed at the change Voyager had engendered in her happy-go-lucky, many times lazy, "better" half. He was still that most of the time, but when it came to keeping up the crew, he was as dedicated as she was. It only made her love him more.

"Mornin' Boss Lady," he said with a small smile. "I'd offer ya somethin' to eat, but I know there's only one thing you're looking for."

He reached for a silver pot on an electric warmer and filled the china cup Rebecca's mother had left to her. She gratefully took it and inhaled deeply over the top. She cringed.

"What is this?"

"It's an Earth bean. Arabica. Gourmet roasted. Thought you might like to try something new."

She sipped it hesitantly. And grimaced.

"Baloo, I appreciate your effort to broaden my horizons, and in fact encourage it at almost any other time. But at oh six hundred, just give me my cherished Uslembrian roast, extra black, extra strong before I feed you to the grinder."

Baloo chuckled. "As you wish."

He took the cup and dumped it in the sink, then filled it from a different silver carafe and handed it to her. She sipped it gratefully and sighed.

"Much better."

She walked back out into the mess hall proper with Baloo at her heel.

"Ya know, most of the ship's crew prefer the Earth variant."

"What a surprise, most of the crew is human."

"Easy Beckers, ya sound like you're a little prejudiced."

She set her coffee down on the counter and turned around.

"Baloo, why don't you come with me?"

She walked back into the kitchen, clear that her suggestion was anything but. Baloo followed her and when they were out of sight of the few crewmembers outside, she stood on her toes, took him firmly by the ear, and pulled him down to her eye level.

"Ow, lady! Easy on the ear lobes!"

"Baloo, I have told you a thousand times, and I'm only going to tell you one more! In private you can call me whatever you want. But within earshot of any member of the crew you will address me as Captain or Ma'am, or so help me I will toss you out the nearest airlock! Do you understand me?"

"Okay, okay! Yes, Captain! I understand!"

"Good." She let him go, and returned to her coffee. A few moments later, the doors to the mess hall slid open and her first officer strode in. At 7 feet 2 inches, he towered over even Baloo. Rebecca barely came to chest height.

"Good morning, Captain," he said.

"Ben. How was your night?"

"Good. I was reviewing the sensor logs from Starbase 10. You would think that any phenomenon that could make an entire ship disappear would register even on their long-range sensors. But nothing. I think that whatever happened, those ships are still around somewhere."

Rebecca took a large slurp of her coffee. She had learned some time ago that slurping was considered rude by Terran standards. Despite that, once she made Captain, she could not refrain from what was considered the epitome of culture on Uslembria.

"So what are you implying, Commander?"

"The data suggests nothing as yet, Captain. But my gut tells me to agree with Command. Something fishy is going on."

"So you're suggesting some form of…what? Piracy?"

Avery hesitated. "Not necessarily. But neither would I preclude it."

"Ben, you're tap dancing. And you know how much I hate that."

He chuckled. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

"So give it to me straight."

"Very well, Captain. Four of the five missing ships were carrying materials that have no particular value in the main body of the Federation. Our technology has generally allowed us to evolve beyond the need for material things. But on the outskirts, and beyond our borders, material need is very real. And all of those ships were carrying materials that would draw a fortune in those markets. Gold pressed latinum. Diamonds. Tritanium. Transparent aluminum. Duranium. Just to name the most valuable. And the fifth ship was carrying dilithium. Quite frankly, to seek a cause other than piracy is like suspecting Andorvian Sleeping Sickness in a patient who's been working double shifts for a week."

Rebecca chuckled. "Commander, you make your point as subtly as usual. I've been thinking along the same lines. But if that's the case, then how do we lure the pirate?"

"Same way you catch a salmon, Captain."

"A what?"

A look of disproportionate alarm crossed his face. "It's a...um…an uh…well…I'm sorry, Captain."

"About?"

He hemmed and hawed a moment. Rebecca's patience grew thin.

"Commander Avery?"

She knew what a blush was, and had witnessed the process in many of the humans she had encountered. But never one with skin as deeply chocolate as her XO's.

"I'm sorry, Captain. You see, your species are almost exclusively anthropomorphic versions of Terran animal species. In your case, either the Brown or the Grizzly Bear. Both of which have a diet primarily comprised of various fish species, chief among them…salmon."

She suddenly saw why he was so uncomfortable. The opportunity to paste over her normally unflappable First Officer was all but irresistible.

"So what exactly is it that you're trying to say? That I'm an animal?"

"No Ma'am! Not at all!"

"Because you know that, other than the gender variations and a little fur, there's really not much biological difference between you and I."

"Captain, I didn't mean to imply-."

"Then what did you mean to imply?"

"Nothing, Captain! Nothing at all!"

Rebecca couldn't help herself any longer. She laughed heartily.

"I'm sorry, Ben. I thought you'd pick that up right away, but when you didn't I couldn't help but run with it."

His relief was palpable. He broke into a smile. "You always keep me on my toes, Captain."

"What good would you be to me if I didn't?"

"Point taken."

"So?"

"Well, as I so racistly suggested…the salmon try to swim upriver to their spawning grounds, oblivious to the bears standing in the river waiting on them. When they jump to try to move upriver and obtain their goal-."

"The bear strikes, securing its dinner."

"Exactly, Captain."

"So it seems we need a salmon."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She looked pointedly at Baloo, who had been following their conversation with limited interest.

"Or maybe a Duck."

When Avery looked at him also, he suddenly got it.

"Oh, no, now hold on there Beck…uh, Captain."

"What's the matter, Baloo? I thought you wanted to be more than just a cook."

"Now I never said that."

"Perhaps not. But I'm pretty sure you implied it."

"Hangin' myself out as a piece of bait isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Then it's settled. Ben, have the senior staff in the conference room at 0800. Baloo, you'll join us. We'll figure out just how we're going to do this. I'll be in my ready room."

She took two steps towards the door and hesitated. She turned back to Baloo, took a large slurp of her coffee, and held it out to Baloo. "How about topping me off, eh Flyboy?"

His mouth was still half-agape in shock and protest. Her request brought him back to his senses.

"Yes, ma'am." He reached for the pot and refilled her cup.

"Thank you. And after you push through the morning rush, why don't you come up with a fresh pot?"

"Aye, Captain."

She nodded at Avery and left.

---

The triple toned chime of the doorbell sounded and Rebecca looked up from the star chart she was studying.

"Come in."

The doors slid open and Baloo came in carrying the silver carafe.

"Reporting as ordered, Captain."

"Please, come in." She stood and walked around her desk as the doors slid shut behind him. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around him.

"Are you happy to see me, happy to see the coffee, or just trying to butter me up?"

She stepped back, looked up at him, and gave him an inscrutable smile. "Yes."

She turned and took her cup from the desk. She held it out and Baloo refilled it. When he had, she sat on the couch adjacent to the desk and indicated that Baloo should join her there. He sat beside her.

"Okay, say your peace."

"Becky, the Sea Duck has got no business flittin' around way the hell out on her own waitin' on some somethin' or other to come and scoop her up. Hell, she doesn't have much more than navigational deflectors. She'd be a sittin'…well…Duck."

"Baloo, I understand how this must seem. But this is Voyager's first real mission since the re-launch. We need to slam-dunk this. But I promise that neither you nor the Sea Duck will be in any danger. That's what the staff meeting is for, to determine if this can be done safely. Besides, you have to admit…how long has it been since you and the Duck have stretched your legs together?"

He drew a deep breath and sighed. "Too long."

"That's what I thought. You see Baloo; I'm not just taking advantage of you as a temporary asset. I know how much you've sacrificed for me to take this command. That's not lost on me."

She set her cup on the table and took one of his hands in both of hers. "I'm trying to involve you in my life. I want you to be a part of this. After all, you're a part of me. This isn't the only time I'm going to do this. Quite frankly, I'm going to do it as often as I can. You're my Neelix."

"Your what?"

"When Voyager first arrived in the Delta Quadrant, they stumbled across a drifting trader named Neelix. He became a guide and advisor for Janeway. Jack of all trades, master of none. The person she turned to when Starfleet didn't work. And I want you to be that for me.

"I never wanted you on board to be a cook. I wanted you here because I love you. And coming back to you every few days on Outpost 4 just wasn't enough for me. I want you involved in my life. And for the first time, I have the opportunity to really make that happen. Don't you see? Do you know what it took to get us all on board together? You, me, and Kit? And maybe even Molly someday. We get to be a real family."

Baloo nodded slowly. "I see. But do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Becky, you're the Captain. You may get to have us all on board…but that means at some point in time…you may have to order one of us to die."

She drew a great breath and sighed heavily. "Yes, you're right. And in other circumstances, I don't think I would take the risk. But it's peacetime. The Dominion has collapsed and won't be leaving the Gamma Quadrant for the foreseeable future. The Cardassian Union is going to be rebuilding for some time. The Romulans…it's hard to tell exactly what is happening there, but they also are going through some kind of political revolution. Our alliance with the Klingons is stronger than ever with Chancellor Martok leading the Council. The Ferengi Alliance has been turned on its ear.

"Starfleet's enemies are all too occupied with themselves to be any threat to us. And quite frankly, we've got a good deal of rebuilding to do ourselves. But in the meantime, we've got the opportunity to do more pure exploration than we've perhaps ever had.

"So given the relatively low risk…it's worth it to have my family with me." She leaned into him and lay her head on his chest. "Especially you."

Baloo sighed and wrapped his arms around her. "You know, if it's not those big brown eyes that get me, it's that cute little figure. And if it's not the little figure, it's that great big heart. And if it's not the heart…" He chuckled. "Well, if it's not your heart it's usually my ear that you're trying to rip off. Point is…I love you too, Beckers."

---

"Captain on deck!" Avery barked as Rebecca entered, Baloo on her heels. The room came to their feet.

"Good morning," she said, taking her seat. The rest of them followed suit. Avery to her right, followed by Paris, Kit, and Hansen. To her left, T'Prin, Lefler, and Dr. Tyson. Baloo sat at the opposite end. She looked at Avery.

"Commander?"

Avery recapped the conversation he and Rebecca had earlier, and their tentative plan. T'Prin spoke first.

"I do not believe it to be appropriate to use a civilian spacecraft in a Starfleet operation."

"Noted," Rebecca said. "Other objections?"

There were none.

"Commander Lefler, what would it take to outfit the Sea Duck with a rudimentary shield generator?"

"Not much, Captain. The Duck is comparable to several types of Starfleet shuttles. Shield generators for those should be easily adaptable."

"So then the question becomes how do we make the Duck look appealing enough?"

Hansen spoke up. "It would be relatively simple to modify the Sea Duck's sensor signature to indicate the presence of valuables on board."

"Excellent. So, if we were to proceed, could we shadow the Duck in the edge of the rift and remain undetectable?"

"We would need to modify the navigational deflector to generate a subspace signal along some of the same wavelengths as the emissions from the rift. But it is possible."

Paris spoke up. "Range is the problem, Captain. We can hide Voyager. But the Duck's course would have to be plotted very carefully. Mirror the rift too closely and she's not adequate bait. Too far away and Voyager can't get there in time. It will be a very fine line."

"Doctor, do you see any medical concerns?"

"Beyond the obvious repercussions of a ship being attacked? No."

"Baloo, your thoughts?"

"If I can be of assistance, Captain, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Anything else?"

No one spoke.

"Very well. Commander Paris, you will work with Baloo and Ensign Cloudkicker. Develop a flight plan and have it to me by 1400. Commander Lefler, work with Lieutenant Hansen to modify the deflector. Have your staff install the shield generator. Commander Avery, coordinate. I want to be ready to implement the plan by this time tomorrow." She stood. "Dismissed."

The staff stood and began to file out.

"Lieutenant T'Prin, a moment?" Rebecca said.

The Vulcan lagged behind. Rebecca indicated the seat immediately to her left. She let the Vulcan sit first.

"T'Prin, let's drop the ranks here. What exactly is your problem with me?"

"I am not sure I understand, Captain."

"Of course you do. As I understand, you're a direct descendant of Commander T'Pol, the first Vulcan to serve on a Federation starship."

"That is correct, Captain."

"That must carry some prestige among the High Council."

"To assume that is to assume that I carry some measure of pride, or that the High Council would acknowledge that pride. Both assumptions would be incorrect. As is your assumption that I might have some sort of personal objection to you. You obviously do not understand Vulcans. We are incapable of emotion. It is that incapability of understanding other cultures that makes me question your ability to command."

Becky shook her finger at T'Prin. "Oh, no. Don't try that with me. Vulcans are as capable of emotion as any other race."

"Are you intentionally insulting me, Captain?"

"Are you intentionally ignoring the history of the Vulcan people? Surak established the modern Vulcan culture because of their emotions, specifically because of their inability to control them. You can't play the ignorance card on me, T'Prin. Not without admitting ignorance yourself. So again I ask, what exactly is your problem with me?"

"I do not believe your record indicates a great enough wealth of experience to command a starship. You seem to have excelled in border patrol, but Voyager's mission is very different. Your assumption that I have an emotional issue with your command of this ship is based on an emotional impulse of your own. I assure you, no such prejudice exists."

"I'm not convinced by your assurances, Lieutenant. So it seems we're on equal footing. You don't like me and I don't like you. So I'm going to make this easy. Computer: activate official recording, and add recording to the ship's log."

"Official recording activated."

"Lieutenant T'Prin, I am officially noting what I deem to be a subservient opinion of my command abilities on your part. Professionally, I don't have a problem with that as long as it doesn't interfere with your ability to perform your duty to my standards. Given your constant parade of snide comments, pointing out the obvious, and offering your considered opinion of nearly every order I give whether it was solicited or not, it most certainly is interfering. So I'm putting you on notice that you'd better square away the attitude or I'm going to start handing you reprimands in the same manner I'd hand out lollipops to orphans. Now, you have the option of following this up with Starfleet Command. If you choose not to do so at this time, this does not indicate a forfeiture of your rights to do so. I am also officially noting my right to relieve you of your duties based on this accusation. But I have no intention of doing so at this time. Computer: end official recording"

"Official recording ended."

"Lieutenant, I'm well within my rights to request a new Chief of Security. But I don't want to do that. Starfleet's diversity is its strongest aspect. And off the record, if I were given a hundred choices of anyone on this ship to head up Security, I'd choose you every time. Because you're the best for the job. And I can't have the best ship in Starfleet if I don't have the best crew. Vanity? Yes. But you'll have trouble finding a ship to serve on that doesn't feel the same way.

"I'm not saying I want your silence if something is threatening the ship or her crew. And I'm not saying I don't want your honest analysis when I ask for it. I can't stand save-asses and I won't abide kiss-asses. But neither will I put up with any degree of insubordinate attitude in front of the crew. You want to say something like that to me you say it in private. And if privacy doesn't present itself then you bite your tongue. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Captain."

"So I ask you…before you pass judgement on me based only on what you've read in my jacket, give me a fair evaluation. If after that, you still feel I am not fit for command, I will approve a request for transfer and forward any report you see fit to give regarding my lack of ability to Command. Agreed?"

She considered a moment. "Agreed."

"But in the interim, I expect you to perform your duties to the highest Starfleet standards. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Dismissed."

---

Doctor Robert Tyson looked up from his PADD when he noticed the figure standing in the doorway.

"Ah, Seven, come in. Please, sit down."

"Thank you."

"What can I do for you?"

"I am curious. What is your opinion of our new Captain?"

He sat the PADD on his desk and leaned back in his chair. "Feeling a bit nervous?"

"Not at all. I am simply unsure how to respond to her. She is not at all like Captain Janeway."

"No, she is not. But how did you respond to Captain Janeway before you knew her?"

"The situation is not analogous. I was still Borg at that time."

"True. But you did what comes naturally to the Borg. You adapted."

"Unfortunately, I have found that as I have become more human, my ability to adapt has become greatly diminished."

The Doctor smiled. "Which makes you even more human. What do you know about Captain Cunningham?"

"A most curious species. She comes from a planet nearly identical to Earth. Except that most all forms of land based animal life evolved simultaneously into intelligent and non-intelligent versions of the same creatures. And those intelligent beings cohabit without any racial bigotry. The normal geopolitical conflicts have occurred, but without any particular regard to species."

"Yes, all very true. But I was referring to what you know of the Captain specifically."

"Beyond what is in her Starfleet record…nothing."

"But I assume you know that record backward and forward."

"Yes."

"Then extrapolate. For example, we know that she was severely injured as an ensign. And that despite predictions she would be an invalid the rest of her life, she recovered and rose very quickly to the rank of Captain. So she obviously has great fortitude and determination."

"Obviously. I have extrapolated to the extent that I can. But that still does not tell me what I need to know about her."

"Which is?"

"With Captain Janeway, I knew where I stood. I knew her opinion of me. I knew I could express myself to a certain extent without repercussion. And that I could violate those limits if I felt strongly enough, knowing that she would take the extenuating circumstances into effect before deciding on a course of repercussion. I do not know these things about Captain Cunningham."

"Of course you don't. Seven, you don't know her. The things you want to know can't be gleaned instantly, even if you had a database that contained them in some form. You have to spend time with someone to get to know them. To earn their trust. In a way, the Captain has a much more difficult task in that regard. Nearly sixty percent of the crew that returned from the Delta Quadrant have signed back on board. That long, in those circumstances, produce a crew as tightly knit as family. It must be incredibly intimidating to Captain Cunningham to be taking over for Captain Janeway. She seems to be doing a fantastic job so far."

"So then what do you suggest?"

"Just give her time. There's something about starship captains."

"Which is?"

"By necessity, by training, and by the system, they are all generally made of the same stuff. The personalities vary. With rare exception, the characters are the same."

"I understand."

She stood.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome."

She started to leave, but turned back at the threshold.

"And thank you…for calling me Seven."

"To me, you will always be Seven of Nine."

---

Rebecca walked into the shuttle bay where a scaffold was erected around the Sea Duck. The craft was shuttle sized, roughly four meters high and seven meters along the body, with an elongated tail boom that was more decorative than functional. Baloo had won her in a lucky hand of poker that, had he lost, probably would have cost him his life. She was shaped along the lines of a seagoing vessel, hence the name. Capable of .6c at sub-light and a max of warp 1.8, she was Baloo's prized possession.

An engineering team was crawling around her, fitting her with a shield generator that would let her hold out against an attack until Voyager could reach her. Hopefully. At the moment, Baloo was standing near the forward windows in a heated discussion with Tom Paris. She approached them.

"Captain!" they said simultaneously.

She held up her hand. "Commander Paris?"

"Captain, this is a Starfleet mission. And that means a Starfleet pilot. And not to brag, but you won't find a better pilot around than me. But your husband refuses to give up the left seat."

"I see. Baloo?"

"Captain, the Duck is my ship. And if someone's going to fly her into danger it's gonna be me."

"Commander Paris…may I call you Tom?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Tom, I'm sure you can understand Baloo's point of view. And please understand, our marital status does not affect my command decisions. Now I've reviewed your jacket. I know you're a hell of pilot. But I haven't yet ever met anyone who can out-fly Baloo. And quite simply, Baloo owns the Sea Duck. I would be out of line to order him to relinquish command of the ship to you. You will co-pilot the mission. But from a Starfleet point of view, you will remain in command of the mission.

"Now as I said, I have complete confidence in Baloo's ability to fly the mission. But he does lack in navigation skills. I want you to help plot the course. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am," Tom and Baloo said together.

"Gentlemen, I don't want you to view this as a competition. I know pilots." She gave them a knowing smile. "They're a species all their own. With a language all their own. And given the chance, they'll group together and sit around the hangar and talk shop rather than accomplish any actual serious work. So work together on this. Gossip. Tell fish stories. Brag about your best landings. I think you'll get along just fine."

"Yes, ma'am," Tom and Baloo said together.

She turned to Commander Lefler, who had walked up beside her.

"Commander?"

"The Duck's ready Captain. We've installed the same shield generator that's in a type 7 shuttle, which should be plenty against anything up to a class 3 cruiser for the amount of time we need it to."

"Very well. Let's get on with it."

---

Rebecca settled into her chair as she watched the Sea Duck float lazily out of the shuttle bay on the main viewscreen.

"Shuttle away, Captain," T'Prin reported.

Rebecca looked at Ops, where Lt. Hansen was manning the console in Paris' stead. "Keep a weather eye on her, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Captain."

"Ensign Cloudkicker, take us into the rift. Shadow the Duck as planned."

"Aye, Captain."

This was their third attempt to lure an attacker. Both times previous, the Duck had returned unmolested. On a positive note, Baloo and Tom seemed to have developed a rapport. But their mission to determine what was happening to shipping in the region was no closer to completion.

Rebecca monitored the sensor feed on the built in console in the arm of her chair while maintaining a visual track on the main viewscreen. After an hour of shadowing them, she was beginning to consider bringing them home and looking at the problem from a different perspective. Then an alarm began blaring at the Tactical station.

"Captain, sensors are detecting a tachyon surge near the Duck's position."

Rebecca stood and watched as the slender dirty lime colored shape of a Klingon bird of prey materialized from nothingness.

"Klingon battle cruiser uncloaking, Captain," T'Prin reported urgently. "K'Vort class. Heavily armed."

"Ensign Cloudkicker, take us out of the rift. Set an intercept course at maximum warp and execute as soon as we're clear."

She watched helplessly as vivid green bolts of energy reached out and impacted the Duck.

"Direct hit. The Duck's shields are down to eighty percent. They are beginning evasive maneuvers."

She turned to Kit. "Ensign?"

"Twenty seconds to clear the rift, Captain. Ninety-eight more to intercept the Duck."

"The Klingons are firing again, Captain," T'Prin reported. "They are unable to engage the Sea Duck. Her evasive maneuvers are…extreme."

"That is as expected, Lieutenant. And I think it safe to surmise that whoever is operating that ship, they're not Klingons." A voice in the back of her head pointed out that she was being unreasonable considering the situation and her relationship with T'Prin. "But continue to assume that they are until we have direct evidence otherwise."

"Yes, Captain."

"We've cleared the rift, Captain," Kit reported. "Executing intercept course at maximum warp."

Rebecca paced as the stars raced past the viewscreen. She prayed that Baloo's words in the ready room the other day, which she'd pooh-poohed more out of bravado than belief, would not prove to be prophetic. The Duck continued to gyrate through all three axes, most of the shots from the bird of prey sailing harmlessly past them. But the occasional disruptor blast connected.

"The Duck's shields are down to twenty percent," T'Prin reported.

"Ensign?"

"Twenty-five seconds to intercept, Captain."

"The bird of prey has detected us. They are turning towards."

"Red Alert. Raise shields. Arm phasers and quantum torpedoes."

The bird of prey briefly faced them, then began to turn away.

"Oh no you don't," Rebecca muttered. She looked up at the intercom grid. "Bridge to Engineering…"

"Lefler here, Captain."

"Prepare an inverse tachyon pulse. Match the frequency of the bird of prey's cloak when they engage it. You'll only have a few seconds, but if you nail it you can keep them from cloaking."

"I'm on it."

"Lieutenant T'Prin, ready the tractor beam."

"Ready, Captain."

She stepped up to the conn and leaned over Kit's shoulder.

"Kit, get us right up on top of them before we drop out of warp. Seconds will count like minutes."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"All hands, brace for maximum deceleration!"

Voyager swept in at nearly warp 10, decelerating so violently the IDF could not entirely counter. She held tightly to the arms of her chair to keep from being thrown forward as the view screen dampened the brilliant streams of plasma generated by the rapidly collapsing warp field. As the bird of prey began to disengage, she started to shimmer as her cloak came online.

"Lefler, engage tachyon pulse."

"Engaging."

She turned to T'Prin. "Lieutenant?"

"The bird of prey's cloak has not engaged."

"Activate tractor beam."

"Tractor beam engaged." She paused a moment, watching the readings scrolling across her console. "We have the bird of prey, Captain."

"Excellent. Where is the Sea Duck?"

"Seventy thousand kilometers off out port quarter. Moving off at warp 1.5."

"Tell her to keep her tail between her legs and run like hell. Open hailing frequencies to the Klingon ship."

A chime sounded from T'Prin's console.

"Hailing frequencies open."

"Bird of Prey, this is Captain Rebecca Cunningham of the Federation Starship Voyager. Please state your identity and your intentions."

There were a few moments of silence.

"Response coming through now, Captain," T'Prin said.

"On screen."

The face that appeared was probably unfamiliar to everyone else on the bridge except her and Kit. But Rebecca knew they were in trouble.

"This is the glorious pirate Don Karnage, speaking to you in my voice. Why do you trap my ship in your infernal tractor beam?"

Rebecca turned to T'Prin and made a cutting motion in front of her throat.

"Channel muted."

"Keep a close eye on that ship, Lieutenant. Expect deviousness and trickery. Of the worst kind. Treat her like you've got a rabid sehlat by the tail."

"Are you familiar with the ship, Captain?"

"Not the ship. But definitely the Captain. I've had dealings with him before. He's Uslembrian. And he's big trouble." She turned back to the viewscreen where Karnage's lips were flapping soundlessly. "Channel open."

"-me go or I will blast your ship into itsy bitsy teeny tiny little pieces!"

"Captain Karnage, you have attacked a Federation shuttlecraft without provocation. You are in violation of several Federation laws, including-."

"Read my lips you silly Federation automaton. I am a pirate. I do not care about your laws. You now have ten seconds to disengage your tractor beam."

"Our tractor beam will remain engaged. And you will immediately shut down your-"

"Five seconds."

"Your actions will not be tolerated. Submit yourself-."

The ship rocked with disruptor fire. The viewscreen went black.

"Communications terminated, Captain."

The ship rocked again.

"The verbal kind, anyway," Rebecca said. "T'Prin, keep that tractor beam up. Target Karnage's weapons array. Fire when ready."

Voyager's phasers reached out and hit the Klingon ship.

"Direct hit, Captain. Their shields are holding."

"Keep at them, Lieutenant. And keep your eyes open for anything unusual."

The ship rocked again.

"Actually Captain, I am getting unusual feedback from the tractor beam."

"Disengage it immediately!"

"But Captain, we will lose-."

Rebecca whirled to face her. "Don't argue with me, just do it!"

"Karnage will-."

T'Prin's console exploded, throwing her backwards into the rear bulkhead. Alarms began blaring and the ship began to founder. Lieutenant Hansen called out.

"The Klingon ship has transmitted a muon resonance wave along our tractor beam! The beam is disengaged. Our shields are down and Karnage's ship is coming around."

The ship rocked as disruptor fire cascaded across it. Rebecca was thrown across the bridge.

"Fire all weapons!" She ordered as she picked herself up. Hansen had smartly rushed to T'Prin's console.

"Firing now, Captain. But targeting systems are off line."

Voyager's phasers reached out. And missed. The ship rocked again. The aft science station exploded.

"Kit, get us out of here! Head for the Duck's position. If Karnage follows we'll turn and fight."

"Setting course 230 mark 221."

"Execute!"

Voyager turned and fled.

"Karnage's ship is not following," Hansen reported. "They have engaged their cloak. No longer registering on sensors. Shields have been restored."

Rebecca rushed to where T'Prin was lying unconscious against the aft bulkhead. Her face was badly burned.

"Bridge to sickbay, medical emergency."

"I'll send someone as soon as I can, Captain. We're inundated at the moment."

She rushed to the replicator and ordered a cold wet cloth. She laid it on T'Prin's face.

"Hold on, Lieutenant," she said softly.

"Captain," Kit said, "We have intercepted the Sea Duck."

"Any sign of Karnage?"

"No, ma'am."

"Bring her on board. But keep the shields up until the last minute. And be ready to bring them right back up. I don't want that ship popping out of cloak and catching us while we're vulnerable."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anyone else hurt?" she asked. No one spoke up. She looked up at the intercom grid.

"Bridge to Engineering."

"Lefler here, Captain."

"SitRep, Commander?"

"Shield generators weren't damaged, only disrupted. Weapons targeting is down. Tractor beam disabled. Minor damage to the secondary hull. A lot of ticky tack problems here and there but nothing major. They knew just how to hit us to get us to disengage."

"Injuries?"

"Minor, at worst."

"Let's count ourselves lucky there's nothing worse. Weapons are the priority, Commander. Bridge out. Ensign Cloudkicker, once the Duck is secured aboard, take us to Starbase 10 at warp 2."

"Aye, Captain."

---

The doors parted, admitting Rebecca into Sickbay. The room was full, mostly with bumps and bruises. Lieutenant T'Prin lay on the main biobed, her vitals beeping softly on the master situation monitor.

"Doctor?"

"She'll be fine, Captain. Concussion, severe burns to the face and neck. But I've got her on the mend."

Rebecca sighed. "If she'd just listened to me," she said sotto voce.

"Captain, it's not your fault."

"Dr. Tyson, I don't mean to sound…indifferent. I've seen enough evidence to convince me that you're every bit as much a sentient being as I am. But I'm the Captain. Regardless of the action or inaction based on my orders, anything that happens to a member of my crew is my fault. I don't know if you can understand that."

Tyson's face softened. "But I do, Captain. It is something I learned from Captain Janeway. Unfortunately, at great cost. I know you've had your problems with Lieutenant T'Prin. But she'll be fine. And in the end, isn't that all that matters?"

Rebecca patted T'Prin's hand and sighed. "I guess that's as good a way to look at it as any. Thank you, Doctor."

She turned and left Sickbay.

---

The doors to their quarters slid open and she stepped inside. Baloo was there and as the doors shut behind her she rushed to him, putting her arms around him and feeling his arms envelop her.

"I'm so glad you're safe."

"Didn't take long, did it?"

"What's that?"

"Don't take this the wrong way. I'm pointing it out as sort of a joke. But your 'we're in peacetime so there's not as much danger" speech held for less than a week."

"Baloo, that's not-."

"Easy, Beckers. I said I was trying to make a joke. I know you're the Captain and all, but you oughta try listening to someone else every once and a while."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "You're right." She leaned into him. His arms felt wonderful around her.

"This is one of the reasons I wanted you here. So at times like this, I can lose myself in you."

He kissed her, sliding his hand up along her body and caressing her breast.

"How about I lose myself in you?"

She sighed softly and took the hand that wasn't caressing her breast, guided it along her body, and pressed it against her womanhood. "Just what the Captain ordered," she whispered.

---

The bridge of the Klingon ship was darker than Karnage liked it. And more cramped. He wanted open spaces, huge cabins, bright lights. Just like the Vulture back on Uslembria. But that backwards world had ceased to hold enough opportunity for profit. He had sunk the majority of his wealth into this battle cruiser. Along with a number of lives, though he hardly cared about those. And the five ships he had taken so far mostly recouped that loss. He also had to admit, despite how uncomfortable it was, when he sat in the command chair the surge of power he felt was intoxicating.

But he was not sitting now. He was pacing in the narrow aisle between the command chair and the forward station, arms flying.

"What is that stupid bear doing on that ship? How can I keep running into her? And she is Captain?" He stamped his foot. "It make me very very angry!"

"And if she's the Captain, Captain, then Baloo must've been in the shuttlecraft."

"Maddog, did I give you permission to speak?"

"Of course not, Captain."

Karnage shouted at him, jumping up and down. "Then why are you telling me things I am already knowing?!"

"Sorry, Captain."

"I will not be thwarted by this annoying couple again. They will regret the day they crossed: Don Karnage!"

---

"Attention on deck!" the Yeoman intoned as Admiral Haggardy, the sector CINC entered the main conference room on Starbase 10. He waved his hand at them as he pulled out the seat at the head of the table.

"As you were. Captain?"

"Admiral, we've identified the cause of the recent ship disappearances near the Baffin Rift. This is the man responsible."

She tapped the console set into the tabletop in front of her and Karnage's image appeared on the main screen at the front of the room, along with the very thin dossier Uslembria had on him.

"His name is Don Karnage. He's from my world, which if you're not aware is an unaligned world. We have previously submitted an application to join the Federation, but it was turned down because the Council determined that the two primary nation-states were not sufficiently resolved in their political differences to qualify. In my opinion, a very wise decision.

"Karnage was previously running a pirate operation utilizing a large support vessel, which he'd named the Iron Vulture to launch fast attack craft that would trap a target and force it down. Then the Vulture would move in, they would steal any valuables on board, and then disappear. Usually they were satisfied to leave the ship disabled, but there were times the ship and crew were destroyed. Maliciously.

"He was usually not much more than a nuisance in general, and there simply weren't resources available to hunt him down. But as time went by he grew bolder, more greedy, and more violent. Attempts were finally made to find him and arrest him, but those efforts failed. He simply slinked away in to some dark hole. And was never seen again.

"Yesterday, our bait ship was attacked by a Klingon bird-of-prey. Karnage was in command."

"How on earth did he get a bird-of-prey?"

"Obviously, Admiral, determining that is one of our primary objectives."

"I assume we're talking something old and obsolete here?"

Rebecca looked at Lieutenant Hansen, who was filling in for T'Prin while she recovered. "Lieutenant?"

"Unfortunately, the exact opposite is true. The bird-of-prey is K'Vort class. Our scans indicate she is most likely a Y model."

"But that would make her a top of the line cruiser!"

"Yes, Admiral. She is an easy match for all but the Sovereign, Galaxy, and Defiant class starships. And obviously there is no civilian or commercial vessel that would even be able to put up a minor defense."

The Admiral stood and began a slow circle of the table. "The implications of this are staggering. My God, what do we do?"

Rebecca stood to face him. "There is only one thing to do, Admiral. Hunt him down and kill him."

"Kill him? Surely you aren't serious."

"Completely serious, Admiral. I know this man. Much more intimately than I would prefer."

"Would you care to explain?"

"If I may do so…circumspectly. Much of it is personal."

Haggardy nodded at her.

"The city I'm from, Cape Suzette, is a deep water port that sits in the shade of high terrain on three sides. The fourth is a large rock cliff with a narrow entrance. The city is all but impenetrable, and a prime target for a man like Karnage. After a few costly skirmishes with him shortly after he started marauding, we simply installed several artillery batteries in the cliff face. He was never able to attack the city again. But it didn't stop him from trying. And it greatly frustrated him, to the point of obsession. He was constantly attacking our sea and air lanes, whether they had valuables or not, trying to find a way in.

"My family owns a shipping company in Cape Suzette. And they were always his primary target."

"Why?"

"As you may know my helmsman, Ensign Cloudkicker, was raised by my husband and I."

Haggardy raised an eyebrow. "You don't find a bit of a conflict of interest there, Captain?"

"Perhaps some may see it that way. But it is perfectly within the bounds of regulations, sir."

"Go on."

"Ensign Cloudkicker was an orphan. He ended up spending several years as a member of Karnage's cadre. At first voluntarily. Then, not so much. We encountered him while I was home on medical leave. I'd recently learned that…" She looked down briefly. "I'd be unable to bear another child. And through a…series of events, we took him into our care. Karnage felt we'd robbed him of a protégé. And since we were largely untouchable out in deep space, he took the opportunity to attack my family's business interests whenever he could. They often sought tactical advice from me. Between that and what we learned of him from Kit, I know him all to well."

"Captain, it sounds to me like you are entirely too closely associated to this situation."

"I agree, Admiral. But it has to be me. No one else understands him like I do. Except Ensign Cloudkicker. That makes Voyager perfect."

"Voyager would be lucky to hold her own against a Y model K'Vort class cruiser."

"Another excellent reason, Admiral. Karnage is too savvy to attack a force he can't handle. A pair or grouping of ships, or a ship outside his class he would never get near. But a ship he thinks he can take, especially with me in command, would make an irresistible target. Admiral, Voyager is essentially still in shake down mode. We've spent the last twelve weeks running systems checks and exploring things that have been getting explored for two centuries. We need a mission. A challenge to rise to. The crew has been waiting for this. Please, Admiral. Let us have it."

The Admiral regarded her for several long hard moments.

"Very well. Proceed at your discretion. Maintain regular reports. But your mission is capture, Captain."

"Yes, Admiral."

He began to walk out of the room, but stopped just as the doors opened. "And Captain…good luck."

---

"Come in,"

The door to Rebecca's Ready Room slid open and Lt. T'Prin entered. She stood.

"Lieutenant, please come in."

"Captain."

"How are you feeling?"

"I am recovered from my injuries."

"I'm glad to hear it. But I wish to discuss those injuries."

"I understand what you wish to discuss, Captain."

"Do you?"

"You are angry that I did not discontinue the tractor beam as you ordered. This anger is in contradiction with your earlier statement that you valued my judgement as your Chief of Security."

"No, Lieutenant. That is incorrect. Yes, I did say I valued your judgement. And I said I wasn't seeking the company of kiss-asses. But my primary imperative to you was that I would not tolerate insubordinate behavior in front of the crew, and though I didn't spell it out, I would think it quite obvious that if there were any one part of the ship where that were especially applicable, it would be the bridge. So yes, I am angry that you did not discontinue the tractor beam as I ordered. I am angry that you disobeyed a direct order from your Captain, on the bridge, while engaged with the enemy not once, but twice. And as a direct result of that disobedience, you and a good number of your crewmates were injured and the ship was damaged.

"So tell me Lieutenant, under Starfleet regulations, what is the appropriate action for the Captain of a starship to take against a crew member who has willfully disobeyed an order under battle conditions and endangered the safety of the ship and her crew?"

"Said crew member should be confined to the brig until such a time as a general court-martial can be convened."

"So by the letter of the law, do you believe you disobeyed a direct order under battle conditions?"

T'Prin hesitated. Finally: "Yes."

"Do you believe a general court-martial is the appropriate action to take under the circumstances?"

"Yes."

"And do you believe the person you think me to be would jump at the opportunity you have presented me with?"

The air of superiority that had been quashed only moments ago visibly swelled again through the Vulcan as she was presented the chance to drive her prejudice home.

"You could act no other way."

"Oh, but I could. And in fact, I will. I'm as familiar with your jacket as you are with mine, T'Prin. And no matter how hard I try to get it into that thickheaded Vulcan brain of yours, you simply refuse to listen to me. I am not the person you seem to think I am. I don't know where you got the notion that I'm some inexperienced, infantile, half-cocked, undeserved rookie of command. But this is my last effort to prove you wrong.

"Despite your continued insubordination, despite your clear and inexplicably un-Vulcan emotional negative response to me for reasons that I simply cannot fathom, I still want you on this ship. I still want you on my crew. Because I did read your service record and I see a brilliance that has yet to be tapped to its full potential.

"Now I am going to extend to you every last ounce of benevolence that I possess. I could end your career in Starfleet with disgrace right now, and send you back to Vulcan in shame. A lot of Captains in my position would do exactly that. But I don't want to do that because I believe you really are a fine officer if you can just get over whatever your personal issue with me is. I have spoken to your former Captain and he is as baffled by your behavior as I am. I don't know what your problem with me is and I no longer care. It ends right now.

"Now you have a choice before you. You can choose to be the model officer that I believe you can be, to serve this ship and this crew as if they were your own family, and go on to a successful career in Starfleet. Or you can go home in disgrace. After walking a turn in a Starfleet Correctional Facility. It's entirely up to you. So what shall it be?"

She stood there a moment, as though she was unable to believe that Rebecca was actually serious.

"I would choose to continue my career in Starfleet."

"Is there anything about my expectations of you on this ship, my attitude towards you, your attitude towards me, your approach to your job, my approach to mine, anything at all that you are not one hundred percent crystal clear on? Because now is the time for clarification. At this moment, in this room, there are no negative consequences to any action or statement, but it is the last time this environment will exist."

"I am clear, Captain."

"Crystal?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Now…I cannot simply ignore your actions on the bridge yesterday. I told you I was familiar with Karnage, I warned you he would be tricky, and when I sensed a danger, I reacted to it and you failed to follow through on my order. And we know the result of that. But again, I am going to offer you a choice.

"I will order you confined to your quarters, under guard, for five days. You can accept this punishment, and it will remain unofficial and off the record. Or you can contest it, go before a Captain's Mast where I will beat the stuffing out of you, be confined to the brig for five days and have a formal reprimand appear on your record. Now which shall it be?"

"I shall accept the confinement to quarters Captain."

"It is the…logical choice."

"Yes."

"Then report to your quarters."

"Aye, Captain." She turned to leave.

"Lieutenant?"

She turned back to Rebecca, who stood behind her desk, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"Do you think I have treated you fairly?"

She considered a moment before answering. "Decidedly not, Captain. And I have benefited greatly because of it. Thank you."

She turned and left.

---

T'Prin entered her cabin, taking a deep breath as the doors closed behind her and the dim reddish lighting of her home world engulfed her. After a moment of deep breathing to bring a measure of calm, she crossed the room to her meditation stone, sat cross-legged upon it, letting the increased gravity she had programmed in her quarters to match that of Vulcan encompass her, and attempted to center herself.

As her inner turmoil calmed and she regained control of her turbulent emotions, she began to analyze the Captain's actions. Was she playing some kind of strange game native to her planet? She had to admit to knowing little about Cunningham's species. Why pretend to be clueless as to what she'd done? Why was she being so lenient? Did she plan to reverse her decision later in an attempt to goad a reaction from a Vulcan?

Gradually, as her inner calm restored itself, she was forced to focus on her own actions. The Captain was correct. She had not been conducting herself in an appropriate manner. Her mentor back on Vulcan would be more than a little disapproving of her control of her emotional state the last several weeks. But she had five days here. She would spend them meditating and attempt to reconcile and control her feelings. She would put aside her distaste of Cunningham's so called command abilities. And the fact that they cost her brother his life.

---

Karnage yanked his cutlass from the gullet of the Akrenninan trader and erotically licked the blade from hilt to point, savoring the taste of blood and gore. He turned to Dumptruck.

"Pick that up and throw it out the airlock."

He turned to the three remaining members of the cargo ship's crew.

"Does any more of you bat looking persons think I should not be taking over your ship?"

No one spoke up.

"Good then. Ratchet. Beam them to the surface. Scotty, you and Maddog will pilot this pity-full vessel back to Gamma Pavonis."

"We're not gonna rob it, Captain?"

"No we are not going to rob it. We are going to use it. The Iron Vulture will return to the Baffin Rift under cloak and observe Voyager's patrol route while you creep along at warp two. When you get there, I will send you a message directing the course and speed you will take along the Master Run so that I may draw Voyager into our secret trap."

"Ohhh, I see." The confused look on his face said he did not. "Uh, Captain. What is our secret trap?"

Karnage slapped him across his muzzle. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?" He activated his communicator. "Iron Vulture! Beam me aboard!"

---

Captain's log, Stardate 56470.5: Voyager has been patrolling the area along the Master Run for two weeks, with no sign of Karnage. Admiral Haggardy finally received a response from the Klingons confirming that one of their K'Vort cruisers, the Morath, has been missing for several months. However, they have been no more forthcoming than that, even when informed of our encounter with it. I have always known Karnage to be utterly ruthless, but I cannot fathom how he could possibly capture a Klingon ship of the line.

As I've mentioned in a previous log, but which bears repeating, I disagree with Admiral Haggardy's order to capture Karnage. He doesn't understand how ruthless the man is and I feel the concessions of force required put the ship at greater risk. On a positive note, T'prin and Lefler have developed a counter tactic that will allow us to safely employ our tractor beam.

But in the meantime, we continue to go about our routine. The ship continues to perform flawlessly, but the crew is understandably ready for a break from the mundane. I can't help but think of the adage that has made its way, in one form or another, into practically every spoken language in the Federation: beware what you wish for.

---

Kit considered his predicament. There was no other way to describe the situation. He was surrounded. And there was really only one way out. It was risky, in fact almost suicidal. But it was quite simply the only option, like it or not. His goose was cooked anyway, so he made the decision to act. He reached for his bishop.

"Check."

Across the table, Jenny raised her eyebrows.

"Bold move."

Kit kept his poker face, as though he'd planned it all along. It wouldn't do to let on that the move was an act of sheer desperation, despite the fact he'd intentionally allowed himself to get into this position. There were two moves she could make to get out of check. The right move, her rook, would see him mated in three moves. The wrong move, her queen, would see her mated in six.

"And what exactly do you expect me to do after that move, hmm?"

"The same thing I expected you to do after the first move. Lose." He glanced out of the corner of his eye to where T'Prin was sipping spice tea and ostensibly working on a padd. In fact, she was watching the match with keen interest.

A figure loomed over him from behind.

"Hey, Papa Bear," he said without turning.

"You been sittin' there near two hours. You ain't got her beat yet?"

"Just means it's been a good game," he said.

Curiously, she reached for her knight. Put a finger on it, hesitated, then took it off. After another moment's consideration, she moved her queen. Kit held back a smile and resisted immediately making his next move. After a few moments of feigned thought, he moved his other bishop from level three to level one. After a brief consideration of the board, she groaned.

"Now why didn't I see that?"

"Because you almost had me there and was focusing on the frontal assault. You weren't watching your flank."

"You've got me in five."

"Is that a concession?"

She tipped her king onto its side, then smiled and tipped her head coquettishly, perhaps even seductively.

"It seems you've…mated me."

The petite human stood and stretched, somehow managing to make it look like an erotic movement. She turned towards the door and set her hand on Kit's shoulder. "I'm late for a class. But I'll see you later."

Baloo watched her walk away, hips swaying.

"Something you need, Baloo?" Kit asked.

"No, just that game seemed to be taking a long time. Finally meet your match?"

"Not exactly."

"Ensign Cloudkicker?"

Kit turned at the sound of T'Prin's voice, surprised. It was the first time the Vulcan had addressed him off duty.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, we're just chatting. What can I do for you, ma'am?

"I would ask a question."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Your game with Ensign Stone…you seemed somewhat unconcerned with its outcome."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Your method of play would indicate great skill, yet you routinely ignored obvious chances to go on the offensive, particularly against a player who did not seem capable of playing at your level."

"Oh, I was just being nice. Didn't want to beat her up."

"Logic suggests a player is best served by taking the quickest route to victory."

He gave her a crooked smile.

"Well…I'm not playing a logical game, Lieutenant."

She cocked her head quizzically. "I do not understand. Tri-dimensional chess is quite logical."

"Um, chess isn't exactly the game I'm playing."

After a momentary look of confusion, she raised her right eyebrow in comprehension. "Ah, I believe I understand. You are referring to…interpersonal dynamics."

"Exactly."

"Would you care for a more serious game? One without interpersonal dynamics?"

"I've never played a Vulcan before. I think I'd enjoy the challenge." He laughed. "Even if I get beat up. Unfortunately I can't right now. Tomorrow?"

"Very well." She started towards the exit.

"Um…Lieutenant?"

She turned.

"Perhaps somewhere…less conspicuous?"

"So that Ensign Stone is less likely to observe you playing at a higher level?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The starboard lounge on deck 10?"

"I'll look forward to it."

"As will I."

He stared after her, shaking his head.

"You be careful around her, Kit."

"Why, because of how she treats the Captain?"

"Exactly. Anyone else, it probably wouldn't bother me. But she's a Vulcan and she has an emotional problem with Rebecca. You don't think that's a problem?"

"Baloo, the only thing I think about Lieutenant T'Prin in public is that she's my superior officer."

"I suppose you kinda have to huh?"

"If I want to keep my nose clean, that's for sure."

Baloo's voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "Well then you'd best be careful around that pretty young ensign too. She's also trouble."

The intercom chimed and Lt. Hansen's voice floated into the room.

"Ensign Cloudkicker, please report to Astrometrics when you are able."

Kit gave Baloo a crooked smile. "I hope so, Papa Bear. I truly hope so."

He tapped his combadge. "Acknowledged. On my way, Lieutenant."

He clapped Baloo on the shoulder. "I'll see you tonight."

---

As the doors opened, the immense main Astrometrics display awed him. He'd never been here before and the sight almost made him stumble. Lt. Hansen turned as he entered.

"Ensign Cloudkicker. Thank you for being prompt. I know you are off duty."

"Ah, but are you ever truly off duty on a starship?"

"Obviously not. I am glad you share that opinion."

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"The Captain has asked me to plot anomalies that could be indicative of the Iron Vulture's movements. She suggested your navigational expertise might be useful."

He chuckled. "I'm afraid the Captain may have more faith in my navigational expertise than is warranted." He stepped to the console next to Hansen and brought up her protocols. He made a few adjustments to them and entered them in.

"Is that because she sees you as her son?"

He stopped, momentarily in shock.

"I'm sorry. I have intruded into your personal life. You may ignore the question."

"No, no. You just caught me off guard. Most people aren't so…direct. They prefer to whisper behind my back. I appreciate the honesty. As to your question…the best answer is probably somewhere in the grey area between yes and no."

"Please elaborate."

"I'll try." One of the readings on the console caught his eye. "It looks like the subspace distortions in grid 4140 are slightly above the background norms."

"Assigning tracking algorithms."

"The Captain…she and Baloo took me in when I was 12. I'm an orphan, and…well, let's just say I was in some serious trouble at the time. For brevity's sake. The Captain's an onion. Layer upon layer." He paused a moment. "No, that's not right. Think of her more like…an actress. Lots of roles, lots of masks. But each of them connected to who she really is.

"That's not to say it's hard to know her. She's just one of those people you can't judge on your first few impressions of her."

"Tracking algorithm indicates only a 2% probability of a pattern match."

"Moving to grid 4141."

"You seem to be answering a question I did not ask."

"I know. Bear with me, I'm getting there. Yes, she does see herself as my mother. It's one of her roles. But biology aside, in every way that matters, she is. I'd never had anyone like that before. To me, she and Baloo were like…I don't know. I don't think I can really explain it. Pattern lock negative, moving to grid 4142.

"When they came across me, I was lost…drifting. I'd run away from the orphanage. Gotten into trouble. Trying to act like I was cool and tough and didn't need anybody. Hiding from who I really was, a scared little boy desperate to find someone who gave more than two shits about him. They rescued me. I will never be able to thank them for that."

There was a moment of silence.

"When Captain Janeway…liberated me from the Borg, I had no memory of what it was to be human. I was assimilated when I was a small child. I initially strongly resisted her. I also was hiding who I was, behind the façade of being Borg. But as I slowly came to realize my humanity, I also realized the gravity of what Captain Janeway had done. She is greatly responsible for my becoming the person I am today. In a way, one could look at her as an adoptive mother."

Kit smiled. "I take that back. I don't think I need to explain it. You may be one of a very few number of people who understand exactly. So yes, she sees me as a son, and has the pride and confidence that engenders. But she also evaluates me objectively, as a good mother does, and doesn't sugar coat anything for me. Putting the normal polite modesty aside, yes, I'm a damn good navigator. I seem to have an innate talent for it. So the mother in her, knowing the capabilities of her son, probably automatically puts me at the top of her list for an assignment like this. But then the Captain in her takes over and objectively evaluates who can best serve the ship and her crew in this particular situation. And again, polite modesty aside, that is without a doubt…me."

"I understand. Negative indications in grid 4142. Moving to grid 4143."

"May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?"

"It would be only fair."

"I've noticed that Dr. Tyson calls you 'Seven'. Several others from the Delta Quadrant crew do as well."

"It was my Borg designation. Seven of Nine."

"I understand that." His console beeped at him. "I may have something here. Let me try something." His fingers flew over the console, adjusting the search parameters. "So why the two names?"

"Captain Janeway determined my human identity very quickly. Despite that, I had been Seven of Nine all my life. I was not prepared, nor did I desire, to take up my human moniker so easily. Too much was already changing. But after Voyager returned to Earth, I found that most people reacted negatively when I was introduced as 'Seven of Nine'. I very quickly found myself to be ostracized, despite the assurances of Starfleet that I would be completely accepted. As a result, I took on my human name."

Kit looked at her. "You did it to fit in."

She returned the look. "Yes."

"That's not right."

"Perhaps. But it is what happened."

"So in actuality, you would prefer 'Seven' over 'Anika'?"

"Yes."

Kit regarded her solemnly for a moment.

"With your permission, Lieutenant, where appropriate…I'd like to call you 'Seven'."

"I would like that, Ensign."

"Then you can call me 'Kit'."

"Very well…" She gave him one of her rare small smiles. "Kit." A moment later her console began beeping.

"We seem to have a pattern lock."

Kit ran the display through his console. "But if this is right…" He locked eyes with Seven. She ran the data through her console again. "Pattern confirmed."

"We'd better tell the Captain."

---

Becky walked into Astrometrics to find Kit and Lt. Hansen bent over an aft console, working closely together, so close their shoulders were touching. She felt her hackles rise and pushed down a barb of anger. Her motherly instincts were enhancing her distrust of Hansen. She would have to be careful here. She could speak to Kit in private later.

They turned in unison, and in unison addressed her: "Captain." Kit took a step away from her and dipped his head slightly towards her, deferring to his superior officer.

"Report."

"We have discovered indications that Karnage's ship is shadowing us."

"Really?"

They stepped to the main console, facing the encompassing main display screen. A series of graphics that Becky sort of recognized scrolled across the screen until they were replaced with a series of yellow dots connected together.

"As you are aware, Captain, our impulse engines create a unique wake signature because their aft thrust is maintained despite the counteractive force of the inertial dampening field. The Klingons use a slightly different design. This is because the same system would leave a detectable wake when the vessel is cloaked."

" 'The thing's got to have a tailpipe'." Becky said softly. They both looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"You need to brush up on your history. The Khitomer Accords were nearly disrupted by an attempted Klingon coup, which primarily involved the use of a Klingon bird of prey capable of firing while cloaked. During a battle with the Enterprise-A it was theorized that a torpedo equipped with gas detecting sensors could home in on it, just like old-style infrared missiles. The bridge tapes recorded the short but poignant conclusion made by their communications officer: 'Well the thing's got to have a tail pipe'. The Enterprise modified a torpedo and the Klingon ship was destroyed. Thankfully, the cloaking technology died with the ship, but as a result the Klingons modified their engine design to make a repeat incident unlikely. But I digress. What have you found?"

Kit manipulated his console. A new series of blue lines appeared on the display. "Well Captain, this is our course over the last two weeks. As you can see, the anomalies we have detected match our course very closely. It's our theory that we're picking up the exhaust signature of the Klingon ship whenever it stops and maintains a position for a period of time."

"We think," Hansen continued, "That the Klingon ship has been shadowing us, changing position as necessary to monitor us and maintain a position."

"With what intention?"

"We don't know, Captain," Kit said. "Not exactly."

"But it is clear that they are waiting for something. Most likely an opportunity to use a situation against us."

She looked at the two of them with a swell of pride. "Excellent work, the both of you. Can you keep tracking him?"

"Well," Kit replied, "Yes and no. We can only detect the emissions when he remains in one place long enough for them to build up. If they started to move around we'd lose them. And we wouldn't know it until they stopped somewhere else for a while."

"Well, that's easy enough to prevent." She tapped her combadge. "Cunningham to bridge."

"Avery here, Captain."

"All stop. Hold position here until further notice."

"Aye Captain."

"Cunningham out. If we're not going anywhere, he won't go anywhere. And it'll throw a monkey wrench into his plans, trying to figure out what we're doing. Let me know if anything changes."

"Yes, Ma'am," they intoned together.

She turned and left.

---

Karnage paced the perimeter of the bridge. Two days now they had been sitting here. Voyager hadn't moved an inch. Maddog was holding position just outside sensor range waiting to act as bait, but there was nothing to be done as long as Voyager was not patrolling.

He knew that his ship outclassed Voyager. But his crew was utterly incapable of operating the Klingon ship to its full potential, which could put him at a disadvantage. But he simply couldn't sit here any longer. He turned toward the conn, then the aft station.

"Dumptruck, move us to point-blank range of Voyager."

"Aye, Captain."

"Will, on my signal, drop our cloak and begin an intense scan. I wish to know where all vital areas of the ship are."

"What are you planning, Captain?"

Karnage strode to the aft console where his trusted first mate, the only member of his crew he truly did trust, was programming the sensor sweep. After a moment of quiet conversation he nodded and smiled.

"Very good, sir."

Karnage returned to the command chair and sat, vowing to himself to rip it out and replace it with something more comfortable after he'd dealt with the troublesome starship.

---

They were having a nice dinner, something that didn't happen nearly as often as she'd like, though with all three of them together for the first time in years, the record was certainly improving. She hated to dampen the atmosphere, but the momentary break in conversation created an opening that she was obligated to use. She set her fork next to her nearly clean plate.

"Kit."

He froze momentarily. She had taken her lecture posture. "What is it?"

"I couldn't help but notice how…familiar you seemed to be with Lieutenant Hansen earlier. I wasn't aware you had been spending much time with her."

Baloo put his fork down as well and leaned back in his chair, doing his best to distance himself from whatever was about to occur. Kit raised his eyebrows, more than a little surprised.

"Well, I haven't really. Not until today. But we seemed to hit it off really well."

"I have to admit to being a little uncomfortable with that."

Kit's eyebrows went up again, higher this time before furrowing in confusion. "I don't understand."

"She's Borg." The statement hung in the air. It took Kit a moment to realize that she didn't feel a need to elaborate. He would have to be very careful here.

"Mom…I know you have issues with the Borg. Given your history, very well deserved issues. But she's not a Borg. Not anymore."

"I'm not entirely convinced of that."

"I am."

"How?"

Before he could answer, the red alert klaxons began blaring. Commander Avery's voice came over the intercom.

"General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations! All hands, man your battle stations!"

They all flew from the table. The mess hall was an auxiliary trauma ward so Baloo's emergency station was the same as his regular one. Becky and Kit dashed for the bridge.

"Klingon battle cruiser just uncloaked right in front of us," Avery reported as they arrived. "Holding position ten kilometers directly ahead."

"Ten kilometers?!"

"Yes ma'am. Sensors identify the ship as the Iron Vulture. Their shields are up but their weapons are not on line. So far, they're just sitting there."

Becky stopped in front of her chair and faced the view screen but didn't sit.

"Captain?"

"Mr. Paris?"

"The Vulture has started an intense sensor sweep of the ship."

"Any idea what they're looking for?"

His hands worked his console. "No, ma'am. It just seems to be a general scan of the ship."

"T'Prin, open hailing frequencies."

The familiar chime played across her ears.

"Channel open."

"Iron Vulture, this is Voyager. Please state your intentions."

Silence filled the bridge.

"Ensign, back us off. One eighth impulse."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Iron Vulture following, Captain," T'Prin reported. "Maintaining a ten kilometer separation."

"Increase to half-astern."

"Half astern, aye."

"Still matching our speed," T'Prin reported.

"Raise them again."

"Channel open."

"Iron Vulture, break off your pursuit and state your intentions."

"No change in posture or status."

Becky sighed. "Very well. Lock phasers on their engines."

"Target locked."

"Iron Vulture, break off your pursuit or we will be forced to fire on you!"

"Captain," Paris called out, "They're engaging their cloak. No longer registering on sensors."

"Kit, all stop." She stared at the screen a moment, then looked at Avery. "What the hell was that all about, Ben?"

"Got me, Captain."

Becky gestured to the quarterdeck and she, Avery, and Paris grouped around T'Prin's console in an impromptu conference. Becky sighed. "What? What were they looking for?"

"They scanned all areas of the ship, Captain," T'Prin replied.

"But were there any particular areas they concentrated on?"

"No indications of any. It was unusually intense overall, but generalized."

"Captain," Pairs said, "What if they were checking us out?"

"Elaborate."

"Well, from your descriptions, this Karnage and his crew aren't spacedogs. They're sort of winging it, trying to figure out how to make what they know of piracy on the high seas translate to space flight."

"Go on."

"Well, the Klingons are pretty familiar with Federation ships, just as we are with theirs. And we're also familiar with how a starship works in general. The pirates may not be. So what if they were…casing the joint, so to speak?"

Avery caught on first. "They were interested in the general configuration of the ship."

"Right," Paris agreed. "Where what systems are, engines, control nodes, shield generators. You could get a pretty good idea of that just by tracing the power flow. Easy to do even through our shields."

"And being right on top of us like that," Becky joined in, "Would give them a much better scan, as well as make us nervous enough to be worried about an attack and ignore a simple sensor scan."

T'Prin joined in. "Such a scan would indicate a preparation for attack. But there is no way to predict how long it will take them to analyze the data."

"I know Karnage. He won't take a lot of time. Let's be ready." She looked up at the intercom grid. "All hands, this is the Captain. We are standing down from red alert. But only to reduce tension. We expect to be attacked, but that attack could come in five minutes or five hours. I don't want you all trying to maintain peak readiness for an indeterminate amount of time. Maintain your general quarters stations and be ready to resume red alert at a moment's notice. Captain out." She looked around the bridge. "That goes for all of you as well. Be alert, but not tense. Frayed nerves will do us no good."

"Shall I hold position, Captain?" Kit asked.

"No. Return to our patrol course. But have the gamma evasive maneuver sequences called up and ready to implement."

"Aye, Captain."

She sat in her chair. "And now we wait."

"Just mosey along, Captain?" Avery asked.

"Commander, I see two possibilities here. We're either attacked or we aren't. We can't predict which. To be safe, we prepare to be attacked. With no fix on our enemy's position, we either do that, or turn tail and run. I don't run. If you have a third alternative," she looked around, "If any of you do, I want to hear it."

No one spoke.

"Then proceed as ordered."

Everyone went about their work. More than an hour dragged by with no sign of Karnage. It was times like this, Becky mused from her command chair, that the Captain really had nothing at all to do. Except wait. The orders were given, the ship was ready. The crew were going about their tasks as need be. Even Commander Avery had a little micromanagement to engage in. It was a catch 22. She didn't want her ship or crew to be endangered. And she certainly didn't want anyone injured. But knowing that it was inevitable, she'd as soon get it over with than sit around waiting on it.

And from a practical standpoint, it was better that way. Her orders weren't on a whim. The constant tension would erode the crew's focus. The longer they waited, the less prepared they'd be. But no sooner than the thought left her mind, T'Prin called out from Tactical.

"Iron Vulture decloaking! Bearing 120 mark 017! Disruptors locked!"

The ship rocked, then rocked again as the red alert klaxons blared.

"Direct hit, deck 14 sections 21 and 22."

"Return fire, all weapons!"

Voyager's phasers reached out but touched nothing.

"Iron Vulture has recloaked."

Becky looked at Avery. "One shot?" She turned to Ops. "Damage, Tom?"

"Shield generators four and five, are damaged. Performing at 77 percent. Minor radiation."

She turned back towards the view screen. "What the hell?" She stepped up to the helm. "Kit-."

The ship rocked again as disruptor fire cascaded across her flank.

"Iron Vulture has…recloaked," T'Prin reported.

"Another direct hit, Captain." Paris said. "Same section. Shield generators four and five damaged further. Now down to 61 percent."

"Kit, engage evasive gamma four. T'Prin, put the targeting scanners on a floating lock, concentrating on our starboard flank."

"I'm sorry, Captain, I am not familiar with that procedure."

She rushed up to tactical. "I'm not surprised. It's something Captain Deakens developed. We used it on the Cowpens when the tactical situation was uncertain."

She inserted herself in front of T'Prin and her fingers flew across the console. "Engage the scanners and focus the beam in a certain area. The computer thinks you're seeing something that it's not. So it starts reaching for something and locks onto the first thing it comes across. Sort of like one of us grasping for something in the bottom of a bag."

The ship rocked again just as Becky input the last command and one of the aft consoles exploded.

"Same section, Captain!" Tom shouted. "Another hit there and shields four and five will fail!"

"Kit, put us in forty degree right bank, z minus ten. Spiral away, try to keep that section away from Karnage's weapons. T'Prin, switch the scan to the outside of the bank."

"Aye, Captain," They replied in unison.

She stepped back down to the command area. "Well now we know what that scan was about," She said to Avery.

"I'm not sure there's an adequate defense for this, Captain."

"If not, there's about to be."

Avery lowered his voice so that only Becky would hear it. "Captain, retreat is an option."

She lowered her voice as well. "A last option, Ben. You don't understand this man. We cannot let him win."

"At the expense of the crew?" It was a question he didn't want to ask. And he knew how his Captain would respond. Nevertheless, as First Officer, it was his duty to ask it.

"I won't let it come to that. I won't like it, but I'll retreat first."

"I know. But I had to say it."

She patted his arm. "I know. And I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't." She raised her voice back to normal. "Ensign Cloudkicker?"

"We're steaming ahead one quarter, x plus 40, z minus 10."

"T'Prin?"

"No sign of the Iron Vulture, Captain."

"You've got 'em confused," Tom said.

"No. He's just trying to figure how to get another shot at that shield generator."

"Decloaking, Captain!" The ship shook again. "Phasers firing. Direct hit on enemy vessel. They have cloaked."

"Damage to deck 13 section 24. Shield waveguides," said Tom. "They're still pecking at us."

Becky stepped up to the conn and put her hand on Kit's shoulder.

"Kit, alter our evasive pattern. Expose our flank but don't make it obvious. When they fire on us, put us in 30 degree per minute roll along the line of fire and shut down the starboard nacelle. Then release the inertial dampers and let us drift. But be ready to reengage and get us the hell out of here if he doesn't take the bait." She looked up at the intercom grid. "Bridge to Engineering. Prepare to release drive plasma from the starboard nacelle and purge the Bussard collectors. Then shut down main power to all decks. Proceed after the next hit. All hands, brace for extreme maneuvers!

"T'Prin, use generators 3 and six to bolster the shields in that section. Keep all the weapons hot, and keep that floating lock active. He'll want to board us. Wait for his shields to drop and then hit him with everything we've got."

"Aye, Captain."

---

Karnage watched as Voyager continued to circle away from him. She was keeping her damaged shield generators out of the line of fire, despite their cloak. He despised having to do it, but he admitted to himself that that bear wasn't so stupid after all.

Voyager changed course again, trying to anticipate his own course, but she'd guessed wrong. He jumped from the command chair.

"Dumptruck, left 70 degrees! Increase to standard! Will, prepare to cycle the cloak and fire, same target!"

They wheeled around and under Voyager and came to bear on her vulnerable flank.

"Cycle cloak and fire!"

The Iron Vulture decloaked just long enough to fire a single shot.

"That did it, Captain!" Will shouted. "Voyager's power and shields are down. They've lost attitude control and are venting drive plasma!"

Karnage issued a satisfied growl and sat down again. "Now we have them, yesno? Decloak the ship. Lock disruptors on their antimatter storage pods."

"Shall I prepare a boarding party, Captain?"

Karnage leaned forward and drummed his fingers on his chin, regarding Voyager's seemingly disabled image drifting across the view screen.

"Not yet, I think. She may be playing the deadly opossum, no? We shall wait! Full scan!"

Will manipulated the sensor console. "All readings indicative of main power failure. Structural damage to the section of the ship we've been firing on…Looks like we really got 'em."

Karnage hesitated again. "Keep scanning. Make sure."

"Uh, Captain, can't we just fire on them again?" Dumptruck asked in his oddly cadenced voice that always grated on Karnage's nerves.

"And just what do you think will happen if they really are so badly damaged?"

"Duhhhh…"

Karnage rose, drew his cutlass, and hit Dumptruck in the side of the head with the flat of it. Blood sprang from a cut behind his ear. Karnage ignored the wound, if he noticed it at all.

"They go away with the boom, you nincompoop! Mind your console and stop with your pitiful efforts to engage your tiny pea sized brain!" He settled back into the command chair. "We wait and be sure. Then…we take them."

He waited, but scans of Voyager never changed. Finally he stood.

"Will, have the boarding party meet me in transporter room!"

---

Becky drummed her fingers on her armrest. "T'Prin?"

"Still nothing, Captain. Maintaining relative position to us with disruptors locked. No other action."

"He doesn't believe you, Captain," Avery said.

"Maybe not. But he's eager. He wants me as badly as I want him. If we wait, he'll move."

"But is that a good thing, Captain?"

"Absolutely. T'Prin, keep all weapons locked on the Vulture. Target engines only. Be ready."

A tense few minutes passed. Finally T'Prin called out.

"Vulture's shields dropping, Captain."

"Fire!"

---

Karnage looked at the transporter operator. "Drop shields and engage transporter beam!"

A moment later the ship rocked and the transporter console exploded.

"Captain, I-."

The ship rocked again.

"Bridge, report," Karnage shouted.

"Engines and disruptors off-line! Shields up, but we're dead in the water!"

Karnage shouted at the boarding party to return to their stations as he dashed for the bridge.

---

"Direct hit, Captain," T'Prin reported. "The Vulture's engines and weapons are down. Though with only the one shot, the damage might be quickly repaired."

"Their response?"

"Nothing as yet."

"Keep weapons locked. If they so much as twitch, hit them again. Open a channel."

"Captain," T'Prin reported, "I'm reading a surge of tachyons off our port quarter. Two Klingon warships decloaking. Negh'Var class. They are locking disruptors on the Iron Vulture."

"Hail them."

"No response. The Klingons have locked a tractor beam on the Vulture."

"Open a channel. Kit, bring us back up."

"Channel open."

"Klingon vessels, this is Captain Rebecca Cunningham of the Starship Voyager. State your intentions."

After a moment the screen came to life. The large Klingon leaned into the visual pick up.

"This is Admiral Kurn of the Klingon flagship Pujbe'Yay. We are recovering our stolen cruiser. You may stand down."

"Admiral, that crew has committed crimes against the Federation as well as me personally. I ask that you stand down so that we may complete our apprehension of this criminal."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Captain. You must withdraw."

"Admiral, with all due respect, you are in Federation space. Our jurisdiction has precedent here. Withdraw immediately."

A new and very recognizable Klingon stepped into view. Becky straightened a little at his image.

"Captain, I am Chancellor Martok. As the Klingon Head of State, I am asking you to stand down and allow us to handle this theft of Klingon State property."

"Chancellor, I would comply if I could. But surely you can understand that my honor is at stake here. I have defeated my enemy in battle and you are preventing me from putting the final blow to him. Would you withdraw in my position?"

"Captain, I grant you your honor. It is well deserved. And it remains intact. The battle is yours. But this man has captured a Klingon ship of the line and destroyed her crew. His crimes against the Klingon Empire outweigh those against your Federation. We will have our justice. Your Federation Council can request extradiction through normal channels. But I have already received assurances from your President that our interests take priority here."

Rebecca began to protest but T'Prin cut her off.

"Captain, Iron Vulture is cloaking. Sensors indicate she is moving off."

"Against the Klingon tractor beam?"

"Aye, Captain. They used a muon feedback wave as they did against us during our first encounter. Iron Vulture no longer registering on sensors."

She turned to the view screen.

"Captain," Martok said, "I acknowledge your honor. But it is a matter of my honor to finish this."

The screen winked out.

"The Klingons have fired," T''Prin reported. "It seems they anticipated well. I am reading debris."

They waited and watched as the two Klingon ships circled and continued to fire. But their sensors never registered another hit.

Becky slammed her fist on the arm of her chair.

"Damnit.!"

"Captain, you can't blame yourself," Avery said.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it. If they hadn't barged in and distracted us we'd have him. Now he's gotten away. I'd contact Admiral Janeway if I thought it'd do any good. But even the President wouldn't help me here."

"That's exactly what I mean, Captain. You should relax and accept that Karnage belongs to the Klingons."

"I will, Ben. It'll just take me a little while, that's all."

She turned in a circle and surveyed her bridge. She sighed deeply. "Ensign Cloudkicker, set course for Starbase 10."

"Aye, Captain. Setting course 310 mark 249."

"Execute."

---

Captain's log, Stardate 56471.8: Voyager has returned to Starbase 10. While there can be no disgrace since our mission was undermined by the politics of the Federation, most of the crew, particularly myself, feels cheated. It was vital to morale to complete this mission successfully. Perhaps if we knew for certain the final disposition of the Iron Vulture we could take some comfort from it. But the Klingons were never able to confirm it's destruction and refuse to comment further on the matter. In the meantime, the crew will be taking a brief shore leave as we await the assignment of our next mission.

---

Karnage circled the command deck. His ship was disabled, but the cloak was functional. He'd managed to use debris and refuse ejected from the ship to convince the Klingons he'd been destroyed. He was out of danger, limping away from the Klingons under emergency power. For the moment. But he would have Cunningham. He would have her if it cost the lives of everyone aboard. But for now, he would wait. Wait until his ship was repaired. Wait until he could obtain a better trained crew. But eventually, he would be victorious. Cunningham would be destroyed.

Nothing else was acceptable.

---

First, my shout outs: The names Sinclair, Deakens, and Sunday are nods to the movies Iron Eagle, Broken Arrow, and Men of Honor respectively.

A nod to George Lucas in sector 1138.

Benjamin Avery is at the same time a personal reference and a reference to Avery Brooks, the actor who portrayed Ben Sisko on DS9.

Robert Tyson is another personal reference.

Rebecca's first lecture to T'prin contains elements of a dressing down of Denzel Washington by Gene Hackman in Crimson Tide.

The Akkrenian species is taken from Titan A.E.

Most other references are to various Star Trek and Talespin episodes. Not including instances referring to multiple episodes, what I believe to be a complete list is as follows: (Including Pilot)

Emissary (DS9)

The Best of Both Worlds (TNG)

The Wounded (TNG)

The Changing Face of Evil (DS9)

Face of the Enemy (TNG)

Mommy for a Day (TS)

Generations (TNG)

A Bad Reflection on You (TS)

Broken Bow (ENT)

Plunder and Lightning (TS)

The Undiscovered Country (TOS)

While these two stories were a lot of fun to write, and leave a lot to be explored, they were also a lot of work. Knowing that there is probably a limited market of interest, without sufficient encouragement from readers, I don't believe there will be any more of them

GW